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 ^4 ^ 7
 
 THE SILVER CORD 
 
 §. ^ioxv. 
 
 BY 
 
 SHIRLEY BROOKS, 
 
 Ai-TnoR OF "aspek court," "the cordian knot,"" etc. 
 
 •• A swanu of fire-llies, tangled iu a silver braid." 
 
 XllNNVSON. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BRADBUEY & EVANS, 11, BOUVEEIE STEEET. 
 
 ISGl. 
 
 [The right of translation is rescrixd.]
 
 LONDON : 
 BRADBURY AND EVANS, TRINTEES, WHITEFRIARS.
 
 V. / 
 
 5 
 
 
 4^ 
 
 r^. 
 
 TO HIS AVIFE, 
 
 IS 
 
 AFFECTIO>\VTELy I^n'SCRIBED, 
 
 BT 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 rPvEFACE. 
 
 A PREFACE is sometimes judged unfairl}', simpl}' 
 because the reader forgets that it is not a prefiice. 
 The author, at all events, composes it at the close 
 of his labours. The least vain among us, when he 
 has covered some thousand pages with print, be- 
 lieves that he has done a Thing. According to his 
 nature, he intones a solemn Nunc opus, or afiects a 
 careless exultation. To the preface, in which he 
 has signified his idea of his finished work, cometli 
 the reader, fresh and curious, and is probably dis- 
 pleased at the outset with that of which he might 
 be reasonably tolerant at the close. Hence such 
 preliminar}' is, for the most part, best omitted. 
 
 Yet it is pleasant to say a few egotistic words to 
 known and unknown friends, especially when one is 
 presenting, in a new fomi, a book which has been 
 laid before them, fragmcntarily, during a period of 
 ten months, and which has brought to the author a 
 gi'eat number of communications, of which it would 
 seem almost discourteous not to take the only 
 notice in his power.
 
 Yl PREFACE. 
 
 Constructed with a view to what the author 
 regarded as the special exigence of the periodical 
 for which it was written, this work was not designed 
 as a series of elaborate sketches of moral scenery, 
 with moving figures. It was not put together as a 
 scaffold, to uphold a purpose. It was not to be an 
 art-novel. Of each of these forms of fiction, and of 
 several others, equally apart from the design of this 
 book, the author has, he trusts, all due apprecia- 
 tion, and for their exhibition by the masters of the 
 imaginative craft (happily numerous, foolishly as the 
 age is said to lack poets) he has the warmest 
 admiration. But for the periodical in which the 
 " Silver Cord " was to appear, it seemed to the 
 author that what was wanted was a Story. 
 
 It is a Stor}^ therefore, which he has endea- 
 voured to write. And also keeping in view the 
 requirements of the periodical publication, he 
 determined to adopt a form which, but a few 
 weeks ago, he observed to be recommended, in a 
 valuable criticism, as an experiment for a novelist. 
 He resolved to omit, as far as possible, Description, 
 physical as well as moral, and to tell his story by 
 means of Action and of Dialogue. It may be as 
 Avell to add, however, that upon this ground he rests 
 no claim to originality, as several of the most 
 effective novels in French literature are constructed 
 under the same conditions, and the writers have 
 had to bear, as best they might, the charge of
 
 PREFACE. Vll 
 
 being mere Raconteurs. This charge has found its 
 echo in Enghmd — a land of echoes — upon divers 
 occasions M-hen our own novelists have strangely 
 forgotten that they are, ex officio, theologians, poli- 
 ticians, reformers, and missionaries. 
 
 In reply to various correspondents who have 
 from time to time impressed upon him the absolute 
 necessity of reconciling two persons separated by 
 the events of the story, the author can only express 
 his gratification at finding that so much interest 
 has been excited by the estrangement of that 
 couple. If he has not availed himself of an}' of the 
 various expedients that have been tendered to him 
 as means for bringing about the re-union, he must 
 pray his kind advisers to believe that it is not 
 always permitted to depart from a pre-arranged 
 scheme. Specially, to the somewhat remorseless 
 friends who have affectionately urged upon him to 
 " kill one of the cliildren," in order to reconcile its 
 parents across its tomb, he would say that Herod 
 has of late been almost too rampant among the 
 children of novels to justify the repetition of tlie 
 expedient. A great Master set the example, and 
 did it so exquisitely that his inimitable workman- 
 ship should have warned off parodists, but a 
 Massacre of tlie Innocents set in, and hai)py is the 
 novel reader who gets through a second volume 
 without weeping over a slain child. For weep we 
 all must — tlie fountain is ready to the clumsiest
 
 Vill PREFACE. 
 
 hand, and flows, liowever coarsely the little soul 
 is dismissed. Connit. Friends at a distance Avill 
 please accept this intimation that they could not be 
 invited to a child-funeral. * 
 
 To the sterner and more practical correspondents 
 who have demanded to know how a gentleman in a 
 public office managed to stay away so long without 
 forfeiting his situation, I must answer as the 
 French critic does, when driven into a corner 
 upon the question as to what personal attractions 
 Penelope could have had for Ulysses, after all 
 those years of his rambles, " that it would be well 
 if persons would attend to their own family busi- 
 ness, and believe that heroes know what they are 
 about." 
 
 Finally, let me say, that, very gratifying to me as 
 is the great favour with which the tale, in its issue 
 by instalments, has been received, this fact does 
 not render me inclined to estimate less seriously 
 than heretofore the many objections to this mode 
 of publication ; and I may be permitted to add my 
 hope, that, should I again offer to the public a work 
 of fiction, it will be in the form in which I now 
 publish the Silver Cord. 
 
 S. B. 
 
 The Temple, 
 
 September 1st, 1S61.
 
 TUE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Four," remarked St. Mary of the Strand, 
 successor to the tall Maypole that once overlooked 
 what is now the pleasantest, and handsomest, and 
 most English street in London. 
 
 The vibration of the Saint^s voice had by no means 
 ceased from out of the ears of the passers-by, when, 
 with an honourable promptitude, and a delicate 
 anxiety not to put the country under the obligation 
 of receiving more service than she had bargained for, 
 groups of gentlemen of all ages and sizes came pour- 
 ing out at the gate of Somerset House. One might 
 have thought that they had been listening for the 
 summons, and had prepared themselves to obey it 
 on the instant. In the old days, that church did 
 not collect the saints of Drury Lane so rapidly as it 
 now called forth the clerks of the Civil Service. 
 
 But not among the early ones at the gate was 
 Mr. Arthur Lygon. 
 
 He heard the last stroke of the bell, and the single 
 note with which the little black clock on his mantel- 
 piece ratified the announcement, before he closed the
 
 2 THE SILVER CQRD. 
 
 large volume in whicli he was making entries from 
 some half- printed, half-written papers by his side ; 
 and he proceeded to arrange all his documents with 
 the precision of a man who intends to resume an 
 interrupted duty, and who knoAVS the value of order 
 and of time. He was exact, but not the least fidgetty 
 — a man, happily married, seldom becomes a fidget at 
 five-and-thirty. 
 
 Nor did Arthur Lygon at once take up his hat 
 and depart. A handsome man, happily married, 
 seldom loses, at the age of thirty-five, his bachelor 
 habit of paying some attention to appearances ; and 
 Mr. Lygon went to the other end of his comfortable, 
 double-sashed apartment — exclusively his own — 
 brushed his wavy dark brown hair, washed his aris- 
 tocratic hands, and gave himself that good-natured 
 look-over which a man who has no objectionable 
 vanity, but has the laudable desire to be as pre- 
 sentable as he conveniently can, usually performs 
 before re-joining society. King Henry the Fifth, 
 when courting, vowed that he had never looked in 
 the glass for the love of anything he saw there ; and 
 the vows of kings — and emperors — are always 
 truthful ; but all of us have not the regal faculty of 
 self-abnegation. Arthur Lygon, finishing his arrange- 
 ments with a touch at his rather efi'ective brown 
 whiskers, saw, and was perfectly content to see in 
 the glass the reflection of a set of intellectual 
 features, somewhat of the Grecian type, but mani- 
 festing much power of decision, despite the good- 
 tempered expression Avhich they habitually wore.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 3 
 
 He perceived also tliat the person thus reflected was 
 ratlier slij^ht, but well made, and a little above the 
 average height, and that his dress was in accordance 
 with the fashion of the day, with a little more light- 
 ness and colour about it than one usually sees in the 
 costume of a man of business. Lygon was a good- 
 looking, well-dressed man, and if he had been previ- 
 ously unaware of the fact, he had been told it, with 
 other things of a pleasant character, in one of a 
 highly complimentary series of sketches called Our 
 Civilians, which were appearing in a pictorial paper 
 devoted to the immortalising British Worthies of 
 various degrees of worthiness. 
 
 In tlie memoir annexed to the likeness of the 
 ci^'ilian in que"^tion it was stated, with perfect accu- 
 racy, that Mr. Arthur Lygon had entered the Plaudit 
 Office when young, had risen, by his own merits, to 
 a responsible and lucrative situation, was much liked 
 by his comrades, and much respected by his supe- 
 riors, and was in every respect a valuable public 
 servant. It was further stated, in classical language, 
 that he had given hostages to society, a process that 
 was explained to mean that he had married Laura, 
 third daughter of Archibald Vernon, of Lipthwaite, 
 in the county of Surrey, and had three children. 
 Society, therefore, had only to purchase the respect- 
 able journal containing the sketches of Our Civiliane, 
 in order to avoid betraying any ignorance upon so 
 important a matter as the social position of !Mr. 
 Arthur Lygon, of the Plaudit Office ; and if it were 
 in his destiny to distinguish himself in after-time, 
 
 B 2
 
 4' THE SILVER COED. 
 
 and to join the legislative assembly of his country, 
 here were materials ready at hand for the Parlia- 
 mentary Handbooks — one is glad to be able to 
 supply some vindication of the biographical zeal of 
 the present age. 
 
 Arthur Lygon, before leaving his room, tore away 
 from the Almanac the one-day face that stared in 
 his own, and he thus treated the day as at an end. 
 This operation left next day's date visible, and it was 
 Thursday, June 17, 185 — . 
 
 Of this date, however, there was no need to 
 remind him, as a neat square packet on his table 
 testified. The Thursday was the birthday of his 
 little girl, Clara, and the packet contained a hand- 
 some picture-book, which he had bought for her 
 some days back, and which had just come to him 
 with the small lady's name elegantly imprinted 
 thereon in golden letters. Lygon did not leave 
 even trifles to the last minute, and moreover did 
 not consider it a trifle to bring out an additional 
 sparkle in his child's eye, or a second scream of 
 pleasure from her merry rosy mouth. 
 
 He walked westward, and having nearly a couple 
 of hours between the time and his dinner hour, he 
 had ample leisure to make the walk to Brompton an 
 agreeable lounge. And the man who cannot lounge 
 in comfort and delectation along the Strand on a 
 fine day is simply a fool. If that eternal New Zea- 
 lander can spare time from his ridiculous eff'orts to 
 keep his own and his father's land from the land- 
 jobbers, and will come over here before the arch is
 
 THE SIL\'ER CORD. 5 
 
 ruined and ready for him, he may be really well 
 educated by a few walks up and down our great 
 thoroughfare. " To have loved her was a liberal 
 education," was exquisitely written of a lady of old. 
 If a tolerably practical curriculum, with a dash of 
 sentiment and poetry in it, were wanted, it might 
 be difficult to prescribe better than in the words 
 " Walk the Strand/' 
 
 Lygon, of ccnn-se, Malked it as an hahitue walks. 
 He noted some new machine, approved it as useful, 
 or smiled at it as a bit of quackery. He glanced 
 over the Parian sculptures and the painted plates, 
 and very properly remembered that he owed Laura 
 a present — which he would continue to owe her. 
 He stopped for a moment before the maps, and 
 refreshed his memory as to the distance from 
 Calcutta to Canton — there was talk about China, 
 just then, at the dinner-tables. He looked at the 
 jewellery, and wondered how such a number of jewel 
 shops could find customers enough, and also whether 
 there would ever be any new patterns worth stopping 
 to look at. He not only paused at the book-shops; 
 but, half-adhering to the old faith that you may 
 buy bargains there, and that the vendors do not 
 know the value of bdoks better than you do, he 
 examined a good many of the labels with the usual 
 result ; namely, confirmation of the new faith, that 
 if you want a good thing you must pay a good price 
 for it. He regarded the windows set out with 
 minerals, and felt half tempted to torment his 
 second boy, Frederick, with a toy that is warranted
 
 6 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 to teach geology in a week; but fatherly feeling 
 prevailed, and he passed on. He scarcely looked at 
 some huge play-bills, because they had not been 
 changed for two months, and Laura had seen and 
 duly shuddered at the Maelstrom, and the screams 
 as the ship went down, in that awful drama. He 
 noticed all the print-shops, and resisted all the 
 temptations that worn plates and cheap frames could 
 offer, as well as the less easily resisted temptation of 
 some German engravings of the higher class — for 
 the Strand baits for all fish. And except that he 
 bought a little gold pencil-case, to be given to Clara 
 by her mamma, on the morrow, and recollected 
 "Walter's request for a new knife, INIr. Lygon reached 
 Trafalgar Square without much detriment to his 
 worldly means. 
 
 " Only half-past five/' he said, as he reached his 
 OAvn pleasant house in Gurdon Terrace. 
 
 "Walter, a high-spirited, dark-eyed boy, of ten 
 years old, heard his father's latch-key, and was in a 
 moment tearing down the stairs with that cataract 
 rush peculiar to the species. 
 
 "Ah ! papa," he cried, throwing his arms round 
 Mr. Lygon's neck. " Got my knife ? " he added, 
 proceeding almost in the sanfe breath from affection 
 to business. 
 
 " Knife ? " repeated his father, pretending to be 
 unconscious of the boy's meaning. " Knife, my boy ? ''' 
 
 " Yes, knife, my boy," returned Walter, for when 
 Avas a child deceived by a loving voice ? " You've 
 got it, you know you have."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Well, whether I haA^e got it or not, you might 
 let me come iuto the room," said his father, entering 
 a little apartment on the left of the hall. The 
 room was conventionally described in the house 
 as "papa's," and as matter of course, therefore, 
 crowded with everybody else's litter, and where papa 
 could seldom find anything of his. 
 
 " I wish I might have one seat in my own room," 
 said Mr. Lygon, affecting to grumble, and sweeping 
 the pieces of a dissected puzzle of Joseph and his 
 Brethren from the chair that seemed least choked 
 up. " I told you. Master Walter, to see that the 
 puzzle was put ba'ck into the box when done with." 
 
 " Well, it's Fred's fault, papa,'^ replied Walter, of 
 course. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," said Mr. Lygon, seating himself. 
 
 He was going to make Walter pick up the pieces, 
 before entering into further discussion, but the boy's 
 eager look at the waistcoat-pocket in which he sup- 
 posed his new treasure to be, was almost affecting, 
 and his father could not be hard-hearted. 
 
 "Now, about tliis knife," he began gravely; but 
 the boy's arm was round Mr. Lygon's neck in a 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes, about the knife — out with it, papa.'' 
 
 " Just you please to stay a moment, Master 
 Walter. This makes the fifth knife since Christmas, 
 and that won't do." 
 
 " No, pa, only the fourth." 
 
 " Fifth, I tell you. There was the nice buckhorn 
 one that your uncle Charles gave you."
 
 8 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Nice one ! Pretty niceness ! Why, I broke it 
 the very same afternoon." 
 
 " And whose fault was that — your uncle's ? " 
 
 " Yes, it Avas. He ought to have given me a 
 stronger one. Why, didn't you tell me I ought to 
 make a boat, and didn't the blade fly away as I was 
 cutting one ? " 
 
 " I did not tell you to cut boats with a penknife. 
 But I remember I then bought you a beauty, white 
 handle and three blades, sir." 
 
 "Yes, that tvas a beauty. I hope you've bought 
 me another like it." 
 
 " Indeed, no. But where did that go to ? " 
 
 " Well, there was a hole in my pocket, and I sup- 
 pose it went through that." 
 
 " Your mamma gave you another." 
 
 " Oh, a girl's thing ! little bits of blades no bigger 
 than that," showing a thumb-nail that might have 
 been cleaner. " I gave it to Lizzie Park, the day 
 we went on the water, and she gave me a gimblet for 
 good luck." 
 
 "And Avhere did the young lady get a gimblet, 
 pray ? " 
 
 " Out of her papa's box of tools, I suppose. I've 
 got it in my pocket now." 
 
 " Then please to take it out of your pocket, and 
 put it in a proper place. Now, Master Walter, 
 about number four ? Did you not take my own 
 desk knife, from this very inkstand ? " 
 
 " Oh, ah ! " returned Walter, convicted but not 
 convinced. " I don't call that a knife."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. & 
 
 " What do you call it— a fork? " 
 
 "No/' said Walter, with one of those spirts of 
 laughter that reward you for saying something 
 utterly ridiculous to a child. " But you can't call 
 that a knife — it don't shut." 
 
 It was now his father's turn to laugh, and to hand 
 over the brown AVharncliffe he had brought down. 
 Walter was more than delighted — all the advantages 
 of the beautiful lost white knife, with the manly 
 character of the brown handle — perfect. He gave 
 liis father a violent hug, and a kiss which, hastily 
 directed anywhere, fell on the parent's ear, and then 
 the boy dashed off, proclaiming that he must show 
 his prize to mamma. 
 
 " Mamma is dressing for dinner,'^ his father cried 
 after him. " She don't want you." 
 
 " Oh, she always wants me," was the answering 
 shout, as Walter tore up the stairs three at a time. 
 
 Mr. Lygon looked into the dining-room. The 
 table was laid for three, as usual — for himself and 
 Mrs. Lygon, and for Miss Clara, who was permitted 
 to complete the party, though an early dinner with 
 her school-boy brothers, Walter and Fred, made her 
 attendance almost honorary. But papa liked to see 
 his little lady at the dinner-table, and Mrs. Lygon 
 had a curious and unfeminine habit of complying 
 Avith all his whims. 
 
 His wife's portrait, a rather large oil-painting, 
 hung over the mantelpiece, and his eye caught a 
 card put between the painting and the frame. 
 
 " I wonder who did that" said Mr. Lygon, dis-
 
 10 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 content. " I have said a dozen times that I will not 
 have things stuck there/' And he took out the 
 offensive card, and looked at it. 
 
 " * Mr. Ernest Adair/ " he read. " I don't know 
 the name, do I ? Ernest Adair — no — Pve heard of 
 E-obin, but Laura knows, I suppose." And as the 
 making even so slight an alteration as the removing 
 a card from a picture will often cause you to look 
 earnestly at the work itself, though it has hung 
 before you for years, Arthur Lygon paused for a 
 moment or two and gazed on the likeness of his 
 wife. 
 
 A beautiful face, with a mass of dark hair in 
 clustered curls, — a forehead lower than painters 
 care to draw, except those painters who comprehend 
 that the best type of womanhood is not found with 
 the traditional high brow, — an expression of still- 
 ness, perhaps verging on sternness, and something 
 that spoke of troubles confronted, perhaps of suffer- 
 ings endured. And yet the face was loveable, and 
 the violet eyes were tender. For the rest, a delicate 
 throat, a white full shoulder, and rounded and 
 graceful arms. The figure was seated, and in one of 
 the faultless hands — almost too small — was a rosary 
 of golden beads. 
 
 " She is handsomer now than she was then," said 
 the husband, with a determined expression, as if of 
 defiance to all who might doubt whether the mother 
 of three children could excel in beauty a lovely- 
 looking girl of nineteen. 
 
 " She is, though," he added, with an affirmation
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 11 
 
 wliich, as there was a happy smile on his lips, and 
 a world of affection in his heart, was not, let us 
 hope, laid to his charge. " In the first place, she is 
 happier, and — " 
 
 He left the room, and the next minute his little 
 Clara bounded into his arras, if not with as much 
 energy as her brothers, with quite as much delight, 
 and as her luxuriant hair, dark as her mother's, 
 shaded his face, she murmured her words of fondness. 
 
 " Dear, dear papa,^' she said, kissing him over and 
 over again. 
 
 And no sooner was she dismissed, than there was 
 another scene of love, on the next landing, where 
 Frederick was lying in wait for his father, and 
 pounced upon him with boisterous affection. It is a 
 monotonous story, but a happy one. 
 
 " Been to school in those splendid clothes, Fred?" 
 
 " Half-holiday, Wednesday, papa.'' 
 
 " Ah, so it is. And where have you been ? To 
 the Zoological Gardens?" 
 
 " No, we were going there with mamma, but a 
 gentleman came, and so mamma was obliged to send 
 us out for a walk by ourselves, me and Clara." 
 
 " Who was that, Fred ?" 
 
 " I don't know him. I saw him just for a minute. 
 He was an ugly-looking fellow." 
 
 " Hush, sir, you mustn't call names, and, above 
 all, never use them to people who come to see us, 
 because that is worse than rude, it's unkind. I 
 suppose you thought him ugly because he kept you 
 from going to the beasts ?"
 
 12 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Well, you take us on Sunday?'^ said Fred, 
 declining the discussion. 
 
 " We'll hear what mamma says," replied Mr. 
 Lygon, going to his dressing-room. 
 
 When he carae out again, he gave a rap at the 
 bed-room door as he passed, and crying, " Six, 
 mother," descended to the drawing-room, where he 
 found Walter, who was breathing on his new blades, 
 watching the breath-damp evaporate, and tenderly 
 wiping the steel with the corner of a table-cover. 
 He had conscience enough, however, to feel that this 
 last proceeding was exceptionable, and with one of 
 those irresistibly sly looks which disarm remon- 
 strance, he pocketed the knife, and began to hang 
 on to his father's well-knit arm, and raise himself 
 from the ground by his hands. 
 
 " There, my boy, a little of that will do on a 
 hot day," said Mr. Lygon, laughingly swinging him 
 aAvay. " What did mamma say to the present ?" 
 
 " She didn't call me to come in, so I couldn't 
 show it her." 
 
 " And how is Eutropius ?" 
 
 "Oh, he's very well, thank you," said Walter; 
 " and so 's Numa Pompilius who was very bilious, 
 and Ancus Martins who wore moustachios, and all 
 the rest of 'em. Shall I tell mamma to come 
 down?" he added, as if not particularly anxious to 
 undergo a classical examination. 
 
 " If you like." 
 
 In a quarter of a minute he was knocking very 
 loudly at the bed-room door. Apparently the sum-
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 13 
 
 mons was without effect, for it was repeated with 
 additional pertinacity. 
 
 " Mamma won't answer me," said Walter, coming 
 back to the room rather discomfited. 
 
 "Have you been doing anything rude, or wrong?" 
 said Mr. Lygon. 
 
 " No, indeed, papa," said Walter, whose face was 
 truthfulness itself. " We had quite a game, me and 
 ma, when I came in from school, i-acing round the 
 dining-room table, and kissing one another." 
 
 " Can she be unwell ? " said Mr. Lygon, running 
 up-stairs. 
 
 No answer was given to his knock, or voice, and 
 he tried the door. It was not fastened, and he partly 
 opened it and spoke again. No answer, and he 
 entered. No wife was there. 
 
 "Why, she must have gone down-stairs, Walter, 
 before I came from my room," said the father, 
 laughing at the boy, who had followed him up- 
 stairs. 
 
 Walter did not laugh in retm'n. He looked grave 
 for a moment, and then dashed down-stairs with 
 even greater celerity, if possible, than was his wont. 
 It did not take that earnest searcher many seconds 
 to fly into every room in the lower part of the house, 
 and he returned to his father, who was adjusting 
 some prints on the bed-room walls. 
 " jNIamma's not down-stairs." 
 Is there any sort of instinct which warns a loving 
 creature of a sorrow at luind — a sorrow in which the 
 dearly loved one is implicated ?
 
 14 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 *' Look up-stairs/' said his father promptly, and 
 noticing a sudden pallor on the child's face. 
 
 Walter sprang away on the instant ; but before he 
 was on the topmost stair his father held in his hand 
 the key of the mystery. Lygon's eye had fallen on 
 an ivory box on a small table. The box was open, 
 and a letter addressed to himself was placed upright 
 in it, placed as with intention that his notice should 
 be attracted by the paper. 
 
 His wife had written the direction, but the note 
 he took from the envelope was not in the graceful 
 though irregular hand he loved so well. It was a 
 man's writing. 
 
 But he opened the note calmly enough — why 
 should he not have done so ? — we do not live in a 
 world of melodrama, and a married lady living at 
 Brompton may be suddenly called away from her 
 home without any necessity for her husband^s being 
 alarmed. Her sister has been taken ill, and the 
 doctor has sent a hasty line of summons, or Mr. 
 Vernon — 
 
 But it is not her father's small writing — it is a 
 stranger's hand. 
 
 "Laura Vernon has no choice, and must obey the 
 call ivhich removes her. All pursuit or inquiry will be 
 in vain. But silence may be rewarded." 
 
 That was all. And the last five words were written 
 in a hurried hand, and as if unwillingly, and were 
 blotted, as if they had been added at the last 
 moment. 
 
 " Laura Vernon."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 15 
 
 Arthur Lygon's heart had long since ceased to 
 throb at the sight or sound of that name. From the 
 day when an agitated bride had exchanged it for 
 another, and he had clasped her to that heart in 
 the earnestness of as true a love as a woman may 
 desire, the girl-name's power of magic had been 
 surrendered to another word of charming. To read 
 the old word, and in a stranger's writing, and as 
 the opening of that strange message, was a thing 
 to do in the wild yet calm madness of a dream, 
 but there — there — in the bedroom of the house, with 
 all the common-place comfort of an orderly house- 
 hold around him, the very summons to dinner about 
 to be given, the children — 
 
 " She is not up-stairs, papa." 
 
 " Mamma has gone out," said Mr. Lygon, as 
 calmly as he had ever spoken. " Go down-stairs, 
 "Walter, and stay with Clara and Frederick until I 
 come down.'' 
 
 He closed and locked the door. 
 
 In life, it were base to take advantage of one who 
 is suddenly roused from sleep. Let the same gene- 
 rosity be observed in telling his story ; and while a 
 kind, good, happy man awakens fi'om his happiness, 
 it may be to remain neither good nor kind, let us 
 turn away, in decent humanity, and leave him, 
 unwatched, to shudder into comprehension of what 
 has come to him — come to him on the day which, 
 but three hours ago, he treated as ended. Let us 
 leave him to his waking.
 
 16 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 To the simple question, " How far is Lipthwaite 
 from the railway-station ?" the reply, "That depends 
 upon circumstances," would seem to savour of the 
 simplicity for which a less gentle name might be 
 found by practical or impatient inquirers. Con- 
 signing these to the mystifications of the respected 
 Quaker, whose monthly Quadrilateral is so efficient 
 a defence of our towns and cities against invasion 
 by the traveller, we will presently vindicate a reply 
 which appears to be no answer. 
 
 The people of Lipthwaite were always rather 
 proud of their clean, cheerful little town, but their 
 pride received an accession which became almost 
 dangerous, when their new and beautiful neighbour. 
 Lady Charrington, on her return from her wedding 
 tour in Scotland, declared to Sir Frederick, as he 
 was showing her about the little borough of which 
 she was to become the friend, patroness, and star, 
 that Lipthwaite remiuded her of Edinburgh. Sir 
 Frederick was still in that honeymoonlight which 
 silvers everything for a happy and admiring young 
 husband, yet his astonishment at this speech made 
 him pull the ponies in with such a jerk that they 
 nearly backed the basket-chair into the shop of the 
 chief bookseller, round which two or three gentle-
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 17 
 
 men were lounging — they lounged a good deal at 
 Lipthwaite. 
 
 One of the group, a tall, elderly, black-frock- 
 coated gentleman, with a shrewd but still a kindly 
 expression on his well-marked face, and with some 
 humour in his smile, stepped forward to offer assist- 
 ance, but the well-trained ponies were thoroughly in 
 hand, and stood almost motionless as Sir Frederick 
 greeted his friend. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Berry ?" he said. " Home 
 again, you see." 
 
 " We are all very glad to welcome you back. Sir 
 Frederick, after so long an absence." 
 
 " But here is my excuse for my absence," replied 
 the proud and happy husband. "Mr. Berry, Helen 
 — a very old friend." 
 
 Mr. Berry thought, as he looked at her sunshiny 
 face, that her husband had a right to be proud ; and 
 a few minutes afterwards, when her pleasant voice 
 had been heard, the elder gentleman made up his 
 mind that the younger was going to be happy. 
 There is an old proverb in those parts, advising a 
 man to choose a wife by the ear and not the eye. 
 Sir Frederick had done better, and chosen by both. 
 
 "I must tell Mr. Berry, my love," said Sir 
 Frederick, " how it was we nearly ran over him." 
 
 "Yes, and tell me, too," said the young wife, 
 laughing. "What in the world were you about ?" 
 
 " Lady Charrington has found out that our poor 
 little Lipthwaite is like Edinburgh. Ought we not 
 to be vain ? Do you know Edinburgh, Berry ? " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " YeSj tolerably well. It is the most picturesque 
 city in the world, and I have seen most of the fine 
 cities, I believe." 
 
 " I am to be taken to see them all/' said Lady 
 Charrington ; " that is an engagement. But in the 
 meantime I declare that my notion is not so ridicu- 
 lous as to make it right to pull off the poor ponies' 
 heads. Mr. Berry shall decide." 
 
 " Well, let him. Only as he was the Town Clerk 
 of Lipthwaite before he gave up law and settled in 
 the pretty place I'll show you presently, he will be 
 prejudiced in favour of his borough." 
 
 '' You see there is something in what I say," she 
 answered, merrily, " or you would not be begging 
 the judge to be impartial. But see. Here we are 
 in a handsome street of new houses, and nice shops, 
 and over there, running parallel with this, is that 
 dear, queer, quaint, dirty old street — what did you 
 call it, Fred?" 
 
 "Moggrums." 
 
 " It is a hideous name," Mr. Berry said, " and we 
 have been half-a-dozen times going to change it for 
 something more euphonious — only it has been found 
 difficult to agree upon the new title. So we comfort 
 ourselves by explaining to strangers that jMoggrums 
 is a corruption from the Latin, and that the Romans, 
 when they settled here, called the place Morogesium 
 — I do not believe that there ever was such a name, 
 or that the Romans were here at all, and Lady 
 Charrington must help us to a new name which we 
 shall all like, and we will get rid of the fable."
 
 THE SILVER COBD. 19 
 
 "No, no," said Lady Charrington, ''keep every- 
 thing old. I love everything that is old. And now 
 please to look again. That beautiful hill, with the 
 dear heather on it — it is not very high, after what 
 we have been seeing, but it stands on the left, in 
 just the situation as regards the town as Arthur's 
 Seat does to Edinburgh, and then on the other hill 
 on our right are those ruins — they may stand for 
 the Castle." 
 
 " They are the ruins of a castle, Lady Charrington, 
 and there is a perfectly untrustworthy stoiy of King 
 John's having held a court there, and I am sorry 
 to say that an irreverent inhabitant of Lipthwaite 
 deposited in our museum some teeth found on the 
 hill, with a label suggesting that they were some of 
 the Jews' teeth which that Sovereign, you know, 
 used to draw when he wanted money." 
 
 " And you have a museum, too ? I must come 
 and see it." 
 
 " And there's a museum in Edinburgh," laughed 
 Sir Frederick, " so there's another likeness for you. 
 Well, we'll get on home. Mr. Berry, I need not 
 tell you how glad we shall be to see you at the 
 Abbey — I don't mean morning calls, and all that, 
 but come whenever you feel inclined. The pictures 
 are there, the books are there, the coins are there, 
 and we are there ; and I don't think my father's 
 dear old friend and mine wants more said to 
 liim." 
 
 " A great deal more," said Lady Charrington, 
 instantly speaking kindly on seeing that her husband 
 
 2
 
 '20 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 felt kindly, " and he must come to the Abbey for me 
 to say it to him." 
 
 And so they parted ; but the Edinburgh notion, 
 which of course Mr. Berry mentioned to his friends, 
 was stereotyped in the Lipthwaite mind from that 
 hour, and was duly set forth to all visitors — except 
 Scottish ones. If it help the reader to comprehend 
 somewhat of the features of our borough, the happy- 
 hearted bride did not speak in vain. But we will 
 fill up the outline a little. 
 
 Lipthwaite is in the leafy county of Surrey, and 
 among all the pleasant little towns in pleasant 
 England there is probably not one whose founders 
 chose a better site. It stands in a valley bounded 
 on the eastern side by a high ridge of well-defined 
 hills of considerable height. Portions and strips of 
 these are cultivated, and other sections of the hill- 
 sides wear a close clothing of firs, which crown the 
 very top, while the larger parts, and especially the 
 bolder and the terminating heights, are wild common, 
 studded with green knolls, and garnished with the 
 purple heather. To penetrate from the open breezy 
 hill-top into the winding glades of the little forests, 
 and to refresh the eyes in the quiet shade, and to 
 listen to the sheep-bell and the mill-splash, and then 
 to emerge into the full light, and look out upon the 
 broad prospect of a highly-cultured country, spotted 
 here and there with villages, to which the eye is 
 guided by the little spire or tower, is no great 
 achievement in the way of sight-seeing; but that 
 unheroic ramble, if undertaken in the heroic spirit
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 21 
 
 of patience and thankfulness, will not be un- 
 rewarded. 
 
 To return into Lipthwaite, in which it is desirable 
 that a reader should feel himself at home, be it 
 added that, although it possesses, as Lady Charrin^- 
 ton has said, but two principal streets, lying nearly 
 parallel, the one, old and irregular, and inhabited 
 chiefly by the humbler class of our population (we 
 were 4871 at the census of 1851), and the other 
 built in more modern fashion, and containing some 
 good shops, and many well-looking private houses, 
 including our best and dearest hotel, the Barbel, 
 those streets are connected, chiefly towards the two 
 extremities, by several small and tortuous lanes, and 
 these straggle out to various lengths from the town, 
 some of them extending their broken lines of squalid 
 white cottages nearly half a mile into the green 
 fields, while others are brought up short, either by a 
 stern red-brick house, which establishes itself as a 
 sort of sentinel to prohibit further advance, or, more 
 ignobly, by the darkening carcases of unfinished 
 buildings, whose originators have had to be reminded 
 by certain commissioners of a text about building 
 without counting the cost. The outskirts of Lip- 
 thwaite, indeed, on the castle end, are not the por- 
 tion of the town on which our pride, before men- 
 tioned, chiefly perches itself. What we do pique 
 ourselves upon is, first, our noble old church, to 
 which the Reformers did very little harm, and the 
 churchwardens have done very little more, and where 
 there is a wooden font of unequalled ugliness, whicli
 
 22 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 we would not change for alabaster sculptured by 
 Baron Marochetti. Secondly, we are proud of our 
 Town Hall, which is hideous in point of architecture, 
 and odious in point of accommodation, but in which 
 King Charles II. was entertained to dinner, and 
 made a joke which we loyally suppose that the 
 mayor of the day was too frightened to recollect 
 accurately, as it is so exceedingly stupid that we do 
 not much care to repeat it. Thirdly, we are proud 
 of a statue of Queen Anne, in white marble, to which 
 some Hindoos, who were in the town in lcS21, actu- 
 ally prostrated themselves, being suddenly struck by 
 the extraordinary likeness of the work to one of 
 their own frightful idols. And, lastly, we are proud 
 of our prosperous literary institute, our very solvent 
 gas works, our handsome workhouse, our increasing 
 museum (to which a nobleman who cares nothing 
 for zoology has generously given all his late father's 
 collection of stuffed animals), our respectable Inde- 
 pendent, Methodist, Baptist, and Unitarian chapels, 
 and of our latest improvement of all, a drinking 
 fountain, erected by our neighbour, INIr. Andover, 
 who has done so many kind things for Lipthwaite 
 (where there are a good many electors) that we form 
 our o'nn notions of his views for his eldest son, said 
 to be a good speaker at the Union. 
 
 Now, to justify the answer about the distance 
 from the railway-station, and at the same time to 
 let the reader see a little into the character of the 
 excellent Mr. Berry (of whom more will be heard 
 in the course of the story), suppose Ave let him
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 38 
 
 state the case in a way to which he was rather 
 partial. 
 
 " When my nephew, Horace Armstrong who is in 
 the War Office, was visiting me here, two years ago," 
 said the old gentleman, " I introduced him to most 
 of my friends, and as he was a handsome, talkative, 
 good-natured young fellow, who dressed very well, 
 and made himself acceptable to the ladies, he enjoyed 
 himself much, and left me alone a great deal, for 
 which I was obliged to him. There were two families, 
 in particular, by whom Mr. Horace was very much 
 welcomed. These were next-door neighbours. Mr. 
 Oliphant, who succeeded to my business, has a series 
 of daughters, all more or less pretty, and willing to 
 be appreciated by a young gentleman; and Mrs. 
 Pensou, widow of the East India captain, has another 
 series with the same qualifications. These girls are 
 all fast friends till further notice, and Horace Arm- 
 strong, introduced among them, became an extra- 
 ordinary favourite. In fact the silly things made a 
 perfect pet and idol of him, and as he had not the 
 least objection to be so treated by a cluster of pretty 
 merry girls, his time passed very happily. He got 
 his holiday extended, and when his country could do 
 without him no longer, he contrived to persuade me 
 to buy him a month's railway-ticket, and let him 
 stay at Lipthwaite, and run up to town every morn- 
 ing. It was the summer, to be sure, and it is a good 
 thing for girls to get up early and take walks, and 
 they have a right to walk which way they like. So 
 there could be no objection to the Misses Oliphant
 
 24 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 and the Misses Penson discovering that their plea- 
 santest walk was one which always took my elegant 
 nephew to an 8*4;5 train. They used to walk him 
 round Spence's Gardens, down Love Lane into the 
 fields, across the mill-stream, and under the hill, 
 and so through the Ghost Copse to the road that 
 leads to the station. At that time he always as- 
 sured me that the walk was nothing, that it could 
 be done in a quarter of an hour, and easily in 
 twenty minutes. Now I know every stone on the 
 road, and the walk is one of two miles and a 
 quarter. 
 
 "Well, sir, one year ago, my beloved nephew, 
 Horace, came down again. The pretty Qliphants and 
 the pretty Penson s were just as ready^to begin to 
 pet him as ever; but the pet himself was in no mood 
 for such attentions. He scarcely went near them, 
 and when he had to go to London, he took the 
 shortest cut that I could show him. Even this walk, 
 which I can do in five-and-twenty minutes, he used 
 to declare to be most weary and tedious ; and he 
 used to abuse the turns in the road for being so far 
 off, and curse the poor monotonous palings, for being 
 so many — a fellow never seemed to have got past them 
 — and vent the other wise and manly sentiments 
 which a discontented young fellow lavishes upon 
 inanimate objects when he is out of humour. The 
 fact was, that he had become desperately smitten 
 with the sister of a fellow War-Office-man, and being 
 moreover in debt, he suddenly found his debts intole- 
 rable, as preventing his settlement in life. You may
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 25 
 
 easily guess "what he ^vanted out of uncle, but uncle 
 means to make Mr. Horace wait a bit. Meantime, 
 he used to declare that the walk to the station was 
 one of an hour and three-quarters, and the ugliest 
 walk iu all England. Now that is quite untrue, as 
 you can see Hadbury Hill all the way ; and for the 
 winter, you are under the interlacing trees, to say 
 nothing of our river, the Burde, which when at all 
 swollen by rains is a handsome stream, over which 
 you cross in your way to the rail." 
 
 With some of these localities you will become well 
 acquainted before we conclude our narrative, and 
 there is one other place in Lipthwaite to which it 
 may be well to conduct you, that you may know it 
 again when the time to revisit it arrives. This is 
 the house of !Mr. Berry himself. It stands upon 
 some land once belonging to a client of his (such 
 foundations to lawyers' houses are not infrequent), 
 land which lies on a gentle slope a little way out of 
 Lipthwaite, at the hill end of the town. From the 
 lawn in front of the house we look upon Hadbury 
 Hill, and see all the fine effects which the sun, either 
 by his presence or his absenc^ loves to call up on 
 mountain scenery, and even on such modest likeness 
 to mountain scenery as our bold hills present. The 
 town is entirely shut out from our view by a belt of 
 trees on the right, and they form part of a semi- 
 circle which protects the side and rear of the house, 
 and extends downwards until stopped, somewhat 
 abruptly, by a little clear quick stream of water (Mr. 
 Berry's boundary), which ultimately finds its way
 
 26 THE SILVER CORD. • 
 
 into the Burde. To the left the view is open, the 
 most prominent object being the dark thick -woods 
 by which the Abbey, Sir Frederick Charrington's 
 seat, is surrounded, and on the horizon are the 
 Alster Hills, between which, in clear weather, the 
 host can make out the sea, and his visitors say they 
 can. The house itself, which is called Cromwell 
 Lodge (in memory of a relative whose legacy enabled 
 the owner to build it), is what the old gentleman 
 himself describes as a "mild^^ specimen of modern 
 Gothic. 
 
 " Fools," says Mr. Berry, " according to the pro- 
 verb, build houses, and wise men live in them; but 
 perhaps it means that a man grows wise after he has 
 had to live for any time in a house he has been fool 
 enough to build. If he does not — with the aid of 
 his architect, of his servants, and his wife — he is 
 unteachable indeed. I shall not say what this little 
 place cost me, or anything about the trouble I had 
 in persuading my friend, Mr. Gurgoyle, that I had 
 better not add a new wing, and throw out a music- 
 room, or anything about the servaats I have dis- 
 charged for wrenchitig my registers, burning my 
 bath-pipe, and nailing up my ventilators. Nor will 
 I say anything about the meek but persevering 
 murmurs of Mrs. Berry, who has never been so 
 happy in her neat, new rooms, with their gilding 
 and all the rest of it, as she was in the old house in 
 Lipthwaite, where she had a deep dark cupboard at 
 every turn, and — nay, let me do her woman's heart 
 better justice — where those whom it did not please
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 27 
 
 God to spare us, used to race and riot till the fatal 
 month — the cholera month — which opened upon us 
 as the parents of three loving children, and went out 
 with the day on which we laid the last baby in Lip- 
 thwaite churchyard. I have never complained to 
 poor Marion that she is not happy in the pleasant 
 home I have given her. 
 
 "My friend Gurgoyle," resumed the old gentle- 
 man, after a pause, "was not profound in his art, 
 but then I did not know enough of architecture to 
 warrant my interference, and I did know enough of 
 the world to be sure that if I interfered I should 
 make matters worse, especially as regarded the ex- 
 penditure. So he had his own way, and though the 
 windows are not exactly the right thing, I can see 
 out of them capitally ; and though the porch is said 
 to be very objectionable, I can sit there with much 
 comfort in the evening ; and as for the chimneys, if 
 they had been more like what Mr. Pugin, or Mr. 
 Slater would have approved, I dare say they would 
 have smoked just as badly as they did until we made 
 their ugliness uglier by our tin tubes and cowls. 
 The house is well enough, and nobody finds fault 
 with my comfortable dining-room on the left, or I 
 may say, with anything that is set upon my bright 
 old tabic, which I bought when I married. Nor 
 does anybody, except poor Mrs. Berry, dislike my 
 pretty drawing-room on the right, with its view of 
 the Hill. There is my library beyond the dining- 
 room, and I have some good books there, and a few 
 rare ones — also, some coins, especially the Caesars in
 
 28 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 gold, and a fair English series — but nothing very 
 remarkable. There is a fine collection at the Abbey, 
 but Sir Frederick knows only that it is fine — his 
 father and I used to wrangle about a coin as stub- 
 bornly as the deceased heathens for whom it was 
 struck could have done, when making some of their 
 Pagan bargains. Sir Charles Charrington was a 
 singular old man, and very clever, though he did not 
 know so much of coins as he imagined.^^ 
 
 And thus much for our pleasant town of Lip- 
 thwaite.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 29 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When a Frenchman's wife disappears (if the fact 
 is likely to be known among his friends) he selects 
 his seconds, and practises his thrust in tierce. 
 When the same misfortune happens to an American, 
 he fills his pocket with revolvers, and bides his 
 time. When an Englishman is so unhappy as to 
 find his castle left unto him desolate, he consults 
 his solicitor. 
 
 Let it be distinctly understood at the outset of 
 our narrative, that Arthur Lygon, shocked, stagger- 
 ing, bewildered, was loyal and true to the woman 
 whom he loved. For not one moment did the hus- 
 band of Laura admit to his heart a single thought 
 that accused her honour and his own. The first 
 idea that would occur to most men, sun'ounded by 
 such circumstances as those described in our opening 
 chapter, would be, not unnaturally, that conjugal 
 relations between the wife and the husband were 
 over for ever and ever. That first idea would have 
 been the very last for Arthur Lygon, or, rather, it 
 never arose to him at all. After a long and weary- 
 ing night, during which every possibility that his 
 brain could suggest as the cause of the sorrow that 
 had come upon him presented itself with sickening 
 iteration, until the gradually deadening faculty
 
 30 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 refused to be driven along the dreary paths of con- 
 jecture, and the bright dawn found him pale, 
 nervous, and agitated, Lygon^s true heart was still 
 brave and firm enough to resist, unconsciously, the 
 entrance of any base thought. His wife had en- 
 countered some fearful misfortune, and to rescue 
 her, and restore her to the home whence she had 
 been lured, or forced, or driven by some agency 
 which it was his to trace and punish — that was 
 Arthur Lygon^s business. And when, after that 
 terrible night-watch, he stood at his opened Avindow, 
 and cooled his forehead in the soft air of the summer 
 morning, he had no angry words to utter, no sighs 
 for his own tribulation, no reproaches against an 
 undeserved destiny to pour out, after the fashion of 
 heroes who are suddenly grieved or wronged. His 
 one thought was for the delivery of Laura from the 
 unknown enemy. A most unpicturesque, ineffective 
 Tiero, indeed, and one upon whom such a chance of 
 melting pathos and of fiery declamation was wan- 
 tonly wasted, but you must take him as he is. The 
 loss is mine. I mourn for the eloquence that he 
 might have launched into the night, the vows which 
 he might have called on the rising sun to attest and 
 register. In lieu of such a record, I have to do 
 the humblest duty, that of telling the exact truth. 
 Miserable and disturbed, he waited for the day, and 
 when the morning was somewhat advanced, he bathed, 
 dressed, and left his room as calmly, to outward 
 appearances, as he had done on the preceding day. 
 With prompt resolve that there should be no
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 31 
 
 '*■■ 
 
 shadow of suspicion in his household, Mr. Lygon 
 had, within an hour from receiving the mysterious 
 message, gone down-stairs, and in the presence of the 
 children, but not addressing the falsehood to them — 
 we are strange creatures — had informed a servant 
 that a very dear friend of himself and of Mrs. Lygon 
 lay at the point of death in Herefordshire, and that 
 she had most properly hui'ried off in hope to be in 
 time to see the departing lady. He managed, as if 
 accidentally, to drop into the explanation a word or 
 two implying that the dying friend was rich, thus cer- 
 tain to convey an impression which Avould be at once 
 acceptable to domestics, for whom the information 
 was intended. He trusted that in five minutes they 
 would be cunningly nodding their heads in approval 
 of their mistress's cleverness in looking after the 
 interests of her family ; and he was not deceived. 
 He even went through the ceremony of the dinner, 
 and his silence and thoughtfulness were easily 
 accounted for by his servants. It had been cruel 
 work, however, to contend against the chatter of the 
 children. 
 
 " Has the lady ever been here, papa ? '' demanded 
 Frederick. " Do we know her ? " 
 
 " No, no, dear." 
 
 " Have / seen her ? " asked Walter, who, as the 
 eldest, deemed that his prolonged experience had 
 probably embraced the acquaintance in question. 
 
 "No, Walter. But we'll not talk about it any 
 more, dears. The loss of one whom we love is a 
 very sad thing, and at present we do not know
 
 •32 ^ THE SILVER COED. 
 
 what it may please God should happen. So we will 
 not speak any more about it until we hear from 
 mamma." 
 
 And, as may easily be supposed, the few hours 
 during which it was necessary to support appear- 
 ances seemed anything but few or brief to Arthur 
 Lygon ; but they passed. His children's last kisses 
 were warm upon his cheek when he once more 
 locked himself into the room in which a happy 
 father had, on three anxious, happy days, presented 
 a newly-born child for the kiss of a pale but 
 smiling mother — of her who had left him and all 
 of them. 
 
 When Mr. Lygon, accompanied by little Clara, 
 proud of being her father's companion, and almost 
 prouder of being placed in charge of carpet-bag and 
 cloaks, reached Lipthwaite, he drove straight to the 
 house of Mr. Berry, but found that the latter had 
 taken his pony and ridden across to the Abbey. 
 Mrs. Berry had gone into the town, but the servant, 
 who knew Mr. Lygon well, and was rapturous at the 
 sight of the little girl of whom much had been heard, 
 but who had never visited the place where her beau- 
 tiful mother had been married, was as ready with the 
 hospitality of Cromwell Lodge as the owners could 
 have been. Lunch was to be ready in ten minutes, 
 and an early dinner should be got for Miss Clara, 
 and, in the meantime, would she have some straw- 
 berries and cream after the journey ? 
 
 "Thanks, Hester, thanks. But, no, v/e will not 
 have anything at present. AYe'll leave our things.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 33 
 
 and take a walk. I want to show my little girl the 
 Hill and the view, and when we come back, I dare 
 say that your master or mistress will have returned/^ 
 
 Hester made another struggle to administer 
 refreshment of some kind. 
 
 " Indeed she does not want anything," said Mr. 
 Lygon. " It is but two hours since we breakfasted. 
 Look here, Hester, I see the great telescope is still 
 sticking- out at the library window." 
 
 " Master is never tired of looking through that, 
 sir, and finding out all that goes on up on the 
 Hill." 
 
 " Well, if he comes in before we return, tell him 
 to look there for us. Now, Clara, darling." 
 
 " But let me just cut a paper of sandwiches for 
 Miss Clara," pleaded Hester. "The air up there 
 gives people such an appetite, if we might guess, 
 master says, by the awful great baskets they take 
 up with 'em." 
 
 "We shall be all the readier for lunch, Hester, 
 thank you," said Mr. Lygon, leading Clara away 
 with him. 
 
 The child was delighted with the walk, with the 
 little tree-bridge over the clear water, in which she 
 actually saw a fish, and with the ascent of the 
 height, and her merry chatter rattled out unceas- 
 ingly. She was never much at a loss for talk, but 
 the best orators are aided by accidents, and Avhen 
 Miss Clara's discourse was helped by such sparkling 
 incidents as the scramble of a real squirrel up a tree 
 close to her, by the vision of a little snake writhing 
 
 TOL. I. I>
 
 34 THE SILA-ER COED. 
 
 across the path, and the meeting a boy with a hedge- 
 hog, which he presented to her in the kindest and 
 uncouthest manner, and which she carried a good 
 way, to the extreme detriment of her prettily-fitting 
 little green gloves (when releasing it being utterly 
 out of the question with her, her father transferred 
 it to his pocket), it may easily be imagined that lier 
 voice was very busy with the echoes of our hill. 
 
 "^ Oh ! if mamma could only see this lovely place," 
 she exclaimed, as they turned out of some shade, 
 stood on the rocky edge, and saw the rich country 
 below flooded with the sunshine of a summer noon. 
 
 " My child, she knows every bit of this hill, and 
 all round it, as well as I do, and better." 
 
 And indeed it was true, for it was around, and 
 about, and over the hill that Laura Vernon had 
 guided Arthur Lygon in the happy days when he 
 was persuading her to let him be her guide over the 
 Hill of Difficulty called Life. 
 
 " Oh ! 1 wish she was here." 
 
 " So do I, love," said Mr. Lygon, in a voice which 
 he endeavoured, not very successfully, to make a 
 cheerful one. 
 
 They followed to its end a path Avhich was about 
 two-thirds up the hill, and which, Avinding through a 
 thick shade, terminated on an open, on which the 
 bright white light shone in all its power. Here 
 Lygon stopped, pointed out to Clara a few of the 
 points in the landscape, and then told her to wander 
 about, if she liked, as he would lie down, and look at 
 something he had to read.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 35 
 
 " Don't go too far from me, and keep out of the 
 sun, darling. Call out to me, if you miss your 
 way." 
 
 " But you Avill take care of the poor little hedge- 
 hog, papa V 
 
 " All care, dear.'' 
 
 And the happy child departed on her exploration, 
 singing gaily, and vrith her head full of hedgehogs, 
 squirrels, snakes, caves, and all the wonders of the 
 new world into which she had been brought. 
 
 " Papa ! papa ! " 
 
 It was, however, only a cry of delight and excite- 
 ment that roused him from his own thoughts. A 
 few steps brought him where he could see her, above 
 him. 
 
 And a prettier little fairy of the forest had not 
 been seen on the old hill. In a setting of green 
 leaves, her light dress stood out like some strange 
 new flower, and as her dark hair fell over her 
 shoulders — the hat on the ground was much too full 
 of wild-flowers, coloured stones, and other treasures, 
 to be at all available for its ordinary purpose — and 
 stirred in the slight breezes, her bright face, flushed 
 with heat and delight, quite glowed while she stood 
 intently watching some object below. Even her 
 father's troubled eye could not fail to note her rare 
 beauty. 
 
 " I see the house, I see the telescope ! " she cried, 
 " and a gentleman at the door is waving a handker^ 
 
 chief at me." 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 And she waved her own in return, with infinite 
 energy, and her eyes sparkled as she perceived that 
 her faiiy signal was recognised. 
 
 They returned to the lodge, and found not only 
 Mr. Berry but his wife, and were heartily welcomed 
 by the former, and were received vrith all proper and 
 decorous attention by the latter. 
 
 ''But how shabby to come without Laura,^' said 
 Mr. Berry. " Clara, how could you let papa leave 
 mamma behind ? " 
 
 " But mamma has gone into the country herself, 
 so we couldn't bring her," explained Clara. 
 
 Foreseeing the question, Mr. Lygon had prepared 
 himself with the reply. Mr. and Mrs. Berry had 
 known his wife from girlhood, and the half explana- 
 tion which Lygon had made at home would, he felt, 
 be hardly sufficient for the Berrys, who were toler- 
 ably well acquainted Avith the names, at least, of all 
 her intimate friends. He had come down to give 
 his full confidence to Mr. Berry, but had not the 
 slightest intention of entrusting it to the solicitor's 
 wife, whom indeed he loved not. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Lygon, promptly — perhaps a 
 little more promptly than would have been quite 
 natural had there been no secret to keep. " Poor 
 Mrs. Cateatou — did you not meet her at our house, 
 Mrs. Berry, when you came to town the yeai* before 
 last—" 
 
 " i do not seem to remember the name," said 
 Mrs. Berry, looking him very straight in the face 
 with her cold, light, but not very clear eyes.
 
 TUE SILVER CORD. 37 
 
 Mrs. Berry Avas some ten or twelve years younger 
 than her husband. In earlier life she had seemed 
 passably pretty, when seen in a group of young 
 girls, a sort of partnership which, to a careless eye, 
 invests all the members of the firm with shares 
 in the personal advantages of each. But when an' 
 observer, drawing back from the party, calmly and 
 silently limited the partnership, and assigned to 
 each young lady her own portion of the united 
 assets, he did not make much of tlie contril)utions 
 of Marion Wagstaffe. Against a pleasant though 
 cold smile, a clear blonde complexion, rather a good 
 figure, white, but not small hands, a readiness of 
 speech, some neatness in language, and perfect self- 
 composure, which one might transfer to the wrong 
 side of the account by calling it self-complacency, 
 the accountant had to set the light eyes that have 
 been mentioned, and to add that they were objec- 
 tionably watchful, and never in repose. He had also 
 to note that the voice which proceeded from those 
 unsympathetic-looking lips was, though clear, liable 
 to become too high for a sensitive ear, and though 
 this would have been of no consequence, had the 
 habitual utterauces been kindh', he would have 
 remarked that Miss Wagstaffe''s forte was in retort, 
 and that even in the lightest conversation her share 
 was usually the detection of a friend's ignorance, or 
 the correction of a friend's English. jNlarion was 
 tall, and height is a merit in its way ; but not 
 especially so when one avails oneself of it as a tower 
 of espial, and rejoices in the ability to look down
 
 38 THE SU.VER COED. 
 
 with undue ease upon the misdoings of a shorter 
 world; — and so did Marion WagstafFe use those 
 extra inches. Certainly she was not an amiable 
 girl, but, dressing well, smiling readily, and keeping 
 her light braided hair very neat, she somehow took 
 her place among amiable girls, and used to be 
 invited a good deal by people who would scarcely 
 have cared to say that they liked her. She could 
 not sing, but had grappled determinately with the 
 key-board, and what mechanical labov^r can attain 
 there, Marion had seized, and marked the time with 
 commendable precision when she played quadrilles 
 — everybody has some virtue. 
 
 This was the account as it would have been made 
 up, errors excepted, when she was two-and-twenty. 
 In completing it, to be rendered at the date of our 
 story, the age had to be doubled, and important 
 additions had to be made. Among them was her 
 having become possessed of about four hundred a 
 year in her own right (by the bequest of a distant 
 relative, who was most anxious to leave her property 
 not only away from her near relations, but in a 
 quarter Avhence it was morally certain that no 
 weakness would send back a shilling to the baffled 
 expectants), and her having secured the hand 
 of the prosperous solicitor of Lipthwaite. How 
 Edward Allingliam Berry was induced to marry a 
 woman who was certainly about as unlike himself 
 in character as possible, it is not for me to try to 
 explain. He was rich, and therefore the addition 
 of riches might have been an aid in bringing about
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 39 
 
 the union. But he was a thoughtful man, and 
 could scarcely have admired her shallow smartness ; 
 a kindly man, and could not but dislike her 
 incessant antagonism; a sincere man (attorneyism 
 deducted), and must have been annoyed b}^ her 
 mysteries and reticences. However, they married, 
 and it is just to say that the uuamiable woman 
 became a most foolishly indulgent and devoted 
 mother, and that the blow which took her chiklren 
 from her was more terribly felt than the world 
 believed that Marion Berry could feel. Neverthe- 
 less, it did not soften her, though it Avent well nigh 
 to crush her. The cold smile was almost as ready 
 on the thin lips as of old. Such was the person . 
 who was looking at ]\Ir. Lygon, and waiting further 
 explanation of INIrs. Lygon's absence from London. 
 
 " Why, papa," broke in Clara, " you told Walter 
 that the lady had never been at our house." 
 
 " No, no, dear," said Mr. Lygon, calmly. " I 
 told him that he did not know her. But I thought, 
 Mrs. Berry, that you had met ^Irs. Cateaton. What 
 put that into my head I However, she is exceedingly 
 — dangerously — ill, and she telegraphed for Laura to 
 go down and see her." 
 
 " What part of the country ? " 
 
 " Herefordshire." 
 
 " My aunt Empsou comes from Herefordshire. 
 She will be here in the course of the afternoon, and 
 perhaps knows the lady. What — " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Lygon, quickly, for he Avanted, of 
 course, to ask a question just here instead of answer-
 
 40 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 ing one. " What part of the country does your 
 aunt come from ? " 
 
 Did he expect to win the trick ? Mrs. Berry 
 suspected nothing, but habit induced her always to 
 take every conversational advantage. 
 
 "Why/^ she said, " — urn — dear me — tst — tst — 
 I hope that I am not losing my memory as well as 
 my eyesight — what is the place called ? I shall be 
 able to tell you in a minute. What is the name of 
 Mrs. Cateaton^s place — that may bring it to me ? " 
 
 " Long Edgecombe/' said Mr. Lygon, who thought 
 an invented name was safer than a real one. 
 
 " I don't remember that name ; but we'll look at 
 the map presently, and that Avill remind me of aunt's 
 place.'' 
 
 " Meantime we'll have some lunch/' said Mr. 
 Berry. " You can't think how glad I am to see you, 
 Arthur. And one word's as good as a hundred — 
 we're not going to have a fly-away visit from you 
 this time, especially as you have brought Miss to see 
 her mama's country. To-day we'll have a chat and 
 a ramble, but to-morrow we'll give her a long drive, 
 perhaps to Bingley, and Saturday we'll talk about 
 by and by. Lord Annonbury's grounds are open ou 
 Saturdays, but I'm afraid not the house, and that's 
 the best part of the sight — but I'll ascertain." 
 
 And over these and other of the kindly schemings 
 of a host who is delighted to see his guests, Mr. 
 Berry talked during the lunch. 
 
 " Do you like leaving your house to the care of 
 servants only ? " said Mrs. Berry. She did not mean
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 41 
 
 to be inhospitable, but it was in her nature to take 
 the least pleasant view of everything. 
 
 " One would rather not, of course," replied Mr. 
 Lygon. "But Price is quite a person to trust at 
 need." 
 
 " But there was no need for you to leave until 
 Mrs. Lygon came back." 
 
 " Civil speech, my dear,'" said Mr. Beny, " consi 
 dering that Arthur left town to come to us." 
 
 "I don't imagine that Mr. Lygon suspects me of 
 intending to be uncivil, Edward," said Mrs. Berry, 
 putting on the grievance-look which some women 
 assume with such promptness. " I suppose that 
 he would have too much self-respect to visit where 
 the lady of the house was capable of anything of 
 the kind." 
 
 " "Well, take some wine with him then," said Mr. 
 Berry, laugliing, " and show him that you arc very 
 glad to see liim." 
 
 " I am taking bitter ale, as you know I always do 
 in the morning, Mr. Berry, but Mr. Lygon wants no 
 assurance that he is welcome." 
 
 " Then he shall take wine with me," said Mr. 
 Berry. " Your health, Arthur, and the missus's, and 
 yours. Miss Clara, and may you make as pretty and 
 good a woman as mamma." 
 
 "As good and as pretty, / should have said," 
 observed Mrs. Berry, " if it had been necessary to 
 say anything about prettiness at all. May you be a 
 good girl, Clara, as far as any of us can be said to 
 be good, and never mind about the looks."
 
 42 THE SILVER COKD. 
 
 And Mrs. Berry sipped at her bitter mixture. 
 'Those may call it ale who have no national feelings, 
 no love of national traditions, and no sense of the 
 responsibilities of language, but there is one pen 
 that shall never so disgrace its Mother Goose. 
 
 " Never mind about the looks ! " repeated Mr. 
 Berry, cheerily. " But I do mind about the looks, 
 and I mind about them a great deal. I hate ugly 
 ' people, and I always used to like them to be on the 
 other side of a case in which T was engaged. One 
 made out one's costs with such gusto when one 
 thought what a hideous face the enemy would twist 
 over a good bouncing item." 
 
 "Mr. Lygon knows best," said Mrs. Berry; 
 "but if I had a child of that age in the room I 
 should desire her to go and walk in the garden 
 rather than hear such teaching." 
 
 Clara's eyes turned to her father''s, and they 
 exchanged that look of love and confidence, that all 
 but suppressed smile, which mean perfect mutual 
 understanding, and leave little need for words. 
 
 " Not a bad notion, though," said Mr. Berry, " as 
 -we seem to have done lunch. Let us all go and 
 look at the garden. Take another glass of the 
 Madeira first, Arthur. You may trust it." 
 
 It might not appear to an ordinary observer to be 
 of much consequence whether Mrs. Berry became 
 freckled or not; but as that person herself enter- 
 tained a different opinion, and saw fit to go away 
 and provide herself with a brown hat aud a blue 
 sun-shade, she afforded Arthur Lygon an opportu-
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 43 
 
 nity of saying n, word or two, in an undertone, to 
 Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Of course," replied his friend. 
 
 " It is very rude to whisper in eompany, papa," 
 said Clara, laughing saucily. 
 
 " So it is," said Mrs. Berry, re-entering, duly 
 protected against the sun. "I am glad the little 
 girls are taught good manners in these days." 
 
 They went out into the garden, and Mr. Berry, in 
 directing Clara to the path that led to the straw- 
 berry-beds, performed a clever manoeuvre, for the 
 child went skimming away like a glad bird to the 
 place he pointed out, and Mrs. Berry, in accordance 
 with her nature, immediately followed the child to 
 prevent her unrestrained enjoyment. Yet Mrs. Berry 
 liad been a mother, and, as has been said, a doting 
 one. 
 
 " I am here to consult you," said Arthur Lygon, 
 hurriedly, the moment her sharp ears were out of 
 range, " upon a sad affair. How can we speak with- 
 out interruption ? " 
 
 "Easily. But a Avord. Not an affair of your 
 own ? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes." 
 
 The elder man touched his friend's hand for a 
 second only. 
 
 " You want to telegraph to town," he said. " I'll 
 drive you over to Marfield, as it is just as well that 
 our Lipthwaite gossips — you understand." 
 
 Thc}' walked to the strawberries, at which Clara 
 had made her first dash with all the delight of a
 
 44 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 child who had never seen such things, except in 
 dishes, and to whom, therefore, the red fruit, lurk- 
 ing under the leaves, seemed downright treasures — 
 jewels. 
 
 " Come off the mould, dear,'^ Mrs. Berry w-as 
 crying to her, " and come off at ouce, or you will stain 
 your frock." 
 
 " Let her stain it," said Mr. Berry, deprecatingly. 
 
 " That Mrs. Lygon may infer, even if she should 
 
 not say, that I am incompetent to take the charge of 
 
 a child for a single day. I am obliged to you, j\Ir. 
 
 Berry." 
 
 " Mrs. Lygon has not to form her opinion of you 
 after all these years, my dear." 
 
 " If she happen to have formed a good one, I prefer 
 that she should retain it, Mr. Berry." 
 
 "All right, my dear. But look here. Which of 
 the horses had I better have put to the chaise ? For 
 here is Lygon, like all the Londoners I ever knew, 
 no sooner gets out of town than he wants to be send- 
 ing a message back, and so I must drive him to 
 Marfield. There's a telegraph station there." 
 
 " But why not telegraph from Lipthwaite ? " 
 replied Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Why," replied ]\Ir. Berry, artfully, " you put 
 me on my guard there, with what you said about 
 Thomas Letts being fool enough to let his young 
 wife come into the office and learn things, and how 
 that business of Wendale^s got wind. A message 
 to Somerset House may not exactly concern little 
 Mrs. Letts."
 
 THE SILVER COKD. ^j5 
 
 " I am glad that a hint I take the liberty of giving 
 may, sometimes, be worth attention/' said Mrs. 
 Berry, immediately dispatching a gardener to order 
 the chaise. 
 
 "I would go with you," said she, "only aunt is 
 coming over." 
 
 Arthur Lygou felt more kindly towards that rela- 
 tive than he had done when her name was first 
 mentioned. He hoped to see the lady on his return. 
 " Clara would stay, and say so." 
 
 Clara did not look exactly delighted at the idea 
 of being left with ]\Irs. Berr}', but was much too 
 good a child to show discontent. In a few minutes 
 more the gentlemen had driven off. 
 
 "That's not the way to Marfield," said Mrs. 
 Berry, watching the chaise as it turned to the right, 
 at the cross road, instead of keeping on straight, up 
 Bolk's Hill. That was an oversight of j\Ir. Berry's, 
 who was so anxious to hear what Arthur had to say, 
 that he hurried on to Rinckley Common, the place 
 he had mentally decided on for their conversation. 
 
 They were speedily at the Common, a wide, wild- 
 looking, high-lying expanse, studded with gorse 
 patches; and here Mr. Berry pulled up. 
 
 "We could as easily have shut ourselves up in the 
 library, you know, but then it would have been 
 known that we liad been shut up for a talk," he 
 said. 
 
 They left the chaise, and the horse, accustomed to 
 such intervals of work, set himself quietly to graze, 
 
 " Now, my dear Arthur, what is it ? "
 
 46 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Much as Arthur Lygon had to tell^ it needed but 
 few words to tell it, and it was told. 
 
 Mr. Berry looked at him earnestljj sorrowfully, 
 for a few moments. 
 
 "You have told me all ? " he asked. 
 
 " All," replied Lygon. 
 
 " And why have you told it me ? " 
 
 " Why ? " returned Arthur. '' Are you surprised 
 that in such a sorrow I should come to consult the 
 oldest and the best friend I have in the world ? " 
 
 " No," said Berry, " I am not surprised, and if 
 the word were not out of place on such an occasion, 
 I would say that I am gratified. At all events, you 
 do what is both natural and wise. Of course I 
 accept your confidence, and of course I will do my 
 best for you. But now go on." 
 
 "I do not understand. I have given you every 
 detail." 
 
 " Of Laura's flight, yes. But come, be a man. 
 You must speak out, if any good is to be done." 
 
 "But I have no more to say," said Lj'gon, sur- 
 prised, and a little impatiently. "I repent that I 
 don't understand you. Ask me any question." 
 
 " That is just what I am doing, but you evade my 
 question."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 47 
 
 "I evade a question ! Put it again." 
 
 "Why did Mrs. Lvgon leave your home ?" 
 
 " My God ! " said Arthur, " is not that the mys- 
 tery which you must help mc to solve ? " 
 
 " I repeat, be a man, Arthur. Come." 
 
 " I swear," said Lygon, " that your meaning is a 
 mystery to me." 
 
 " Arthur," said Mr. Berry, " it is not kind of you 
 to force me to use words that even hint at shame. 
 But if you will have it so, tell me. Do you believe 
 that Mrs. Lygon left your house with a lover, or to 
 join one? " 
 
 The young husband turned a ghastly white, and 
 he felt his limbs tremble under him at the presence 
 of the foul phantom which these words had called 
 up. But he confronted the phantom only to de- 
 nounce it as a lie, and to trample through it on the 
 instant. Anotlier moment, and his eyes flashed 
 with an honest anger, and the paleness had utterly 
 disappeared, face and brow speaking as plainly as 
 the eyes. 
 
 " I am answered," said Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Take an answer in words, though," said Arthur 
 Lygon, in a hoarse voice. " If — " His friend inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 " Let no idle words pass between us,^' said Mr. 
 Berry, gravel}'. "We have bitterness enough to 
 deal with. You would say that the idea I ventured 
 to raise came before you for the first time, and is so 
 false, so abhorrent to your nature, that nothing but 
 your feeling that I did not speak in levity, but as an
 
 AS THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 old man who would serve a young friend, prevented 
 your striking me down upon this grass." 
 
 " Something of that," said Arthur, recovering him- 
 self. " Not the violent thought you would suggest — 
 but — well. Berry, it is a wickedness to have spoken 
 the words of her — in connection with her name." 
 
 "It is," said Mr. Berry, " and I feel it as deeply 
 as you can do. But you forced me to put that 
 wicked question by evading a more harmless one. 
 You will not continue to do so." 
 
 " Berry, you speak as if you thought I were keep- 
 ing back something Avhich I ought to say." 
 
 " So you are." 
 
 "Ask for it, and hear it." 
 
 " If I put it again, it will be in words that may 
 offend you." 
 
 " Nothing that does not affect her can offend me 
 — nothing from you can or shall." And he held out 
 his hand. 
 
 " A good woman," said Mr. Berry, retaining his 
 hold on Lygon^s hand, " does not leave her hus- 
 band's home for any fault of her own. In that case, 
 if she leaves it, the fault must be his." 
 
 Arthur Lygon looked the other full and fairly in 
 the face. 
 
 " I answer your look," said Mr. Berry. " I have 
 seen a good deal of the world — both sides of it — 
 and knowing how lightly people can absolve them- 
 selves from offences of their own, you will pardon 
 me if I push my question. You have done nothing 
 to drive Laura from her home? "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 49 
 
 " I ! " repeated Arthur. " I, who love her better 
 tlian my life, and only ask to spend my life in 
 making hers happy ! I drive her away ! Are you mad?'' 
 
 " I believe all you say/' said the old lawyer. 
 "But you need not be told that women have 
 strange ideas, and that matters which we pass over 
 as trifles sometimes determine their whole lives. 
 You have nearly satisfied me, and yet I should like 
 you to tell me, in plain English, one thing." 
 
 " I beg of you — ask it." 
 
 " You are a handsome man — you were a favourite 
 with women — I do not believe that you would deli- 
 berately do wrong ; but has anything survived from 
 t he old days, or is there any momentary folly that 
 can have reached Laura's ears ? " 
 
 " On my honour, — no. On my honour, — no. And 
 if it sounds foolishly when I say that not only do I 
 love her heartily and thoroughly, but that she seems 
 to me so incalculably superior, both in mind and 
 l)ody, to any tiling I have seen since my marriage, I 
 can't help that. I swear to you that you have got 
 t!ie truth." 
 
 " And I am right glad to get it. That is enough, 
 my dear Arthur. And now the ground is clear, in 
 one sense, though the making it so increases our 
 (lifliiculties ten-fold. Husband and wife being alike 
 without fault as regards one another, and yet being 
 t^cparated, we approach a mystery. I suppose Ave 
 ^shall break into it, but we must see." 
 
 " llemember, I have nothing else in life to live 
 for," said Arthur, passionately.
 
 50 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Yes, you have, Arthur, much. Eveu if the 
 mystery should baffle you to your dying hour, you 
 have that child beyond the hill, and two other 
 children in London to live for, besides your duty." 
 
 "A cold word, that," said Arthur, " and you must 
 believe it very potent with me, when you, just now, 
 imputed to me that I could be false to the best woman 
 in the Avhole world for the sake of some wretched 
 intrigue. But we will not talk of that now. Answer 
 me. Berry, for my head has been in one whirl, and 
 only the necessity of hypocrisj'' has kept me straight 
 — answer me, what is the first thing that occurs to 
 you as the key to this accursed mystery ? " 
 
 " You must give me time." 
 
 " No, but your first thought ? Don't refuse it. 
 If you could know what kind of night I have spent, 
 madly plunging m}'^ hand into darkness, as it were, 
 to try to grapple with a belief, with an idea, you 
 Avould not refuse it." 
 
 " I have not a definite answer to make. I could, 
 perhaps, say something ; but it Avould, in all proba- 
 bility, be wrong, and to lead you astray, at such a 
 moment, would be a sin. Yet — stay. I might be 
 raising another horror, in simply telling you to 
 dispel one idea which perhaps has not come across 
 you. Tell me, Arthur — and do not think me 
 fencing with your question — have you, yourself, 
 settled, or tried to settle, upon any conviction ? " 
 
 Arthur Lygon again turned pale. 
 " One thought," he said, in a low voice, " came 
 whispering near me in the darkness, and would not
 
 THE SILVER COED. 51 
 
 be driven away. It is not my thought, but it would 
 come, and return, though I cursed it off. Mind, 
 and for God's sake remember, the thought is not 
 mine, nor is there the shghtest foundation for it in 
 this world. I scarcely dare repeat it." 
 
 Mr. Berry gazed earnestly into the pale agitated 
 face, and in answer to his reiterated demand he saw 
 the lips of Arthur Lygon form themselves for the 
 utterance of one expected word. 
 
 " Do not say it," said Berry. 
 
 " It has crossed your mind, too, then ? " gasped 
 Arthur, his face becoming still ghastlier. 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Ah!" said Lygon, the tears almost forcing 
 their way to his eyes, " then you have another 
 solution." 
 
 " Do not press me, that is a kind fellow, until I 
 shall tell you that I am ready to speak. At present, 
 and suddenly collecting all the reminiscences I can, 
 and without time to marshal them, or to weigh their 
 value, I think I may say — and I am really striving 
 to use words that shall be as indefinite as I can 
 make them — I think I may say that there are 
 conjectures which we are bound to exhaust before 
 we dare — " 
 
 " Stop," said Arthur Lygon, " you have used a 
 word which you -would not use lightly — reminis- 
 cences. Are they connected with my life or hers ? 
 You can answer that without consideration." 
 
 " Yours," said jNIr. Berry, quickly. 
 
 It was an untruth. The v.-ord on which Lygon 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINQ^ 
 |.IBRAR)t
 
 62 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 Imd fixed, his friend had used unadvisedly. And 
 before the last question was put, such thoughts 
 came, darkening, around the memories which Berry 
 spoke of, that he feared, without more cautious pre- 
 paration, to let Lygon enter the circle. He judged 
 it safer to exclude him by that single word of reply, 
 which, however, should have been 
 
 " Hers.'' 
 
 " Mine ? " said Lygon. " The weight that you 
 would take from my mind, if you could show that 
 anything in my life had been the spring of this. 
 I should enter so cheerfully, or at least so courage- 
 ously upon the quest which we have now to 
 begin.'' 
 
 " In defiance of those words of warning in the 
 parting note ? " 
 
 " They are not her words. And if they were, 
 they must have been forced from her by some 
 strange and damnable cheat. While I speak — a 
 light ! Has some one lied to her in the spirit of 
 what you Avere imputing just now ? " 
 
 *^ Would Laura endure any charge against her 
 Imsband — at least without laying her hand in his, 
 and asking whether he dared retain it ? " 
 
 " You are right, and my thought wrongs her," 
 said Arthur, slowly. 
 
 His lingering utterance did not escape the notice 
 of his friend, who, however, made no remark upon it 
 then. 
 
 " You must give me time, I repeat," said Mr. 
 Pjerrv. " A day is not now of consequence, as you
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 53 
 
 allowed the first hours to pass Avithout taking any 
 active steps." 
 
 " Would you have had me treat her as a crimi- 
 nal?" asked Arthur; "have had her described to 
 the police, and notice given to stop her at the sea- 
 ports, and on the railways ? "" 
 
 " You have not done it," said Mr. Berry, " and as 
 it is now too late, we need not consider what a 
 husband might have been justified in doing. Such 
 steps as you have taken seem very prudent, as there 
 is nothing for any one to say against Mrs. Lygon, 
 did she return to-morrow." 
 
 " If she return to-morrow ten years, no one shall 
 say a word against her," said Arthur. 
 
 " I am a hard old lawyer," said. Berry, touched; 
 "but I think I believe that love like that felt by 
 you is too true to be ultimately unrewarded. Yes, 
 I believe that you will be delivered out of this 
 misery." 
 
 " I pray that I may," said Lygon, " for it is 
 indeed a misery hard to be borne."
 
 54 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 As if by tacit understanding, the friends spoke no 
 more on tlie subject nearest their hearts. During 
 the short drive back to the lodge, Arthur Lj'gon was 
 mentally occupied in reviewing such incidents of his 
 early life as he could upon the moment summon to 
 his recollection, but, as usual, memory, often so 
 unwelcomely pertinacious in voluntarily presenting 
 her panorama, painted with pitiless exactness, would, 
 when peremptorily called upon, yield up little but 
 disjointed fragments, recurring again and again like 
 the a^gr'i somnia. Nevertheless, his strong con- 
 sciousness that there was nothing which he could in 
 reason charge against himself as a wrong to his wife, 
 afforded to Lygon an honest consolation, though 
 that conviction in no degree tended to diminish the 
 mystery that lay before him. It was perhaps for the 
 best that Mr. Berry liad guided the husband's 
 thoughts in a given direction, and concentrated 
 them, for the time at least, within a certain limit, for 
 nothing probably is more prostrating to the courage 
 of the mind than its being incessantly sent forth in 
 pursuit of a phantom enemy. In the meantime, 
 Mr. Berry's own thoughts had to pursue a far 
 subtler and more dangerous track, and the mani- 
 festation which Arthur Lvson had made of an
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 55 
 
 earnest and loyal faith in her whom he had lost, 
 impressed his friend more and more deeply each 
 time he recurred to it with a sense of the terrible 
 consequences that would attend a false step on the 
 part of his adviser. 
 
 His adviser had made one false step at the very 
 threshold, for lie permitted Mr. Lygon, unsupported, 
 to encounter a lady whose suspicious and jealous 
 nature liad already made her half an enemy, and 
 who needed but little provocation to become a 
 determined though undeclared one. Mr. Bei'ry set 
 down Arthur at the porch, and drove round to the 
 stables. 
 
 Clara was ■with j\Irs. Berry in the dining-room, 
 the little girl having, much to her unexpressed 
 discontent, been withdrawn from the pleasures of 
 the garden, and set down, in a half-darkened apart- 
 ment, to amuse herself with the pictures in Fox's 
 Book of !Martyrs. Privately, Clara probably consi- 
 dered herself entitled to a place in the collection. 
 
 Mrs. Berry was about to rise and question Lygon 
 as to what he had done, and get him to commit 
 himself before Mr. Berry's arrival. Then it occurred 
 to her to use a proxy to entrap him. 
 
 " There is your papa, Clara ! Run and ask him 
 whether he has sent off his message all right." 
 
 Too happy to escape the fires of Smithfield and 
 their distorted occupants, Clara bounded away to 
 her father, and asked the question. 
 
 " All right, love," returned Mr. Lygon, kissing 
 her. " And what have vou been doinir ?"
 
 •56 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " O, nothing," replied Clara, in anything but a 
 
 tone of pleasure. 
 
 " She said that you had particularly desired her, 
 when on the hill, to keep out of the sun," said Mrs. 
 Berry, as they entered, '' and therefore I presumed 
 that I should be acting in accordance with youj- 
 wishes in detaining her in the house." 
 
 Poor Clara ! She had little thought, when rattliug 
 out her hill experiences, before chilled down by 
 Mrs. Berry and Mr. Fox, that her casual mention of 
 papa's hint was to be made a solemn justification for 
 spoiling her afternoon. But this was one of Mrs. 
 Berry^s habitual unfairnesses to helpless persons. 
 That form of cowardly unkindness is one of the 
 earliest shocks Avhich children undergo, and by no 
 means the lightest. I am far from sure that the 
 shabby woman who decoys a child up an alley and 
 steals its shoes, does not deserve a month less at 
 hard labour than her well-dressed sister who steals a 
 child's confidences, and rolls them up into a stone to 
 smite it. 
 
 " You found the person at the Marfield telegrapli 
 intelligent, I hope ? " said Mrs. Berry, point-blank. 
 
 " I thought over the business again, during the 
 drive," said Mr. Lygon, "and came to the con- 
 clusion that the message would do as well in a 
 letter." 
 
 " Oh ! then you did not go to IMarfield," said 
 Mrs. Berry. She would have liked to ascertain 
 more, but time was precious. "Then I will get 
 vou the writing-case, so that the letter may be
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 57 
 
 despatched by our boy, who goes into Lipthwaite at 
 five o^clock." 
 
 She hastened from the room, and her knowledge 
 of the localities enabled her to intercept Mr. Berry 
 as he came from the stables. 
 
 " Oh ! you here \" she said. "Why did not you 
 let Sykes take the chaise round?" 
 
 " I didn^t see Sykes.^' 
 
 " Mr. Lygon told Clara that he sent off his mcs- 
 ^ sage all right," said Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " What was the good of his telling her that ? " 
 thought the lawyer; who, being out of business, 
 was now opposed to all unnecessary falsifications. 
 "Well, my dear," he said, "is it any such feat of 
 genius to despatch a telegraphic message ? " 
 
 " I do not know why you cannot answer me 
 without a sneer, Mr. Berr3% Is there anything 
 unreasonable in my being interested in what your 
 friend does ? " 
 
 " Quite the reverse, my dear," said her husband, 
 endeavouring to come into the house. "Your 
 attention is extremely hospitable, and I hope that 
 your dinner, by-and-by, will be equally worthy of 
 your estimable character." 
 
 Now, Mrs. Berry could with pleasure have fired 
 a hot shot in reply to this, but as she would have 
 gained nothing thereby, she reserved her fire, and 
 only said : 
 
 " I dare say that the dinner will be satisfactory, 
 Mr. Berry, and if I mentioned the telegraph, I sup- 
 pose that after the intimation I ventured to give in
 
 58 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 reference to Mrs. Letts, my presumption is not 
 unpardonable.^^ 
 
 " My dear, your expenditure of syllables is almost 
 an extravagance," said Mr. Berry, coolly, making 
 his way past her not very exuberant form, and going 
 into the house. 
 
 She was not generous, but she would willingly 
 have given a not very small sum of money to have 
 obtained from Mr. Berry a distinct statement that 
 the message had been despatched. For during the# 
 absence of her husband and Mr. Lygon she had 
 accidentally mentioned their errand to a tradesman 
 to whom she had been speaking in the kitchen, and 
 he had expressed regret that the gentlemen should 
 have gone to Marfield, as the telegraph instrument 
 there had been out of order for some days, and the 
 people were coming from London to repair it on 
 Saturday. 
 
 IS ot that Mr. Berry would have very much cared 
 about being confronted with this kind of contradic- 
 tion, for after an endeavour of some years to make 
 her as frank and free-spoken as himself, and after 
 many efforts to rout out all her nests and treasures 
 of petty mysteries, and to let in the sunshine of 
 perfect matrimonial trust and confidence, he had 
 given up the game, allov/ing the thin lips to speak 
 or be silent, as they pleased ; and for his own part, he 
 had dropped into the habit of telling her, as he said, 
 " as much truth as was good for her." 
 
 But she would have had a good casus belli against 
 Mr. Lvgon, whom she was learning to regard with
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 59' 
 
 very unfriendly eyes. However, slie had got some- 
 thing yet, to make him uncomfortable with. 
 
 ^Irs. Berry returned to the room, bringing the 
 writing-case. 
 
 " There, Mr. Lygon, now you can write your 
 letter, and the boy shall wait for it." 
 
 " Confound the Avoman, boring," was Mr. Lygon's 
 savage remark to himself — a set of words supposed 
 to be about as often thought and as seldom uttered 
 as any form of petition which has been devised for 
 the use of man. 
 
 He dragged the note-paper before him, and was 
 just going to write something, anj'thing, to go off to 
 town to a fellow employe, — it was less trouble than 
 declining, — when the lady proceeded. 
 
 " And here, just direct this envelope for me. I 
 must write a few words to Laura, assuring her that 
 her little girl is all right and safe Avitli me, and that 
 the longer she stays the better. I forget Avhat you 
 called the place in Hertfordshire — Edgington, was 
 it?" 
 
 She never forgot anything, and knew quite well 
 that he had said Herefordshire and Long Edge- 
 combe, but there was no trick here ; it was s^ply 
 that the lying woman was in the habit of lying 
 plausibly. 
 
 ''Thank you," said Mr. Lygon, kindly, while over- 
 flowing with sudden wrath and some apprehension 
 at the proposed proceeding. " Yes, she will be glad 
 to hear. And yet I hardly know whether you had 
 better direct to the country, as there is a whole
 
 00 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 series of cross-posts, and there is no sajdng when 
 she will get the letter/' 
 
 " Well, it is only a penny, if it follows her back to 
 London," said Mrs. Berry, " and the chance of her 
 hearing is worth that. I have been a mother, Mr. 
 Lygon, and I know what it is to have news of one's 
 children in absence." 
 
 Arthur Lygon, in no respect softened by this 
 appeal, did not exactly see his way to parry the 
 demand, and wrote upon the envelope, "Mrs. 
 Lygon, Long Edgecombe, Herefordshire." 
 
 " Won't you put Mrs. Eatoncamp's name ? We 
 country people like that done." 
 
 " Mrs. Eatoncamp ? " replied Arthur. And it 
 occurred to him, poor fellow, in his strait, that if he 
 adopted that blunder, and tlie letter miscarried — 
 
 And he wrote " Mrs. Eatoncamp." 
 
 And if he had looked at Mrs. Berry at that 
 moment, he would have seen a sudden light come 
 into her light eyes. She knew well what name he 
 had mentioned. And here he deliberately Avrote 
 another, one of her own supplying. Stop a moment ! 
 He and her husband had been whispering, for she 
 hadiiieard the child laughingly rebuke them. What 
 did they whisper about ? They started, at all events, 
 saying they were going to Marfield, and the very 
 next moment they drove off in another direction. 
 Why did Mr. Lygon, who is foolishly confidential 
 with that spoiled brat, tell her th;it his telegraph- 
 message was all right, and why did Mr. Berry leave 
 me to imagine thev had sent ? Now — he does not
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 61 
 
 ■want a letter sent to his wife, and he puts a false 
 name on it. That light which Arthur Lygon dia 
 not see in her light eyes was the flash of the powder 
 on which the spark had fallen. " They are keeping 
 a secret of some kind from me," said i\Irs. Berry^s 
 thin lips, inaudibly. " Let me see how long they 
 will keep it." 
 
 And it was not with the sweetest expression in 
 her face that she left the room to write her letter, 
 though her high voice became almost caressing as 
 she bade Arthur make haste over his despatch, and 
 slie would say everything that was kind for him to 
 Laura. 
 
 Into the library hastened Mrs. Berry, for she was 
 a practical woman, and knew where to look for 
 knowledge, which is the next best thing to having 
 knowledge. A Gazetteer was open before her in a 
 minute. 
 
 " No such place," she said, again looking at the 
 envelope. "But then it may be a small place, not 
 w orth mentioning." You see, she wished for a con- 
 clusion, but did not jump at it, which shows that 
 she would never have made a good interpreter of the 
 prophecies. 
 
 " Looking out a very gigantic polysyllable for our 
 discomfiture, my dear ?" said Mr. Berry, who was at 
 the window. " That's not the dictionary." 
 
 " I believe I know a dictionary as well as your- 
 self," said his wife, repressing any more tart re- 
 joinder. " But I never know where to find your 
 l)Ooks. Is there anv book here that tells of small
 
 '€2 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 places, not important enough for maps and gazet- 
 teers ? " 
 
 " There^s Pigott," said Mr. Berry, *' those large 
 red volumes on your left. They mention every hole 
 and corner in the kingdom. What county do you 
 ■want ? " 
 
 " Devonshire," said Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Well, you^U see the name on the hack,'' said her 
 husband, as he left the room. 
 
 No Long Edgecombe in Herefordshire, nor, 
 though Mrs. Berry took the trouble to go quite 
 through the lists, was there among the jSTobility, 
 ■Gentry, or Clergy, such a name as Lygon had given 
 her. 
 
 "They are playing tricks with me," said Mrs. 
 Berry, feeling herself personally wronged, and try- 
 ing a mental examination of the enemy's position, 
 in order to see what could be done in the way of 
 revenge. 
 
 Now, people who call themselves practical will 
 probably say — 
 
 " I have no patience with the woman." 
 
 Now that is wrong to begin with. We are bound 
 to have patience with everybody, and especially with 
 women. 
 
 " I should like to take her hy the shoulders 
 and — " 
 
 Stop again. That would be rude and coarse. The 
 man who lays his hand upon a woman, save in — For 
 shame ! Must a player be called in with a clap-trap, 
 to rebuke your violence ?
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 63 
 
 " Aud say, * AVhy, you meddling, spiteful old 
 fool—' " 
 
 Exceptionable language, aud one half of it unjust. 
 !Mrs. Berry was not five-and-forty, aud was no fool. 
 
 " ' Your husband is a solicitor, and so is taken 
 into people's confidence.' " 
 
 Mr. Berry has retired from practice, aud has no 
 more right to keep secrets from his wife than any 
 other private gentleman. 
 
 " * And what business have you to pry into his 
 affiiirs V" 
 
 And you call j'oursclf a practical person, and yet 
 think that talking in that way to a shrewd, deter- 
 mined, veneraous-minded woman of middle age will 
 deter her from taking a course which I perceive by 
 that recurrent light in her light eyes she intends 
 to take, although at present she has no idea where 
 it will lead her. "Well, if it relieves your mind at 
 this period of the history to say that you W'ould like 
 to shake ]\h's. Berry by the shoulders, avail your- 
 self of that relief. But be sure that her mind is 
 made up for mischief, and a shake like that of the 
 earthquake of Lisbon will never shake that resolve 
 away from behind those light eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Berry took Arthur Lygon's letter from him 
 — it was addressed to a friend in Somerset House, 
 and she would have liked to open it, but there was 
 but one kettle in the house, and that was in the 
 kitchen, where the servants were too busy to be sent 
 away while the lady should hold the letter in the 
 steam. If he had sealed it, I think she would have
 
 G4 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 kept it back for private examination, but as he had 
 merely fastened it in the ordinary way, she let it 
 go — the rather that as the boy was waiting, it was 
 necessary to give him one letter, and she had no 
 immediate intention of parting with Arthur's enve- 
 lope. If she had performed upon the Somerset 
 House letter the process which it is understood is 
 very largely practised upon the epistolary literature 
 of the time (and certainly the business of masters 
 and mistresses is curiously familiar to their 
 dependents in these days), the lady would have 
 found only a scribbled request to a friend to order 
 the double-sashed windows of the writer's office to 
 be cleaned during his absence. That letter went, 
 the writer and the sender being mutually engaged 
 in tricking each other. In very large machines 
 there are very small wheels, and, mean as they are, 
 the machinist who should leave them out might 
 induce a crash among his grand works. And he 
 who depicts the machine must show the little wheels 
 as well as the rest, though it would be more digni- 
 fied to draw only the majestic-moving pistons and 
 the fiery fly-wheel. 
 
 Dinner passed over very quietly, and such conver- 
 sation as arose was the result of eff'ort. For Lygon, 
 as may be imagined, was too full of his own great 
 trouble, and was looking forward too eagerly to the 
 revelation which Berry had promised him on the 
 morrow, to have much animation to spare upon 
 dinner-table common-place of the kind that would 
 be acceptable to Mrs. Berry. That lady, whose
 
 THE SILVER CORD. G5 
 
 wrath did not require nursing to keep it warm — an 
 educated woraan^s qualifications for making herself 
 detestable being of course superior to those of a 
 Scottish she-peasant — was sufficiently angular, in- 
 cisive, and observant during the meal, but did not 
 betray any overt hostility to any one. Indeed 
 Clara, who was permitted to join her elders, rather 
 benefited by the situation of affairs, for Mrs. Berry, 
 who would ordinarily, and in pursuance of her 
 favourite tactics, have done the child what discom- 
 fort she could in the way of matronly checking, and 
 the withholding anything Clara might be supposed 
 especially to desire, chose to be gracious and even 
 playful with her, and bestowed extra jam with the 
 omelette, and a double libation of cream and sugar 
 with the strawberries. The little girl, however, was 
 not old enough to square the account, and to allow 
 a person whom she instinctively disliked to bribe 
 herself into Clara^s good graces, as you and I, being 
 rational people, do. Nay, did, only last week, when 
 you yourself said to me, as we walked down to the 
 Club from old Pinchbeck's, that certainly Pinchbeck 
 was a coarse old beast, and as great an old fool as 
 ever didn't understand a good story, but his dinner 
 was a first-rate one, and the winp out-and-out, and I 
 agreed Avith you that we would speak to some of the 
 Committee, and try tt^ get him in, if we could. But 
 if we were not wiser than children, where would be 
 the use of growing up ? 
 
 The evening hung sadly on hand, in spite of the 
 loveliness of the soft summer even in 2:. The four
 
 06 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 wandered about tlie gardens, but no laugh Avoke tbe 
 stillness of the place, and even Clara, subdued, laid 
 her hand in her father's, paced silently by his side, 
 and restrained her desire to go and sit on the little 
 tree-bridge, and see the water dance in the moon- 
 light. 
 
 Mrs. Berry returned to the house, on hearing that 
 a visitor was in the drawing-room. 
 
 When the gentlemen were summoned to tea, they 
 found the mistress of the house and the visitor. 
 This was a somewhat malevolent-looldng old lady in 
 spectacles, who emitted a sort of grunt at Clara (as 
 if the latter had done her some wrong in being so 
 young, while the other was so old, a gi'ievance a 
 good deal felt by those who have made an unworthy 
 use of life), and immediately told her to sit down 
 and be quiet, the child, having given no offence at all 
 beyond what her presence caused. On a small table 
 lay open a map of Herefordshire. 
 
 " This is Aunt Empson, Mr. Lygon. This is 
 Mr. Lygon, aunt dear, who married Laura Vernon, 
 you remember her ? " 
 
 "I remember her,'' grunted Aunt Empson. 
 " She's grow'd older than when I knoAv'd. her. 
 I hope she's grow'd more steadier." 
 
 " Mamma was always steady," was Clara's instant 
 deliverance of reply. w 
 
 Aunt Empson looked , evilly at the speaker, 
 and but that Clara was protected would probably 
 have called her to approach, aud then pinched 
 her.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 0/ 
 
 " Quite riglit to stand up for mamma," said 
 Mr.- Lygon, who Avould himself have liked to say 
 something offensive to the impertinent old woman, 
 but did not see a gentlemanly opening. He was 
 in no mood, by this time, to bear gratuitous an- 
 noyance. 
 
 "But speaking of mamma/' said Mrs. Berry, 
 in a loud and playful voice, "where is she? Por 
 aunty is a Herefordshire woman, and does not 
 recollect the name of Long Edgcombe, and we 
 can't find it in the map." 
 
 " No, really ? " said Lygon, with a ■^ice into 
 Avhicli he certainly managed to throw an expression 
 of extreme carelessness as to whether they could 
 or could not. "Bad map, I suppose." 
 
 " A very good map, on the contrary," said Mrs. 
 Berr}'. 
 
 " Then you don't look close enough, I suppose," 
 returned INIr. Lygon, waxing still more angry at 
 being tormented. " I can see it from here," 
 he said, determined on a bold stroke, and half 
 raising himself on the sofa to give a glance across 
 at the map. " Let Aunt Empson wipe her 
 spectacles, and then she'll see more steadier. 
 Ha! ha!" 
 
 It would have been dreadfully rude — was — but 
 consider the provocation, and what Arthur Lygon 
 was thinking of, while the women set npon him. 
 Mrs. Berry was either repulsed, or felt a moment's 
 respect for the enemy. Ord}' a moment's. 
 " Clara, dear, come here." 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 Oh, sJie was not going to pinch the child. 
 
 " What was the name," she said, taking Clara's 
 hand, " what was the name of the lady whom papa 
 said that mamma was gone to see? Do you re- 
 member?" 
 
 "Oh yes," said Clara, "I remember it, because it 
 is a funny name. It's like saying you had eaten a 
 cat — it's Mrs. Cateaton." 
 
 " So it is," said Mrs. Berry. " I fancied we were 
 wrong, somehow. That was not the name you put 
 on the envelope for me, Mr. Lygon." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Arthur Lygon. " I sincerely 
 beg your pardon a thousand times, Mrs. Berry; 
 but the idea of my making a mistake in the name 
 is too absurd." 
 
 " I am positive that you wrote something 
 else." 
 
 " Not likely," said Mr. Berry, who had a shadow 
 of a suspicion that Arthur might have been doing 
 something to throw the amiable Marion off the 
 scent. " We never make mistakes in Somerset 
 House, Arthur, do we?" 
 
 "We never allow them to be mistakes," said the 
 official gentleman. 
 
 " Not even when they are put under your 
 eyes?" said Mrs. Berry, suddenly throwing the 
 envelope across to Arthur Lygon, who of course 
 saw, as he knew he should see, " Eatoncamp " 
 upon it. 
 
 " So you didn't write," he said, witli admirable 
 coolness. " You thoutiht a motlier's eagerness to
 
 THE SILVER COKD. 69 
 
 have a letter could Avait another post. Ha ! ha ! 
 Mrs. Berry. However, it's lucky, as I made that 
 curious muddle of the name. I believe, however, 
 that the letter would have found Mrs. Lygon, just 
 as well." 
 
 " So do I," said Mrs. Berry, in a slow, low 
 voice.
 
 70 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Archibald Vernon, the father of Mrs. Lygou, 
 was pleasantly settled in Lipthwaite, y/lien Arthur 
 Lygon was introduced to the family in which he 
 found his beautiful wife. Into the circumstances 
 which induced Mr. Vernon to take up his abode in 
 Lipthwaite, it is not necessary at the present time 
 to enter with any minuteness ; but in order to pre- 
 clude any unnecessary suspicion of mysterj, it should 
 be explained that Archibald Vernon was one of those 
 persons who conceive themselves to be entirely mis- 
 understood and ill-treated by the Avorld ; but whom 
 the world, on the contrary, insists on believing that 
 it understands most thoroughly, and treats most 
 naturally. Originally intended for the bar, young 
 Mr. Vernon had made so many steps in the direction 
 of the woolsack as are comprised in being duly 
 entered for the Great Legal Handicap, and in having 
 his name fairly painted on the door of one of the 
 Gray's Inn stalls in which some of the animals 
 designed for that race undergo preliminary treat- 
 ment. But he was very soon scratched. A cleverish 
 lad, with a ready pen for endurable verse, and a still 
 readier pencil for smart sketching, with a consider- 
 able amount of desultory reading, and a memory for 
 the agreeable portions of such reading, with a fluent
 
 THE SILVER CORD. / 1 
 
 tongue, and much energy of manner, Vernon -vvas 
 held, among his kinsfoik, as a young fellow who 
 would be sure to make his Avay. Nil tctiyit quod 
 non ornavit, Mas classically remarked, at the dinner 
 on his twenty-first birthday, by an enthusiastic god- 
 father who, to do him justice, had shown his faith in 
 the youth^s powers by never contributing, otherwise 
 than by the most gracefully expressed wishes, to his 
 advancement in the Avorld. Vernon's own means 
 were very limited, and this circumstance, fortunate 
 indeed in so many thousand cases, might, by com- 
 pelling him to avoid all the agi'eeable excursions 
 from the direct road of life, and to pursue its safe 
 and well-beaten track, have made him, in due time, 
 the rising man whom he had been supposed to be. 
 But, unluckily, just at the moment when various 
 and harassing debts of no great amount, and a 
 general sense of discomfort, discouragement, and 
 want of purpose, were forcing the volatile Archibald 
 Vernon into the conviction that he must buckle to 
 honest work, and tramp away at the road in question, 
 regardless of the fields and flowers right and left, 
 that same godfather completed his career of neglected 
 duties by an act of positive wrong to his god-son. 
 The sponsor died, and left Vernon exactly enough, 
 witn the aid of his small patrimony, to live upon 
 "like" a gentleman. This sum Vernon made the 
 not uncommon financial error of supposing an 
 amount that enabled him to live " as " a gentleman, 
 and the fatal difference involved in the little words 
 was not revealed unto him until too late. The
 
 73 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 Gray's Inn stall was exchanged for handsome 
 chambers, and by the time that these looked as 
 delightfully as possible, that the pictures were 
 finally and tastefulh^ hung, that the pianoforte was 
 in admirable tune, and that the oak and velvet 
 furniture left nothing to be desired except the 
 upholsterer's receipt, the susceptible Archibald dis- 
 covered that to live as a gentleman meant to live 
 with a lady, who, being his wife, could not be 
 expected to live in chambers. So the pictures, 
 pianoforte, oak and velvet, and Mrs. Vernon, were 
 estabhshed in a charming house, not much too 
 large, at Craven Hill. All went delightfully, for 
 Emmeline Vernon was an accomplished musician, 
 and Archibald was just of the calibre of mind that 
 dotes on music, and it was the pleasantest occupation 
 in the Avorld to sit with his pretty wife till two or 
 three in the day, singing duets, or hearing that 
 divine thing of Mozart's, Vernon with his feet in 
 slippers, elegantly worked by his bride, and in a 
 velvet coat that gave the refined-looking man an 
 appearance between that of an artist and of an 
 Italian nobleman as beheld in ancient portraits. 
 The children came with their usual celerity, and it 
 was not until Emmeline grew rather cross and cold 
 about playing Mozart after disagreeable interviews 
 with traders, that Archibald Vernon once more 
 began to think that he really must buckle to work. 
 
 But rough buckles are not readily fastened when 
 one's muscles have been neglected. It is not agree- 
 able to dwell on this part of Mr. Vernon's shifty
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 73 
 
 history. Portions of it, prepared with a good deal 
 of topographical exactness in regard to his various 
 residences, are, I am sorry to say, still on record in 
 the registry of an evilly odorous tribunal in the Rue 
 Portugal. But -who would willingly sketch the life 
 of a family in the dispiriting and discreditable tran- 
 sition from comfort to need? Who cares to write 
 or read of forestalled income, of unhonoured cheques, 
 of humiliating obligations, of insincere promises ex- 
 torted by pressing necessity, of harsh friends and 
 callous creditors, of a wife compelled to make femi- 
 nine appeals either for aid or for forbearance, and 
 often to make both in vain, of children accustomed 
 to see parents nervous at the knock or ring, to hear 
 servants instructed in lying, and even, under sudden 
 emergency, to utter the excusing or procrastinating 
 falsehood at the bidding of parents, too eager to 
 escape the momentary annoyance to remember the 
 miserable lesson they were teaching? At times 
 Vernon, heartily ashamed of his position, resolved 
 to work himself into a worthier one, registered vows 
 to do so, and walked out determined to do some- 
 thing in fulfilment ; but what are a weak man's 
 vows ? Any discouragement damped his resolve 
 within an hour of its being made ; any temptation 
 drew him away from the feeble scheme he had 
 planned, and he returned home somewhat and 
 deservedly less respectable in his own eyes than he 
 had gone forth. At the same time, it would have 
 been, for a stronger man, a hard fight that could 
 set him right with the world, and we will not judge
 
 74 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 the variously talented, versatile, helpless Vernon 
 more severely than he deserves, and that implies no 
 light sentence. His profession he had, of course, 
 abandoned, but he had always delighted to dabble 
 in literature, and in the days of his prosperity his 
 essays were thought to have a sparkle, and his poems 
 a passion, which it is charitable to suppose had dis 
 appeared from them in the days of his adversity, 
 when he found it so difficult to get those merits 
 recognised by paymasters. Still, he did something, 
 and the least motion of a stream long retards its 
 freezing. The small, slight, occasional efforts »he 
 made in literature preserved his mind from utter 
 stagnation, and he obtained some, but infrequent 
 remuneration, which aided him in maintaining a 
 certain self-respect, and which confirmed him in the 
 belief that circumstances only, and not his own 
 weakness, had prevented his being one of the re- 
 cognised leaders of the public mind. Let it be 
 added in his favour, that even amid the daily 
 grievances of his lot — as he termed it — the troubles 
 outside his dwelling, and the troubles within, these 
 last painfully increased by the want of help from a 
 disappointed wife, whose good looks and good temper 
 were deserting her, and who now played Mozart only 
 on lodging-house pianos, and chiefly at times when 
 he would have desired quiet — Archibald Vernon did 
 not seek comfort at the hands of the Bottle Imp. 
 His children never saw him in a condition in which 
 — if he had a laugh to spare— it was not as true and 
 fresh as their own.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. t ■> 
 
 I feel that perhaps I am treating him too indul- 
 gently, and in the interests of morality and society 
 one ought to use stronger words against a man who 
 was an idle and dishonest citizen, and who was the 
 father of children to whom he did not do his duty. 
 But as Lord North said when he, aware of his being 
 about to resign, had his carriage ready at the House, 
 one wet night, while the Opposition had sent their 
 vehicles awav, " See what it is to be in the secret." 
 If it had been my melancholy duty to finish Archi- 
 bald Vernon^s history by saying that he died in 
 the Bench, or emigrated, a broken-hearted man, to 
 Australia (and was poisoned on the voyage by the 
 ignorant surgeon of an emigrant vessel), I would 
 have given him the full benefit of appropi'iate indig- 
 nation. But, happening to know that his fortune was 
 going to be re-established, I deem harsh language 
 uncalled for. It is well to be quite sure that a man 
 is quite ruined before 3"ou stamp upon him. 
 
 But, not to be too civil to the indiscreet, be it said 
 that there was another phase in Archibald Vernon's 
 character. Unable to succeed in the world, he 
 naturally made up his mind that the world was all 
 wrong. And, weaving into something Avhicli it 
 would only be trifling with words to call a system, a 
 mixture of the practical warp and the sentimental 
 web, he clothed himself with a garment which 
 thenceforth became coat-of-mail to him against the 
 shafts of vulgar common sense. He coupled the fact 
 that John Brown is starving with cold, and the ftict 
 that Lady Clara Vere de Vere's Italian greyhound
 
 7G THE SILVER COED. 
 
 has a warm jacket, and with perfect ease deduced the 
 conclusion that v.e want a revolution. He })laced 
 the splendid receipts of the Attorney- General (whom 
 he explained to be the minister of a false and corrupt 
 institution) on one side, and the paltry earnings of a 
 curate {" who, apart from his creed," said Archibald, 
 a sentimental unbeliever, '^was labouring to do 
 good, so far as he knew ''') on the other, and made 
 the portentous balance on the lawyer's side prove 
 incontestibly that pikes were the things to reduce 
 that balance. And it is hardly needful to say, 
 that when in the newspaper which announced 
 the decision of the committee that there was no 
 evidence to connect Sir Lionel Squandercash Avith 
 the proved bribery at the St. Brelade's election, 
 there also appeared the Bow Street sentence which 
 consigned the squalid Joe Nipps to prison for picking 
 a pocket, Vernon wrote a song with more notes of 
 exclamation than orthodox typography permits, and 
 beginning "Ha! ermined Fiend !'' poetically regard- 
 less of the circumstance that the police magistrates 
 do not attire themselves in the spotless fur. All this 
 sort of thing is done by many respectable men; 
 some, I am happy to say, would be very much 
 offended, if you thought them weak enough to do it 
 for other than mercantile purposes ; but Vernon, so 
 far as he could be said to have a real conviction, 
 believed that the world was a compound of sham, 
 cruelty, and hypocrisy — and he told his children so. 
 
 Which paternal instruction might have been less 
 deleterious, had it been accompanied with that
 
 TUE SILVER COED. 77 
 
 teaching by which religious parents make it clear to 
 their oflspring that, however bad the world may be, 
 it is decidedly none of our business to make it worse. 
 But Archibald Vernon, like millions of other feeble 
 persons, confounded priests Mith shrines, and re- 
 jected both; and as for poor Mrs. Vernon, her 
 religious views were originally something to the 
 eftect that she always felt good in a cathedral when 
 the organ was playing, — and the unfortunate lady, 
 having been rather out of the way of cathedrals 
 during her troubles, had not had much chance of 
 cultivating her piety. She once bought two praj'er- 
 books with gilt corners and clasps, for the eldest 
 girls, but a landlady detained one of them, in very 
 small part of a claim for a broken loo-table, and in 
 the other poor Mrs. Vernon put two sovereigns to 
 send over to Archibald when in prison, as she 
 thought the messenger was less likely to steal a 
 parcel than an envelope with money, and the sacred 
 volume was left in 7 in B. No other attempt, 
 licyond an occasional impatient wonder why the 
 girls could not go to church, instead of lying in 
 their beds half Sunda}'' reading novels, was made by 
 Mrs. Vernon in a theological direction. Nor were 
 the poor children more fortunate in a secular point 
 of view. For among Archibald Vernon^s sentimen- 
 talisms was one to this eflect (I think he had stolen 
 it from some German gentleman who was famous 
 for demoralising the minds of his young lady corre- 
 spondents), namely, that a child's heart was Jlcaven^s 
 iiower-garden, and it was blasphemy for man to seek
 
 78 THE SILVEK COED. 
 
 to la}"- it out his own way. This delightful aphorism 
 Vernon was fond of quoting, especially when asked 
 whether Beatrice, and Bertha, and Laura did not go 
 to school. But I do not believe that he was entirely 
 sincere in this matter, or that if he had been richer 
 he would not have had good instruction for those 
 three handsome, intelligent, affectionate girls, whom, 
 even in their uncared-for state, it was impossible not 
 to love. He taught them a little himself, and tried 
 to teach them more; but between the comfortless 
 irregularities and the actual troubles of home, and 
 an entire want of support from his wife, who at 
 times was moved even to deride what were praise- 
 Avorthy efforts by the father, the domestic tutor was 
 not very assiduous, or very successful. The girls 
 grew on, and bloomed, and were loveable, but owed 
 little to any outward or visible system of instruction. 
 Was it ill or well for them, that when Laura, the 
 third, was about twelve, their unhappy, petulant, 
 negligent mother died ? Emmeline Vernon was all 
 that — and yet she was their mother, and the scale of 
 frailties must be heavily Aveighted before it descends 
 against that word. Well, or ill? Perhaps events 
 may aid us in judging. 
 
 This, then, was the father of IMrs. Lygon. To 
 complete his story, a few words will suffice. The 
 death of Mrs. Vernon, after a trying illness, made 
 more trying by privations and troubles, and by 
 the imfortunate disposition of the sufferer, was 
 scarcely felt as a blow by her husband, whose nature 
 she had hardened, in no small degree, by her
 
 THE SILVER COKD. 79 
 
 demonstrative unfitness to share the lot they had 
 risked together. But before the mother was laid 
 in the grave, two of her aunts, who had never for- 
 given her a marriage Avith an Atheist, Profligate, 
 and Blasphemer (they were of Clapham, and Clap- 
 ham has never been accused of inarticulateness), 
 saw that they could properly come forward to the 
 rescue of their niece''s children. On the solemn 
 condition that Mr. Vernon should not interfere 
 with the education of the children, or give them 
 any of his infidel books to read, the Misses Judson 
 would make the family a regular allowance, and 
 pay the bills at a day-school. This point, how- 
 ever was attained only by more determined obsti- 
 nacy than Archibald had been credited with. 
 Nothing — not even the solemn assurance of both 
 the old ladies that his daughters were certainly 
 going, Clapham mentioned where, but I had rather 
 not — would induce him to part with his children, 
 and a compromise was at length eff"ected. lie was 
 asked whether he objected to reside in the countr}^ 
 to which he replied in the negative, adding, con- 
 vincingly, from a pious poet whom it Avas rather 
 strange that he should know : 
 
 "God made the country and man made the town." 
 
 The Misses Judson requested him not to be profane 
 during the brief time they should be together, and 
 were rather offended than not on its being shown to 
 them that the line was by Mr. Cowper, who wrote 
 so many Olncy Hymns. However, being in the
 
 80 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 forgiving way, they forgave this and other matters, 
 or said they did, and, at all events, ZNlr. Vernon and 
 his daughters were soon afterwards settled at Lip- 
 thwaite, one of whose Evangelical ministers was a 
 Christian friend of the old ladies, and Beatrice, 
 Bertha, and Laura were sent to a tolerably good 
 school. 
 
 " Now, of instruction as well as of ignorance," 
 says the heathen writer, " there are various kinds.'"
 
 THE SILVER COED. 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. ' 
 
 With most of the facts mentioned in the pre- 
 ceding pages Mr. Berry was well acquainted, and 
 at such of the minor details in the history of 
 Archibald Vernon and his children as had never 
 come formally before the solicitor, he could have 
 made a shrewd guess. He could have added, had 
 it been necessary for him to enter into matters on 
 which Arthur Lygon was as well informed as him- 
 self, that Mr. Vernon's period of residence at 
 Lipthwaite had been about the most creditable 
 portion of his life. Called upon for no active and 
 regular exertion to maintain a household around 
 him, but supplied, at dates which were never anti- 
 cipated or over-passed, with the means of living 
 respectably, and being, moreover, as he well knew, 
 under the surveillance of more than one friend of 
 the ladies of Clapham, Vernon gradually subsided 
 into habits of order and exactness, and even found 
 comfort to the indolence of his nature in departing 
 as little as possible from the clock-work regime of 
 life in a small country town. He still preserved his 
 energetic delivery, which rather frightened some of 
 his Lipthwaite acquaintances, and deluded others 
 into the conviction — thoroughly shared by himself 
 — that he was a great man, thrown away ; but his
 
 82 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 only energy was in his speech, and he would post- 
 pone, for the most fragile reasons, the writing the 
 commonest letter of business or courtesy. But 
 he read a good deal, indited many yards of the 
 severest poetical denunciations of society, and per- 
 haps secretly cherished an idea that some day the 
 desired convulsion of that society would take place, 
 when, like Lamartine's, his pen would be found 
 sword and sceptre in the new era. His life was 
 perfectly harmless, and its real poetry, although he 
 knew not that it was so, lay in the admiring affec- 
 tion which he felt for his three pretty daughters, 
 and in their earnest love for their fond and unhelpful 
 father. 
 
 He was not living at Lipthwaite at the time at 
 which our narrative begins. A cottage on the 
 Bolk^s Hill road, which had been taken for him by 
 the Misses Judson, was within a short walk of the 
 school at which the girls were placed, and during 
 the time of their undergoing the educational process, 
 as understood by Mrs. Spagley and her assistants. 
 Hermit Hut, as he had been pleased to name it, 
 answered the purpose for which it was designed, 
 that of an unpretentious home for a family of very 
 limited means. The poor girls had not, in their 
 earlier life, been surrounded by the comforts which 
 children accept without recognition ; and which, 
 supplied by those who love them, leave their young 
 hearts at liberty to devise ornaments and amuse- 
 ments. For far too many a year it had been matter 
 of thankfulness, or perhaps I had better write, of
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 83 
 
 congratulation, if the day were got through without 
 any particular annoyance, and the meals of the 
 household were not palpably deficient in something 
 usually esteemed a necessary. The ordinary combats 
 with the tradesfolk, and the occasional campaign 
 when millinery wants could be resisted no longer, 
 and dress must be managed somehow, had left poor 
 Beatrice and Bertha very regardless of flowers, birds, 
 embroideries, and pictures, and the thousand and 
 one dainty little signs that mark the habitation of 
 happy girlhood. AVith Laura the case was some- 
 what different, as her removal from a scene of strife 
 and penury to one of comparative comfort had 
 taken place at an earlier part of her life, and tlie 
 child speedily acquired the tastes and sympathies of 
 those of her own age. Beatrice and Bertha clung 
 to their thumbed and sentimental novels, to their 
 shifty ways and general untidiness, while Laura 
 became rangee, thoughtful, orderly, and fond of 
 adorning her home as if it were a place to live in, 
 not one meant merely to get through life in. But 
 this difference created no estrangement among the 
 sisters, for whom their common troubles had created 
 perhaps stronger ties than belong to sisterhood — 
 that connection apparently so close, and yet so 
 easily and completely sundered by changed circum- 
 stances — and a truer alliance could not have been 
 discovered thau existed between Beatrice, Bertha, 
 and Laura Vernon. While they resided at Lip- 
 thwaite their intimacy was unbroken, and when both 
 the elder girls married, which they easily did, to the
 
 84. THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 surprise and indignation of many better-dowered 
 maidens of Lipthwaite, neither husbands nor child- 
 ren, nor that more potent solvent of aflfection, 
 rivalry in the world, produced alienation of feeling 
 between them. When Laura, at nineteen, suc- 
 ceeded in appropriating to herself the heart and 
 hand of the handsome Arthur Lygon, and Avas 
 removed to her London home, the loneliness of 
 Lipthwaite became insupportable by her father, 
 and with the assent of the surviving Miss Judson — 
 the elder had departed, bequeathing some kindly 
 evidences that her heart had been less stern than 
 her professions — Vernon again settled in the neigh- 
 bourhood of London, but this time in a pleasant 
 boarding-house, where he was much admired for his 
 bright eyes and fluency of language, and where he 
 had ample opportunity, at most comfortable dinners 
 and over excellent v.'ine, both costing him nothing, 
 of proving to successions of amused guests that 
 the world was thoroughly wicked, and that all its 
 institutions were utterly detestable. 
 
 Thus far went Mr. Berry^s information. How 
 much farther may be seen hereafter ; but men of his 
 vocation seldom tell all that they know. 
 
 Had Mr. Berry ever heard of a scene like this ? 
 
 It was night — but not far into the night of a 
 cheerless day late in October — when a man, whose 
 rapid movement betokened his youth, forced his 
 way through the carelessly kept hedge at the end 
 of a long garden, in the country, and, pausing for 
 a moment to assure himself that he had caused no
 
 THE sn.VER CORD. 85 
 
 alarm to a powerful liousc-dog wliicli he knew to 
 be kenneled near the otlier extremity of the garden, 
 made his way to an arbour, which, but that it was 
 boarded and roofed with thatch, would have been 
 bleak and bare enough that drear and all but Avintry 
 night. The feeble rays of a rising moon afforded 
 him uncertain guidance, but he trod as one who Avell 
 knew his way, for all his stealthy entrance ; biit he 
 had either the art of a cat-like tread, or was very 
 lightly shod, for his foot paces could scarcely have 
 been heard by a listener. 
 
 Yet there was a certain restlessness in his next 
 act — unless it arose from habitual inability to deny 
 himself any enjoyment that occurred to him as 
 desirable. 
 
 Feeling his at ay into the arbour, and taking his 
 seat on a bench, he took out a match and struck it. 
 It flashed and expired, and he muttered, but not 
 angrily, a French oath, and struck a second match, 
 AA'ith Avhich he carefully lit a cigarette. 
 
 Having finished this without moving, he looked 
 impatiently towards the house, and in an under kev 
 rather chanted than sang a A'audeville couplet inti- 
 mating that though 
 
 * ' Woraan keeps us waiting now, 
 She shall wait for us to-morrow." 
 
 And after some further manifestations of impatience, 
 the stranger drew from his pocket one of those 
 couA'enient continental inventions in which candle 
 a.nd candlestick are made to shut up in the smallest
 
 86 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 compass^ and he lit his taper, placed it before him 
 on a little table, and, taking out a tiny volume, 
 began to read. 
 
 A spectator, had there been one, would now have 
 had a good opportunity of observing the person who 
 conducted himself so coolly. 
 
 He was, as has been said, young, and well made, 
 and but for the intense and settled paleness of his 
 face, might have been called something more than 
 handsome. There Avas intellect, of a keen order, 
 though far from the highest, in the delicate features, 
 the somewhat square and closely shaven face, and 
 the lofty forehead, from which he had removed a 
 kind of military cap, thus disclosing what remained 
 to him of shortly cut black hair, smoothly laid, it 
 might seem with a view of exhibiting that fine fore- 
 head to the best advantage. The lips were very red, 
 and somewhat compressed, and on the upper one 
 was a small black moustache, an addition to the 
 effect of a face which, though an Englishman's, was 
 Parisian in its finesse. His dark, deeply set eyes 
 glistened in the light of the taper, which also showed, 
 resting on the table, a white small hand, with a 
 glittering ring — the other hand was in a black 
 glove. The stranger's dress, too, was black, and his 
 frock-coat was buttoned at his neck, soldier fashion. 
 But, be it again said, for the pallor of the face, it 
 was one upon Avhich you would at first look with a 
 pleasure, which might not be permanent. 
 
 The spectator would have needed to be rapid, 
 however, in his observation, for in a few moments
 
 THE SILVER COED. 87 
 
 light and hurrying footsteps were heard, and a 
 hand dashed out the hght almost before one could 
 have discerned that a woman's form had passed into 
 the arbour. 
 
 Then Avords were spoken, and the first were of 
 reproach, in an under tone — 
 
 "Thoughtless, selfish." 
 
 "What, for lighting my poor little candle?'^ said 
 a calm, clear voice, exceedingly gentle, almost caress- 
 ing, but for that undercurrent of banter so hateful 
 to woman, whether she be pleased or angry. " And 
 you have dashed to pieces my poor little candle ! 
 How cruel in you ! " 
 
 " Suppose it had been seen," returned the female 
 voice, remonstratingly. 
 
 "He would have thought it was the moon, 
 Rising to some sorcerer's tune, 
 An hour too soon," 
 
 recited the stranger, with very careful inflexion. 
 
 " I am here," said his companion, in a cold voice. 
 " Why are you here, and why have you asked me 
 to come ? " 
 
 " Pointedly put, but categorical answer is not 
 always easy. However, I will do my best. When 
 is this pleasant marriage ? " 
 
 " That — that cannot concern you," replied the 
 other, in a troubled voice. " I do not know." 
 
 "Your first statement is an error, my dear girl, 
 and the second, pardon me, is a falsehood." 
 
 " However much one is in your power, you might
 
 88 THE SILVER CORD, 
 
 preserve tlie language of a gentleman," replied the 
 girl, with agitation. 
 
 " Why, when deceit, which is unworthy of a lady, 
 is sought to be practised upon me ? Why am I to 
 be deprived of the happiness of knowing when my 
 friends are to be made happj^? " 
 
 " Your friends ! " 
 
 "Actually said with a shudder — or is it the cold? 
 — the night is chilly, and — " 
 
 It may have been that he attempted to approach 
 her, and that as if by instinct she eluded him. She 
 stood at the entrance of the arbour, with her hand 
 upon one of the rough posts. 
 
 If there had been such an interruption to their 
 talk, he took no notice of it, but asked — 
 
 " Is Mr. Vernon in bed ? " 
 
 " You know that my father never goes to his 
 room until eleven." 
 
 "I fancied I had heard that hour from the old 
 church — waiting for you must have made the time 
 seem long." 
 
 " Once more, what brings you here ? " 
 
 " Once more, when is the wedding ? " 
 
 " I don^t know," repeated the girl. 
 
 " Strange, that you should not, and that I 
 should ! " 
 
 "Then why ask?" 
 
 "Petulance, my love, within limits, is the most 
 charming privilege of women, but when carried too 
 far, we call it impertinence." 
 
 This was said in the most benign wav, and it was
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 89 
 
 singular that it sliould have produced a passionate 
 reply. 
 
 " I did not mean, to be impertinent — pray forgive 
 me — but I am ill — and it is very cold — I have no 
 shawl — do not be angry, Ernest." 
 
 " I am never angry, and least of all with you. 
 Nor will I detain you long." 
 
 " Please speak, and say what you wish. I am in 
 such terror — " 
 
 " You need not be. No one ever came to harm 
 for my sake." 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " was the response, given, it might 
 be, involuntarily. 
 
 "A form of dissent from my proposition I take 
 it," he replied; and a listener, if there were one, 
 might well wonder of what the heart was made that 
 could respond, with a sneer, to a sob. " I am sorry 
 that we differ, but we will not quarrel, I think." 
 
 " No, no, indeed," said the agitated girl. 
 
 "Then let us speak of business. The bridal day 
 is fixed, as I tell you, though you will not tell me 
 so. I cannot allow the joyful occasion to pass 
 ■without my making some present to the happy 
 pair, giving some sign that I sympathise in their 
 transports." 
 
 "For mercy's sake, do not stand and inflict 
 torture." 
 
 "Not for the world. I hoped to give pleasure, 
 by showing my entire forgiveness of anything that 
 might have seemed to be to m)' injury." 
 
 " To yours ! " said the girl in a low voice.
 
 90 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 "Why, yes. Without affecting any profundity 
 of feeling, with which I fear I should not be cre- 
 dited, can a man calmly resign the love of a lovely 
 being, whose attachment to himself — " 
 
 "At any risk, I leave you — God help me! — if 
 you speak so.^-" 
 
 " Stand there !" said the stranger in a hasty tone 
 of command. " So — a moment^s thought, and you 
 are rational. I had merely to say that I desire to 
 make the bridal present I speak of But, as the 
 pupils of Mrs. Spagley are likely to know, the 
 honour of being the writing-master at her distin- 
 guished establishment is more remarkable than the 
 amount of his salary. I am sure you understand 
 me." 
 
 "You want us to give you more money. O 
 Ernest, how are we to get it ? " 
 
 "I would not insult the intellect of the Misses 
 Vernon by supposing that what they have done 
 before they cannot do again." 
 
 " We have really none, and papa has none — what 
 can we do? " 
 
 " I thought, pardon me, that Mr. Vernon usually 
 received certain moneys about the 24ith. This is 
 the 26th, a point on which I Avould not dwell, but 
 that yesterday I perceived the postman came towards 
 Bolk's Hill with a registered letter," 
 
 ^'But that is wanted for — for marriage arrange- 
 ments," said the poor girl. " I cannot talk to you 
 on such things, and you ought not to make me — I 
 mean that — "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 91 
 
 " Never mind. I comprelieud, and a bride would 
 not willingly be thought a beggar/' 
 " Ernest ! " sobbed the girl. 
 
 " But I might remind you that, on the eve of a 
 marriage, hearts and purses are open, and a bride 
 has such advantages when she asks a little assistance 
 from friends." 
 
 She was silent. Perhaps prostrated in presence 
 of his cruelty and meanness. — Yet do not read a 
 woman^s heart t?Jo fast, or you may read it very 
 wrongly. He, at all events, did not choose so to 
 interpret her. 
 
 " All will be arranged, I feel that it will, and 
 that my bridal present will be worthy of the occa- 
 sion. On the day after to-morrow my copy of 
 Frankenstein will be returned to me, enriched with 
 notes — the notes representing twenty pounds." 
 
 " Twenty pounds, Ernest ! " 
 
 " That will be the amount. You have abeady 
 seen your amiable way to funds — the sum is a mere 
 detail. I had nothing more to say that need detain 
 you from your warm fire-side — unless, indeed — " 
 
 He, in w^ily fashion, dashed out in the middle of 
 his speech, as if to clasp her — but she was gone. 
 
 Ernest Hard wick had the money on the day he 
 had appointed. 
 
 Did Mr. Berry know of this meeting, or the cir- 
 cumstances that made it what it was ?
 
 92 THE SILVER COM). 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The excellent Mrs. Berry had firmly resolved 
 that her husband and his friend should have no 
 further confidential talk that night at least, and that 
 whatever mischief might have b^en done by the 
 shell which she had so deliberately pitched into the 
 enemy's fortress should not be repaired, until she 
 had endeavoured to follow up the attack. We shall 
 see what became of her resolution. 
 
 Clara was speedily directed to go to her room, 
 with a solemn injunction not to forget her prayers, 
 and to put out her candle before getting into bed. 
 The first injunction made the child open her eyes, 
 for it was ver}^ needless, but she looked wistfully at 
 her father to obtain a revision of the second. 
 
 " Mamma takes her light away," said Arthur. 
 
 " Then,-" said Mrs. Berry, calmly, " there may be 
 many reasons why she should learn to do without 
 such assistance.^' 
 
 "Nonsense," said Mr. Berry, ringing the bell. 
 " Tell Hester to fetch the candle." 
 
 " Of course you will give your servants what 
 directions you please, Mr. Berr}^" said the lady, 
 putting the thin lips together, and assuming her 
 favourite attitude of a wronged wife. 
 
 "In my time," said old Mrs. Empson, whom Mrs.
 
 THE SILVER COED. 93 
 
 Berry possibly desired to enlist for active service, 
 "in my time gentlemen did not take upon them- 
 selves to meddle in such matters/' 
 
 " Ah," replied INIr. Berry, who with all his for- 
 bearance had no idea of foreign troops being levied 
 to fight against him, " but that was such a very long 
 time ago. Aunt Empson, and we have improved the 
 fashions. Or perhaps your memory don't serve you 
 as well as it did. I dare say, now, that poor Mr. 
 Empson had his own way at home." 
 
 "Poor Mr. Empson,'' retorted the incensed old 
 lady, " I don't know Avhat call you have to use such 
 words, Mr. Berry. jMr. Empson may not have 
 chose to squander the money that by rights should 
 have been his wife's in building ginger-bread houses, 
 and buying Brummagem buttons, but he was not 
 so poor as all that comes to." 
 
 "As all what comes to, my dear lady?" asked 
 the provoking attorney. 
 
 "You needn't talk to me," replied Mrs. Empson, 
 venomously. 
 
 " But I think that you were kind enough, Aunt 
 Empson, to begin by talking to me, or rather at me, 
 and my respect for you compels me to answer." 
 
 "Mrs. Empson is my aunt, Mr. Berry," said Mrs. 
 Berry, in a toneless voice. 
 
 "You needn't take my part, Marion," said the 
 imgratcful recruit. " It is not a bit of snip-snap 
 impertinence, as I would whip that child for using 
 to her betters, that will frighten me." 
 
 "But Clara has not spoken," said her fiither.
 
 04 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 angrily, aud lighting a candle for the child, he con- 
 ducted her from the room, Avith a kind hand upon 
 her shoulder, and consigned her to Hester, who was 
 coming to answer the bell. He then returned to 
 his sofa, in a humour to speak his mind on small 
 provocation, for he was savage that such an idea as 
 that Clara could be beaten for anything should have 
 been put into his child's head. 
 
 "Children were not brought up in that way in 
 my time," said Mrs. Empson, with all the perti- 
 nacity of a disagreeable old woman. 
 
 " By Jove ! I should think not," was the instant 
 reply of Mr. Lygon. "To judge b}'^ what one sees 
 now, I should think not. As Mr. Berry very well 
 remarks, we have improved the fashions." 
 
 "K.eally," said ]\Irs. Berry, with a laugh which 
 the others were to accept as playful ; " really, Mr. 
 Lygon, absence from your wife does not seem to 
 sweeten your temper. It is so creditable to you as a 
 married man, that ^xe cannot complain of it, and I 
 must add a postscript to my letter, telling Laura 
 how uncomfortable you are when she is away." 
 
 " If the gentleman will let his friends know where 
 to write to her," added Aunt Empson. 
 
 Mrs. Berry opened a neat little book, but over it 
 she keenly watched the effect of this impertinence. 
 Arthur"'s legal adviser, however, deemed it time to 
 take up his client's case. 
 
 "What, Aunt Empson, do you want to write to 
 Mrs. Lygon? I am sure she will be delighted. Do 
 vou recollect what fun we had over one of vour
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 95 
 
 notes last year, and how vre Avere obliged to send 
 for Hester from the kitchen to come and read it, 
 the spelling being more like hers than ours ?" 
 
 Mrs. Empson's head waggled lateralh'- in token 
 of her excessive anger, but did not supph^ her with 
 words 'meet for the occasion. Mr. Berry pursued 
 his revenge. 
 
 " What M'as that one Avord that beat us all — you 
 remember it, INIarion, your memory is so good for 
 little things — something about heavenly wretches?" 
 
 "I beg that no such reference may be made to 
 me," said Mrs. Berry, in some little discomposure, 
 for she knew the temper of her relative^ and by no 
 means desired to be thought she had amused herself 
 at Mrs. Empson's expense. "I can always read 
 any note my aunt is kind enough to send me, and 
 that you know perfectly well, Mr. Berry." 
 
 " No, no," said her husband, pleased at having 
 effected a diversion, " you gave it up, and it was 
 only Hester, at last, that found out that aunt was 
 recommending us to lay up heavenly riches ; she was 
 thinking of a text, you know, Arthur, but we elderly 
 people sometimes use wrong words." 
 
 " Some elderly people do, certainly," said Mr. 
 Arthur Lygon. 
 
 It was a free and gentle passage of arras, but 
 though victorv was not decided, it did not seem to 
 rest with the challengers, and therefore their leader 
 deemed it fit to charge in person. She was making 
 up the thin lips for a pleasant speech, when her exas- 
 perated recruit broke in, her voice shaky with anger.
 
 96 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " You may be glad enough to take the advice as I 
 sent you, one of these days, Mr. and Mrs. Berry," 
 she said. 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Mrs. Berry, now really 
 alarmed (for who knows what confidences women 
 have between one another, and who does not* know 
 that, by feminine ethics, a quarrel legally dissolves 
 all obligations to keep old faith), '' I must insist that 
 you do not for a moment — " 
 
 " I have not come to my years," said Mrs. Emp- 
 son, " to have the word insist used to me, and most 
 of all by my own niece, whom I have knowd from 
 a child." 
 
 " Aunt," entreated Mrs. Berry, more earnestly 
 than it might have been supposed she could speak, 
 " please don't misunderstand me." 
 
 " I am a stupid old woman, no doubt," persisted 
 Mrs. Empson, " and if I had not knowd it of vaj- 
 self, I should have been made aware of it to-night 
 by these gentlemen, who have both been good 
 enough to set their wits against a Avoman as is old 
 enough to be the mother of one of them — " 
 
 "And the grandmother of another, and that is 
 me, eh, aunt ? " said ]Mr. Berry, laughing. " Come, 
 I am sure you are much too good-hearted a person 
 to take anything seriously that was not meant 
 so. Why, Marion, here, who loves you better 
 than she loves anybodj^, was as much amused 
 at your funny spelling as the rest of us, and you 
 know that it is impossible for her to feel anything 
 towards you but respect. Don't get angry, but
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 97 
 
 let lis all have a glass of something comfortable 
 together/' 
 
 This last straw broke the old earners back. The 
 idea of being treated bj her nephew-in-law like 
 one of those old nurses, or common sort of 
 people, ^vho are to be blowd up all through the 
 evening, and then smoothed down with a glass 
 of spirits. Such -was the Avay Mrs. Empson would 
 have put it, if she had still possessed any power 
 of setting forth her wrongs before proceeding to 
 avenge them. 
 
 " Person, Mr. Berry — I am a person, I am well 
 aware of that, and the next time this person troubles 
 you with her handwriting or her presence, let me 
 know of it, that is all." And she made, all things 
 considered, rather a vigorous clutch at a black 
 bonnet in a chair near her. At which bonnet — one 
 touch of millinery makes the whole female world 
 kin — !Mrs. Berry also darted, and began smoothing 
 the ribbons, and pushing out the curtain with a 
 tender elaboration that was artistically designed to 
 go straight to the heart of her aunt, as were the 
 niece's touch upon the arm of her relative, and 
 soothing words. 
 
 " Dearest aunt, if there is one thing in the world 
 to which I may appeal with confidence, it is your 
 feeling as a Christian." 
 
 Other persons, who to be sure would know less of 
 Mrs. Empson, might have thought that such an 
 appeal was the one thing in the world that might 
 be lodged with small advantage. But Mrs. Berry 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE SLLVER CORD. 
 
 knew something of lier aunt and something of 
 human nature. 
 
 "I honestly hope, Marion, that I may presume 
 to call myself a Christian, if" — she added, -with a 
 furious look at the men — " these gentlemen will not 
 think it is taking too great a liberty." 
 
 Arthur's handsome face looked as if he did think 
 the liberty in question was being taken, but Mr. 
 Berry only smiled good-naturedly, and once more 
 rang the bell. 
 
 " Don't ring the bell for me," exclaimed the old 
 lady, in renewed wrath, at the idea that the solvents 
 were going to be asked for in order to pacify her. 
 
 " On the contrary, I am going to ring for Hester," 
 said Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Edward," said Mrs. Berry, who was always 
 very much in earnest indeed when she called her 
 husband by his baptismal name, "I beg that you will 
 prevent a menial from entering this room until 
 my aunt has been perfectly convinced that your 
 ill-placed raillery was only foolish, and not intended 
 disrespectfully." 
 
 " How long will the operation take, my dear, as 
 both Arthur and myself would like a tumbler of 
 whiskey toddy ? " 
 
 " O ! aunt, aunt ! " cried Mrs. Berry, inspired, 
 and kneeling on a footstool that she might the more 
 compendiously embrace her rather surprised relation, 
 who subsided into the arm-chair under the vigorous 
 assault. "O, aunty, I always said that you were 
 the dearest and kindest being in the world, and you
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 99 
 
 do indeed sliow it to forgive sucli conduct. O^ you 
 do indeed ! " 
 
 Mrs. Empson might, under other circumstances, 
 have explained that she had done nothing at all in 
 the way of forgiveness, but her niece pressed her 
 down into the chair, and sobbed — at all events, 
 sobbed with her shoulders — and youth will be 
 served, as the proverb says. The aged Christian 
 was in no position to explain her feelings. 
 
 "Aunt, dear," continued Marion Victrix, pur- 
 suing her advantage, and putting the thin lips to 
 the reluctant cheek — never was there such a double 
 mockery of a kiss — " God bless you, and make me 
 only half as good and as kind, and as generous as 
 you are." 
 
 " It does not seem much to ask," thought Mr. 
 Arthur Lygon, who was regarding the scene with 
 considerable disfavour, though he was not in a mood 
 to care very much what went on in his presence. 
 
 " Begone, Hester," cried !Mrs. Berry, impetuoush'' 
 waving away that faithful domestic, the instant she 
 entered. 
 
 " Eh ! " said Hester, advancing as calmly as if she 
 Lad received no instructions in an opposite sense, 
 " Is the poor old soul 'ill ? Dear me ! Let me fetch 
 her a drop of hot brand^-^-and-water, m'm." 
 
 "Do, Hester," said the implacable Mr. Berry, 
 " and, while you are about it, fetch the spirit de- 
 canters, and bring hot and cold water, Hester, 
 tumblers, spoons, and two wine-glasses.'^ 
 
 Aunt Empson's struggles to arise were consider- 
 
 n 2
 
 100 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 able, but her niece's resolute repression of tliem 
 was really a touch of muscular Christianity. 
 
 " One true thing has beeu said to you, dear aunt, 
 one thing that you must and shall believe, and that 
 is, that I respect and esteem you more than any- 
 body in the world. Believe that, dearest aunt. 
 And so does Mr. Berry," she continued, skilfully, 
 "only he has been a little upset to-night by I 
 don^t know what bad news, and he has taken rather 
 more wine than is quite good for him^ and I am sure 
 you will overlook that." 
 
 Now the charge of having taken too much wine 
 is, I need hardly remind my male friends, one of 
 those allegations which place the accused person at 
 the mercy of his lady prosecutor — if mercy were a 
 thing to come into the game at all. The words 
 really have the power of those of Circe, when she 
 ordered her victims to become brutes. More, — for 
 her slaves had deserved their fate by actual drinking, 
 whei'eas the accusation in question, from the mouth 
 of Lovely Woman in our time, tells better against a 
 sober than an intoxicate being. From the moment 
 of the fatal utterance, words, looks, deeds, all take a 
 new colouring, are bathed in the purple tide. Speak 
 slowly, and, evil man, be told, that you cannot get 
 ideas to come or words to flow, and fit them. Speak 
 fast, and the demon of drink is riding brain and 
 tongue. Do not speak at all, and you are stupid 
 with the wine you have taken. Argue, and you are 
 fractious and feverish. Assent, and you ai-e silly, 
 and do not fully comprehend the meaning of the
 
 THE SILVER CORD. ]01 
 
 "words addressed to you. Move about the room, aud 
 you are restless with the wiuc, -which does not agree 
 with you, and you had better sit down before you 
 break any of the statuettes. Remain tranquilly on 
 the couch, and of coiirse you are crushing and rend- 
 ing the auti-macassar, but you arc not in a state to 
 know what you are about. Propose to go to bed, 
 and no doubt it is the best place for you, but if you 
 were in a condition to care for the opinions of others, 
 you might think what the servants would say at your 
 going off to bed at eleven o'clock. Intimate a notion 
 of remaining, and it is only a man who has been 
 rendered reckless by wine that would think of 
 keeping up those poor servants after half-past ten. 
 Smile, and it is a foolish smile, and you had really 
 better take a book. Frown, and perhaps you had 
 better look in the glass, if you can see straight, and 
 then you will know Mhat ridiculous grimaces you 
 are making. Take up a book, and at once be called 
 upon to answer ■whether people come home to read 
 at that time of night, and also whether you can see 
 the lines distinctly. Lay the book down, and be 
 commended for doing well in not running the risk 
 of soiling and spoiling what can be of no use to you 
 in your present state. Be cool and undemonstra- 
 tive as usual, and prepare to state what wine men 
 take that makes them savage and sulky. Press the 
 loved one's hand^ or lightly touch her silken tress, 
 and meet the pitying, pitiless wonder how many 
 glasses are Avanted to make a person so mightily 
 affectionate. Therefore thovi art inconsiderate, O
 
 103 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 man, if ever thou exposest thyself to that charge 
 from thy virtuous and domestic Circe. Some mar- 
 ried men have recommended that the first time it is 
 brought (save in extraordinary lovingness and play- 
 fulness), answer be instantly made Avith the Bright 
 Poker. Of this counsel I presume to judge not. 
 It might be gentler to bribe the enemy, by never 
 going anywhere without her. For she is not alto- 
 gether adamant, whatever may have been said for 
 the defendant. 
 
 But for this kind of attack to be very successful, 
 it is necessaiy that the combatants should be alone, 
 as a witness on the male side is very much in the 
 way. Upon the present occasion Mr. Berry, who 
 had his weaknesses, one of which was anger when 
 unjustly accused, actually coloured up at this sacri- 
 fice of manly dignity at the altar of feminine affec- 
 tion, and was going to say something which might 
 not have acted as oil on the waters. But his 
 witness came suddenly out, and emphatically. 
 
 " Quite a mistake, Mrs. Berry, I beg to assure 
 you. Your husband has taken next to nothing, less 
 in fact than I myself have done, and I am anxious 
 to vindicate myself from the charge of having caused 
 any irregularity in a friend's family. Mr. Berry, I 
 am happy to inform you, has not taken more wine 
 than is good for him.^' 
 
 We do not believe in evil eyes in England, and 
 therefore, though there are plenty of them about, 
 they do us no harm. Else, the glance which the 
 kneeling Marion bestowed upon the interposing
 
 THE SILVER COED. 103 
 
 Lygon might have been more than -was good for 
 him. 
 
 The old lady in the chair made one more effort to 
 rise, but was again put down by a hasty and fervent 
 embrace, and Mrs. Berry arose for battle. 
 
 " Mr. Lygon," she said, with a spiteful delibera- 
 tion, " whatever unhappiness there may be in your 
 own family, I will thank you not to bring any into 
 mine.^' 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Berry," said Arthur, whose nature 
 it was to become composed and wary in the presence 
 of manifest hostility, "how happy I should be to 
 deserve your thanks for anything." 
 
 " When a wife," continued the lady, " is endea- 
 vouring to find the best excuse she can for a hus- 
 band's conduct, it does not become a stranger to 
 interfere, and endeavour to keep up irritation." 
 
 " Christians are never irritated, Mrs. Berry," said 
 Arthur, calmly. 
 
 " There," cried the high voice, varied with croak, 
 of the old lady in the chair. '^ You see he calls me 
 a wretched heathen to my very face." 
 
 "Aunt," said Mrs. Berry, with dignity, "what 
 either of the so-called gentlemen in this room may 
 say at this time must be a matter for pity, not for 
 answer. You, I am sure, will so regard it." 
 
 " What, have / had too much wine, also ? " asked 
 Lygon, with a short laugh. " I did not know it. 
 But if so, is it not a little inhospitable in you, my 
 dear Mrs. Berry, to tell your guest so ? " 
 
 "It is the right thing to tell the truth," said
 
 104 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 Mrs. Beriy, as if announcing a newly recognised 
 dogma. 
 
 "And not right to do the reverse/' said Mr. 
 Berry, roused into real wrath, and manifesting it by 
 bringing his hand down, by no means gently, on the 
 table. " I will have no untruths spoken in my 
 house, about me or about my guests." 
 
 " Oh ! " said, or rather emitted, Mrs. Berry. 
 Two letters are nothing, but there may be from 
 Alpha to Omega in two letters, and T think the 
 noise made by the lady ran nearly that length in 
 implied taunt and defiance. 
 
 "No untruths, to please anybody," returned her 
 husband. 
 
 " Perhaps it might have been well, not that I 
 presume to dictate,^' said Mrs. Berrj^, slowly, " if 
 that notice had been given a little earlier." 
 
 " You hear what I say," replied Mr. Berry, under- 
 standing her meaning, but not choosing to do so. 
 " Mrs. Empson knows perfectly well that intentional 
 disrespect to her is out of the question, but I am 
 sorry that she has lived all these years without 
 learning how to take a friendly joke. When she 
 can do so, I shall be as happy as I always am to see 
 her here. You can explain that to her, Marion, 
 without any unworthy subterfuges. Lygon, we will 
 take our tumbler in the library." 
 
 He led the younger man from the room. Arthur 
 expected, at each instant, to receive a parting shot, 
 but whether the sudden and very unusual mani- 
 festation of her husband's anger had awed jNIrs.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 105 
 
 Berry, or whether she preferred to defer operations 
 until a more convenient season, the solicitor and his 
 client Avere allowed to pass without further speech. 
 Then the women made up their differences in a 
 minute, and Hester entering, not empty-handed, 
 they also made something else, after the manner 
 of such ladies.
 
 106 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The boat from Folkstone to Boulogne was making 
 excellent progress^ the water was what people choose 
 to call "glass/^ and even the foreigners who were 
 returning from insulation, and who, in spite of the 
 glorious weather, wrapped and shawled themselves, 
 and lay at full length, scowling at the sea as an ally 
 of perfidious Albion, could not iiJanage to get into 
 their faces that curious hue of mottled whitey-brown 
 paper, which is usually discernible on the alien 
 countenance when the alien is on the ocean. There 
 was scarcely a tolerable excuse for the kind tremors 
 and slight faintnesses of the pretty bride, away for 
 her honey month, and affectionately desirous to 
 afford her Algernon the happiness of paying her all 
 the petits soms of a voyage. The day was as beau- 
 tiful on La Manche as at Lipthwaite. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon was sitting as far apart as possible 
 from other passengers, but not in that part of the 
 vessel where her place would naturally be. Plainly 
 dressed, and veiled, she occupied a camp-stool 
 ''forward," among the humbler class of passengers. 
 She sat by the side of the vessel, and held a book, 
 less 'for reading than as an assistance in repelling 
 any well-meant attentions from good-natured women, 
 who, happy in their holiday Avith their families.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 107 
 
 pitied her supposed loneliness, and any impertinence 
 from young shopmen and the like, -who, " cutting 
 over to Booloue for a lark," might desire to com- 
 mence it by no end of a flirtation with a deuced 
 pretty-looking Party who was sitting solus all alone 
 by herself, until your humble took compassion on 
 her. A little knot of smokers occasionally lounged 
 near her, and chatted, but it is needless to say that 
 no smile at their fun encouraged them to draw 
 round her, and her look and manner were so unmis- 
 takeably those of a lady that she escaped all the 
 small molestations which underbred Englishmen, 
 less from viciou§ness than ill-breeding, have a habit 
 of inflicting on a solitary female traveller. Laura 
 was permitted to remain silent and thoughtful, until 
 addressed by one who had a claim to be heard. 
 
 This was Ernest Adair, the Ernest Hardwick of 
 the garden and the arbour at Mr. Vernon^s house in 
 Lipthwaite. 
 
 He had been slightly, if at all aged or altered, to 
 appearance, by the lapse of the years that had passed 
 since that meeting with Mr. Vernon's daughter. 
 His step was as light and confident, his eye as 
 glittering, his features as pale as ever, but perhaps 
 on a closer regard it might have been seen that the 
 lines -were a little harder, and the face somewhat 
 more resolved, though the smile was as ready as 
 'ever, and the voice as irritatingly pleasant. His 
 dress, still dark, had a certain military compactness, 
 which was not impaired by the effect of a loose 
 white overcoat of the lightest material, and a stiff
 
 108 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 travelling cap, of a more elegant kind than is 
 generally adopted by the Briton, who looks very 
 respectable at home, but manifests extremely wild 
 notions of the picturesque when he adorns himself 
 for foreign conquest. 
 
 Ernest Adair had kept himself entirely aloof from 
 Mrs. Lygon, since the vessel had left harbour. 
 After providing her with a seat, and placing a book 
 in her hand, he had gone further forward, and 
 establishing himself in the narrowest part of the 
 boat, with his back to the bowsprit, he had devoted 
 himself to his favourite cigarettes, but always keep- 
 ing a careful watch upon Laura. 
 
 Once she drew out a pencil, and a note, and 
 seemed about to write. At that moment Adair^s 
 watchfulness was redoubled, and, as a passenger, 
 walking the deck, accidentally paused and screened 
 Laura from his view, his lips compressed with 
 sudden anger. But the next moment the passenger 
 passed on, and Laura's pencil had not touched the 
 paper. Apparently, she abandoned her idea of 
 writing, and returned the pencil to a very small 
 pocket at her waist. 
 
 "What an objectionable place to put a pocket," 
 said Ernest Adair to himself. " I shall have to ask 
 her for that pencil, and to fabricate a false pretence 
 for doing so, an immorality which I hereby transfer 
 to the account of her sinful milliner." * 
 
 Half an hour later, he approached her, bringing 
 with him a little black sac-de-nuit, glistening with 
 newness.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 109 
 
 " Merely a word or two," he said, respectfully — 
 almost deferentially. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon looked up for a moment, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " I have not intruded conversation upon 3'ou," he 
 said, iu the same tone. " I have scarcely spoken 
 twenty words to you since yesterday afternoon, and 
 those only from necessity. But we shall land in a 
 quarter of an hour, and it may be better to speak 
 here than elsewhere." 
 
 Laura listened, but did not answer. 
 
 " You have been in Boulogne before," he said. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Nay, I was not asking a question. I know that 
 you have, and that you are well acquainted with the 
 neighbourhood. At this moment you are troubled 
 at the thought of the crowd on the pier, and the 
 eyes of the people who Avatch the disembarkation. 
 Have no fear on that account. I have arranged for 
 your being spared all annoyance." 
 
 " How ? " 
 
 "When we approach the harbour, have the kind- 
 ness to go down into the fore cabin, and do not 
 come up again until I let you know that it is time 
 to do so." 
 
 " When will that be ? " 
 
 "When all the passengers have landed and passed 
 the douane, and crowd, touters, and everybody are 
 gone." 
 
 " I thought that the police — " 
 
 "The police are good enough to waive rules in
 
 110 THE SILVER CORD, 
 
 my case," said Ernest Adair, with the slightest 
 symptom of return to his old manner. But he at 
 once resumed his respectful tone. 
 
 "A carriage shall be ready on the quay, and we 
 shall be out of the town in a few minutes." 
 
 " And where next ? " 
 
 " That will entirely depend upon yourself at the 
 expiration of a short interview between us at a house 
 well known to yourself — a most respectable house, I 
 should have said, but that Mrs. Lygon could not by 
 possibility know any other .^^ 
 
 "I will go down at once," she said, rising from 
 her seat. 
 
 " If you please. Only one thing more. You left 
 — this agreeable journey was undertaken somewhat 
 hastily, and though delightful^ as all improvised 
 pleasures are, hurry has its inconveniences — so 
 against one of them, the entire absence of luggage, 
 I have ventured to provide, and this little bag will 
 supply any temporary wants. My own inexperience 
 in such matters has been assisted by more competent 
 judgment." 
 
 He took the book gently from her hand, and 
 placed it in the handle of the small sac. 
 
 " By the way," he said, " I must give my name 
 in writing to the police, that it may not be blun- 
 dered. I have no pencil; you have one. Favour 
 me with it for a few moments." 
 
 Mrs. Lygon mechanically complied; her mind 
 was, at the instant, in another direction, or she 
 might not have done so.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. Ill 
 
 "I will write it in the chief cabin/' he said. 
 " We are nearing port — perhaps the sooner you go 
 down the better." 
 
 Having the pencil, he did not fear to hasten 
 away. 
 
 Her next act was one that might have befitted 
 Laui'a Vernon better than the matured Laura 
 Lygon, schooled in self-restraint, and habituated to 
 the calm manners of the world. 
 
 With a look of anger that could have been seen 
 through the veil she wore, Mrs. Lygon dashed the 
 bag across the vessel's side into the sea — watched it 
 for an instant as it sank — and hurried down the 
 stairs of the cabin. 
 
 Ernest Adair was as good as his word. Mrs. 
 Lygon Avas left undisturbed in possession of the fore 
 cabin until the last of the wild cries, and shouts, 
 and howls, with which a steam-boat is emptied at a 
 French port, was silenced, and the vessel was finally 
 moored in waiting for her next trip. A few minutes 
 later, and a gendarme descended, and with the 
 utmost politeness apprised Madame that her car- 
 riage awaited her. Whatever question of police had 
 required answer had evidently been met satisfac- 
 torily by Adair, for the single duty which the officer 
 permitted himself was the handing Mrs. Lygon to 
 the quay, where Ernest stood holding the door of a 
 close carriage. She entered it without touchhig the 
 ofiered hand of Adair, and was somewhat surprised 
 that he immediately closed the door, and mounted 
 beside the driver, who instantly set his horses in
 
 112 THE SIL\TER CORD. 
 
 motion. Perhaps, also, she remarked that the 
 vigilant Adair made no inquiry after the sac-de-nuity 
 which he might have supposed she had forgotten. 
 But Ernest had seen the action which consigned it 
 to the sea, and believed that he appreciated all the 
 impulse which had induced her to send it thither, a 
 belief in which he was mistaken, as a man of evil 
 morals, no matter how subtle may be his mind, 
 very frequently is, when seeking to solve the delicate 
 problem called a woman's heart.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 113 
 
 CPIAPTER X. 
 
 Arthur Lygon rose early on the following morn- 
 ing, and indeed some considerable time befoi'e the 
 hour at which his host and hostess were usually in 
 the habit of making their appearance, and after a 
 glance into the little room in which Clara was sleep- 
 ing the still calm sleep of childhood, he Avent out 
 into the garden. Perhaps he hoped that Mr. Berry 
 would join him, and by communicating at once the 
 old solicitor's view of the case, would leave his friend 
 free to take some decided course of action, which 
 Lygon now began to feel was absolutely necessary 
 to his own existence. But he could see that the 
 curtains of Mr. Berry's dressing-room window 
 remained closed, and Arthur, feverish, impatient, 
 irritable, wandered around the garden, and felt 
 more despondent than he had hitherto permitted 
 himself to be. 
 
 At a turn of one of the Avalks Mrs. Berry suddenly 
 confronted him. 
 
 This apparition would not have been pleasing to 
 the most indifferent spectator, for Mrs. Berry^s loose 
 dust-coloured morning gown, ugly slippers, and 
 favourite hat did not compose an agreeable picture, 
 but to Arthur Lygon the presence of Mrs. Berry 
 was at that moment more objectionable than that of
 
 114 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 any created being could have been. His bat, of 
 course, rose mechanically in greeting to his hostess, 
 but it would have been difficult to render his " Good 
 morning/' less like the cordial expression of a guest 
 thankful for hospitality. 
 
 But to his surprise, and not much to the in- 
 crease of his content, Mrs. Berry came up to him 
 with a smile that was almost affectionate, and 
 placed her hand in his, which she detained in a 
 friendlier clasp than she Avas often in the habit 
 of according. 
 
 " I am glad to have an opportunity of speaking to 
 you, dear Mr. Lygon, before Mr. Berry comes down. 
 I hope you heard me say good night to you, as I 
 went up stairs last night. I would not come in, for 
 gentlemen do not like to be disturbed when they get 
 into close chat." 
 
 Nothing could be kinder than her words, and her 
 manner was as friendly as she could possibly make 
 it. Arthur Lygon, however, could not help con- 
 trasting their meeting with their parting over-night, 
 and scarcel}^ knew whether he ought to be apologetic, 
 or only reserved. His companion left him little 
 time for reflection. 
 
 " First of all," she continued, " I want to say a 
 word to you from poor dear aunty, who fears she 
 gave you offence by her oddity of talk, and charged 
 me with all kinds of explanations to you. If you 
 knew her as well as we do, and what she has suf- 
 fered and still has to suffer, you would soon forgive 
 her anything that seemed like petulance, but I am
 
 THE SILVER CORD, 11a 
 
 sure YOU will take it from me that the poor old lady 
 had no intention to be unkind.'^ 
 
 " On the contrary, Mrs. Berry, said Lygou, " I 
 fear !Mrs. Empson may have reason to think that I 
 ■vras not so forbearing as I ought to have been, and 
 except that I was anything but well, and " 
 
 " Not a syllable of apology from you," said Mrs. 
 Berry, in a low compassionating tone. " Give aunt, 
 give me credit for being able to lay aside any thought 
 of ourselves under such circumstances.^' 
 
 Ai'thur Lygon looked at her with a keen glance, 
 and was answered by the hand being again placed in 
 Lis, with a Avarm pressure. 
 
 " Please," said ]\rrs. Berry, " come with me to the 
 book-room. "We shall not be disturbed there.'' 
 
 Lygon, a good deal surprised, could only assent, 
 and follow his hostess into the house. 
 
 They entered the library, and Mrs. Berry signing 
 to Arthur to take a chair, closed the door, and 
 actually drew a small brass bolt with which her hus- 
 band was in the habit of occasionally securing his 
 afternoon reading, or nap, from interruption. 
 
 If Arthur Lygon's mind had at that moment been 
 in any condition to receive a ludicrous impression — 
 or a smile could have arisen to his lips at so deter- 
 mined an enforcement of an assignation — smile and 
 impression would have instantly vanished at his 
 companion's next act. 
 
 She pushed a footstool towards the tabic, glanced 
 at Arthur as if to intimate that he well knew what 
 to do, and taking up a large prayer-book, she knelt 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 down at a chair, and deliberately read out, in a very 
 excellent manner, the sacramental prayer for the 
 church-militant here on earth, laying especial 
 emphasis on the beautiful petition for succour to 
 those who in this transitory life are in trouble or 
 adversity. 
 
 At the first moment of her commencing the 
 prayer, Lygon formed a sort of idea that his hostess 
 was merely performing what might be a substitute 
 for family worship as practised in religious families, 
 and at which it might not be ]Mr. Berry ""s habit to 
 assist. This idea was of course quickly dispelled. 
 Mrs. Berry might not be able to induce her husband 
 to join in such a rite, but she was mistress in her 
 own house, and would naturally require the attend- 
 ance of her servants. Then came the emphatic 
 delivery of the portion we have alluded to, and 
 Lygon felt that he was present at a special service 
 connected with himself. He hastily accused Mr. 
 Berry of having either gratuitously revealed the 
 secret in his charge, or of having surrendered it as a 
 peace-offering after the scene of the previous night. 
 He had not obeyed his hostess's intimation that he 
 should kneel, but he remained standing until she 
 had concluded, and then it was with a heightened 
 colour and a rapidly beating pulse that he awaited 
 her next proceeding. 
 
 This was to replace the broad red ribbon with 
 ■which the page in the prayer-book had been marked, 
 and to restore the book itself to the shelf whence it 
 had been taken. Mrs. Berry then came up to
 
 THE SILVER COED. 117 
 
 Arthur, as he stood by the fire-place, and looking 
 him kindly in the face, said, 
 
 " Now, dear friend, we understand one another." 
 
 " Yes," said Lygon, with some presence of mind. 
 " And now any little unkindness of language last 
 night is forgotten for ever. What a lovely morning 
 again," he added, vt'alking to the window and open- 
 ing it. 
 
 Mrs. Berry stepped rapidly to his side. 
 
 " Nay, Arthur — you must let me call you so, when 
 in trouble, at all events — this is not well. I will not 
 say that in this world it is not sometimes a duty to 
 avoid intruding one's sorrows upon others, and 
 though we are enjoined to bear one another's 
 burdens, we are not always required to impose our 
 own. But if friendship, Christian friendship, means 
 anything, it means that we are to seek counsel and 
 comfort one of another. You came hither for that 
 purpose; do not be afraid to carry it out. You will 
 find no cold hearts here, in the hour of your sorrow, 
 Arthur." 
 
 " I am grateful, Mrs. Berry, for kindness supposed 
 to be needful to me," said Lygon, still desirous to 
 hold out, and in his soul reviling !Mr. Berr}^ for not 
 being present to make him aware how much and 
 how little had been revealed, '' and if " 
 
 " I will not have you say that for which you will 
 reproach yourself hereafter," said ]\Irs. Berry, 
 earnestly. " If I have not hitherto had your con- 
 fidence, it is perhaps because I am not one of those 
 who seek a trust not Avillingly given, and perhaps
 
 118 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 too^ and very naturally, because my liusband has 
 been your friend for so many more years than my- 
 self; but this is not a time for worldly etiquette, or 
 indeed for worldly feeling. You may trust me as a 
 friend, Arthur.^' 
 
 " And I am most grateful for your friendship, 
 Mrs. Berry/^ said Lygon, struggliug between dis- 
 cordant emotions. 
 
 " If that is from your heart, I am satisfied," said 
 his companion, " and I hope and believe that it is. 
 Poor darling little Clara ! " 
 
 And ]Mrs. Berry hid her eyes in her handkerchief, 
 and sobbed. 
 
 " He must have told her," said Arthur to himself, 
 for the words touching upon a chord on which he 
 had himself been harping throughout another 
 miserable night, went straight to his heart. But 
 again he rallied, aided by his instinctive dislike of 
 the woman beside him, and resolved to resist her as 
 jong as he could. 
 
 " Have you seen her this morning ? " he asked. 
 " Does she not look lovely in her sleep, with all that 
 dark hair about her young face ? " 
 
 "I would not disturb her," said INIrs. Berry, 
 wiping her eyes. " To think what she may have to 
 undergo, poor baby," and again she wept. 
 
 '•'Not much, I trust," said Arthur, determinately, 
 and thinking, justly, how true and strong a friend 
 and protector Clara had in himself. 
 
 " As for any plans for that dear child," said Mrs. 
 Berry, "they must, of course, be the subject of deep
 
 THE SrL\T>:R COED. 119 
 
 consideration, and for myself, I will say, of prayerful 
 consideration, but tliey are not, perhaps,^immediately 
 necessary. But as regards Mrs. Lygou " 
 
 Laura's name and fame in INIrs. Berry's keeping ! 
 The thought passing through Arthur's mind caused 
 a shudder like that given by the first wound from 
 the surgeon's steel. In a forced voice, he said, 
 
 " I have arranged -nith Berry for a conversation 
 by-and-by. It will, perhaps, be better not to speak 
 upon this subject in the meantime.^^ 
 
 "You are quite right, quite right," said Mrs. 
 Berr}', " and it was with no intention of increasing 
 your trouble that I have endeavoured to prepare you 
 for that conversation by the best means in our 
 power " — a glance at the place where she had knelt 
 explained her meaning. " And if you hear that 
 which may wound your very heart to its depths, you 
 will remember, dear Arthur, where I would guide 
 you for healing." 
 
 He turned upon her with irrepressible emotion. 
 
 "What should I hear," he said, "that can give 
 me such a wound ? " 
 
 '■"Nay," said INIrs. Berry, sorrowfully, "sterner 
 lips than mine must tell you. I cannot undertake a 
 task above my poor strength.'^ 
 
 " Do not fear to speak plainly to me," said Arthur 
 Lygon, suddenly forgetting his desire to postpone 
 the conversation, and overmastered by his eagerness 
 to snatch at the key of the mystery that was tor- 
 turing him ; " what I may have done, I can bear to 
 hear."
 
 120 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " You, my poor Arthur ! ^' repeated Mrs. Beny, in 
 a tone between surprise and compassion. " If there 
 is an5'thing to lay at your charge, I, at least, know 
 nothing of it.^^ 
 
 " To my charge ? " said Lygon, impetuously. " He 
 has said so — or if not to my charge, there is some- 
 thing to be told of me — but we will speak of it pre- 
 sently — I would rather not talk now, if you please, 
 Mrs. Berry,^^ he said, hurriedly, " and yet — yes — the 
 sooner the bettei' — if you can light up this strange 
 mystery, do so, and pardon my abruptness.^' 
 
 " Pardon, never ask pardon of me," said Mrs. 
 Berry, "but take this comfort to yourself, Arthur, 
 that this sorrow is none of your causing, except in 
 the sense in which we have all deserved affliction. 
 There is not a word to be said against you so far as 
 I have ever heard.'' 
 
 " Then for what am I to prepare myself — what is 
 this wound you speak of? '' he said vehemently. 
 " Ah ! forgive me. I perceive that j^ou have as much 
 to learn as myself. Mr. Berry has not taken you 
 into further confidence than he has given to me. 
 Pardon my excitement. I have been exceedingly ill, 
 and my nerves are not steady. I must try a course 
 of walks in your Lipthwaite air, and see what that 
 will do for me.'' 
 
 "Arthur Lygon," said Mrs. Berry, "it is impos- 
 sible for me, with any poor words I may possess, to 
 tell you how my heart bleeds for you. What you 
 have just said about Mr. Berry, and about his v/itli- 
 holding confidence from me is, I grieve to assure
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 121 
 
 you, utterly beside tlie mark. All else that I would 
 say to you, dear friend, is that yoa must nerve your- 
 self to le.irn, not from me, but from my husband, 
 that Avhich "will grieve you to the soul. But if, 
 through his worldly, or shall I say his professional 
 notion of a kindness, which unhappily will be a mis- 
 taken one, he should deem it right not to lay the 
 whole truth before you " 
 
 " You intend to do so ? " 
 
 "Grievous, bitterly grievous, dear Arthur, as such 
 a duty would be, and much as I hope that I shall 
 not be called upon to perform it, I feel that from it, 
 if it must be done, I ought not to shrink." 
 
 "Mr. Berry has confided to you, Mrs. Berry, the 
 circumstances that have brought me to Lipthwaite?^' 
 asked Lygon, agitated. 
 
 " I have learned your sorrow from Mr. Berry^s 
 lips," said his companion, slowly, and then she 
 touched his hand in sympathy. 
 
 " Ah, he is in the garden,^' said Lygon, perceiving 
 his friend. " I must speak to him on the instant." 
 And he hastened to the door. 
 
 " A moment," said I\Irs. Berry, with her hand at 
 the bolt. " Listen to me." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 " You know my husband's true friendship for 
 you." 
 
 " I have known it for years. I am here because I 
 know it," said Lygon impatiently. 
 
 " That is right, that is well. You have trusted 
 him fully?"
 
 122 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 "Fully/' 
 
 " Do not liurry. A minute more or less is not of 
 importance_, and I am speaking for your good^ believe 
 me, I am. Go into the garden, and have your inter- 
 view. I am only too thankful that I have not to be 
 present at it. But remember what I have said of his 
 possible reserve." 
 
 " He will have none from me, I hope and believe, 
 or, I repeat it, I would not be here." 
 
 " Of all persons in the world, Arthur, I am the 
 last who would cast a doubt upon his earnestness to 
 serve you. But while I believe that truth and 
 straightforwardness are not only the commanded 
 ways of serving a friend, but the best and kindest, 
 my husband has some of the ways of his old calling 
 — all I would say is that I do not think he is prepared 
 to tell you all that you should know." 
 
 " Why do you say this to me ? " 
 
 "Because it is right to say it. I have no senti- 
 mental reasons to give you, Arthur Lygon. I profess 
 no ardent love for those of whom I know but little — 
 now — and if my heart has warmed to your child, it is 
 for her own sake, not that of others. But you shall not 
 be deceived, if I can prevent it. Go to my husband — 
 hear what he has to say to you, and I, when we meet, 
 shall know, without any words from you, whether he 
 has been candid. If not " 
 
 " You will be." 
 
 "Again, I say, from the bottom of my heart, may 
 I be spared the necessity ! But do not manifest to 
 him any conviction that he is not telling you the
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 123 
 
 truth. Go, and may you be strengthened for your 
 trial, my poor Arthur ! " 
 
 She released him, and in a few moments he had 
 joined Mr. Berry. She saw them shake hands, and 
 turn towards the little wooden bridge over the 
 boundary stream.
 
 124 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 But concealmeut or reserve, wliere he professed to 
 give faith and heart, were not in Arthur Lygon's 
 nature, and he resolved, whether his friend had or 
 had not adhered to their compact, that ]\Ir. Berry 
 should have no right to complain of withheld confi- 
 dence. 
 
 "I have been speaking with Mrs. Berry in the 
 library," said Lygon ; and then paused to give Mr. 
 Berry the opportunity of placing himself so far right 
 as he could do by explaining that he had thought it 
 best to take his wife into the secret. 
 
 " Ah,'' said Mr. Berry, " that is well. You have 
 smoothed over any little irritation from last night." 
 
 " That was instantly put out of the way," replied 
 Lygon, " as you must be sure it would," he added, 
 warmly. " And now, my dear Berry, speak out, and 
 speak quickly. I am manned for anything but 
 suspense. There is something I am to hear, which 
 I am told you Avill hardly dare to tell me. You 
 should have dared to do so yesterday ; but now, in a 
 word, tell me." 
 
 He nerved himself, as — once more to borrow com- 
 parison from the surgeon's art — the blindfold patient 
 sets himself to receive the steel. But the stroke did 
 not come.
 
 THE SILVER COED. 125 
 
 •'Arthur," said ]Mr. Berry, in a troubled voice, 
 *' are you repeating my wife''s words ? " 
 
 "Their meaning, at least," said the younger man. 
 " You would expect to hear them. Now, then, for 
 the truth." 
 
 " Mrs. Berry has given you to understand that I 
 have a painful secret which you ought to hear, and 
 which I may be reluctant to disclose." 
 
 " Yes, yes. But no more preliminaries. I tell 
 you that I can bear it." 
 
 " There is no such secret, Arthur." 
 
 " This denial, too, I was told to expect. Berr)-^, 
 you have proved yourself my friend too often for me 
 to doubt you. It is only that you think I am too 
 cowardly to hear bad news. I am no coward, and I 
 am ready for the worst. In Heaven^s name, speak ! " 
 
 " And as Heaven is my judge, Arthur Lygon," 
 said the old man, earnestly, " I have no such secret 
 to reveal." 
 
 "You had yesterda}'," said Lygon, almost fiercely. 
 " You told me that there was something in \\\j past 
 life that bore upon the disappearance of my wife. I 
 knew not how to believe that ; but I trust your word 
 as I would have trusted my father's. Berry, you are 
 prdtering with me, out of kindness — that must end 
 now. Tell me the truth." i 
 
 "What I said yesterday, Arthur," replied Mr. 
 Berry, " was said upon the spur of the moment, and 
 when you pressed me for some help to your own mind. 
 It was based upon something that occurred to me as 
 possible, but which, upon reviewing it calmly, I
 
 126 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 perceive must have been an utterly foolish fancy. 
 I will tell it you, or not, as you please : it is not 
 worth a moment's serious thought. But it gave us 
 time for reflection — " 
 
 " And you for consultation with Mrs. BeiTy." 
 
 " Arthur, do you mean upon j'-our affairs ? ^' 
 
 " Mrs. Berry has just told me so. I am not com- 
 plaining — but I would have given the world that you 
 had not done so." 
 
 " And I have not done so," said Mr. Berry, with 
 dignity, and speaking in the undertone in which a 
 man of advanced age, indignant, and conscious that 
 he is in the right, usually replies to an accusation. 
 
 " What am I to think ? " said Lygon. " It is not 
 half an hour since I received Mrs. Berry's solemn 
 assurance that she had learned my sorrow from your 
 own lips." 
 
 Berry's face grew ashy white, and his lips quivered. 
 
 " Arthur," he said, " spare me words on this ; spare 
 me the pain of saying what a husband is loth to say. 
 But believe two things : first, that I have not spoken 
 a syllable to Mrs. Berry on your affairs ; and secondly, 
 that I have no secret of any kind to impart. You 
 have known me from your childhood." 
 
 There was something pathetic in the appeal of the 
 old man to be saved from the humiliation of accusing 
 his wife of falsehood. But Arthur Lygon was by 
 this time wrought to a pitch of excitement that 
 deprived him of sensitiveness to the emotion of 
 another. 
 
 " Berry," he said, sternly, " I would not willingly
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 127 
 
 wrong 5'ou by word or deed, but my own position is 
 too terribly painful to allow me to Avastc time on a 
 mere matter of delicacy. It is evident that you and 
 Mrs. Berry, or one of you, know that which I ought 
 to know, and that you disagree as to the fitness of 
 letting me hear the truth. If I am not to hear it 
 from you, ]\Irs. Berry permits me to ask it of her, 
 but deprecates the being compelled to reveal it. You 
 force that painful duty upon her." 
 
 " ]Mr. Lygon,^' said the old man, " at whatever 
 cost of feeling, we will at once give you the satisfac- 
 tion you require." 
 
 " Is that the way to put it. Berry?" said Arthur, 
 hurt at his old friend's tone, but too much agitated 
 to pause and remonstrate. " I am offered the confi- 
 dence Avhich you seem to wish to deny me." 
 
 " Let us go to Mrs. Berry," was her husband's 
 only answer. 
 
 And as if she had foreseen the result of their 
 conference, or had been watching it, Mrs. Berry 
 came from the house to meet them on their way. 
 There was just distance enough to be crossed to 
 leave each party time to consider how the con- 
 versation should begin, but Arthur Lygon, as 
 most impatient, was naturally most prompt, when 
 they met. 
 
 "]May I recal to you, ]Mrs. Berry, the conversation 
 we had, a short time ago, in the library ?" 
 
 " I expected to have it recalled," was the reply. 
 "Before which, jNIarion," said Mr. Berry, with 
 severity, "you will have the kindness to disabuse
 
 128 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 Mr. Lygon, before my face, of a mistake T^hicli he 
 has founded upon some words of yours/' 
 
 " It is my misfortune if I express myself inade- 
 quately/' said Mrs. Berry, with something of her 
 manner of over-night — a manner which she had dis- 
 carded during her interview with Lygon. In truth, 
 at this instant, though she came to do that which it 
 was near her heart to do, she felt more nervous than 
 was her custom, and took refuge in her artificial 
 defences. 
 
 " Mr. Lygon, Marion, came down here upon a pain- 
 ful errand. Be good enough to assure him that you 
 now hear this, for the first time, from me." 
 
 " I cannot state a falsehood, Edward, even to please 
 you. My duty to you is solemn, but I owe a still 
 higher duty." 
 
 "Dare you assert," said Mr. Berry, "that I told 
 you why Arthur Lygon was here ? " And his tone 
 evinced a concentrated anger which his wife had 
 never seen him manifest during all the years of their 
 union. She would have trembled, perhaps, but had 
 that to say which sustained her. 
 
 " I made no such assertion," she answered, " nor 
 will Mr. Lygon allege that I made it. What I said I 
 am prepared to justify, if justification is required of 
 me ; but it appears to me, and if a woman's feelings 
 lead me astray I cannot help it, that we are wasting 
 time over a comparatively insignificant question, and 
 neglecting a very important one." 
 
 " Marion," said her husband, " you do not see, or 
 you will not see, that I am accused of violating a
 
 THE SILVER COED. 129 
 
 confidence reposed in me by a friend and a client ; 
 yet you dare to speak of the charge as an unim- 
 portant one.'' 
 
 " Edward ! " said !Mrs. Berry, almost passionately, 
 " that you should think of a mere quarrel of words 
 when Arthur Lygon is waiting to hear a revelation 
 that so deeply affects his happiness and his home ! 
 I know that he is waiting for it. I know that you 
 have not had the courage to make it. Is it worthy 
 of you, is it kind to him, to say nothing of so insig- 
 nificant a person as myself, that he should come here 
 for counsel, and should liave it kept from him ? " 
 
 " Is this madness ? " said Mr. Berry, in apparent 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Berry, " this is not madness. 
 The madness was some years ago, when two friends 
 of Mr. Arthur Lygon's — they stand, I shame to say, 
 upon this grass plot — allowed him to enter into the 
 most sacred relation of life without apprising him of 
 things within their knowledge. If one of those two 
 friends is self-forgiven the other is not, and never 
 will be." 
 
 Arthur Lygon could but tm'n from one face to the 
 other, in his bewilderment. Mrs. Berry's counte- 
 nance was as pale as woman's could well be, and she 
 seemed prostrated by the weight of tlie revelation 
 she was endeavouring to make. Mr. Berry's face 
 had assumed a certain appearance of terror which 
 Arthur Lygon had neither will nor leisure to analyse. 
 
 "What is your dearest wish at this instant, 
 Arthur ? " she asked suddenly.
 
 130 THE SIL^ST^n COED. 
 
 " To discover her — can you ask?" was his equally 
 rapid reply. 
 
 Oh the light that gleamed once more in those light 
 eyes ! It could not have escaped either of the spec- 
 tators. It did not. But each had his own excite- 
 ment, and had no leisure to heed hers. Nor could 
 either, if possessing the finest ear ever bestowed, 
 have caught that low hiss that followed, and the 
 woman herself could not have certified whether two 
 words were spoken or only thought. 
 
 " So, eloped ! " 
 
 But all this took but a second, and Mrs. Berry 
 was instant in answer : 
 
 " Let Mr. Berry give you his clue." 
 
 " This malice is actually criminal ! " exclaimed Mr. 
 Berry. He would have given anything to recal the 
 word the moment after it had been said. It was the 
 enemy's prize. 
 
 " Malice ! No, no," said Mrs. Berry, mourn- 
 fully. '' That is not the word to apply, though 
 you have always insisted, Edward, on wronging 
 me in connection with the unhappy history. I 
 have never had any malice. If I had borne any, 
 which Heaven forbid, I might have induced you 
 to make better use of the knowledge you pos- 
 sessed, before it was too late. But if Arthur is 
 bent upon discovering what has been — what has 
 become " 
 
 Feeling her way very carefully, and with slow 
 utterance, even in the hour of victory. 
 
 '' Of his wife," said Arthur, " and why she left 
 
 I
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 131 
 
 his home. Speak out, Mrs. Berry — it is no time 
 to pick words." 
 
 Oh how her heart beat then ! She had the whole 
 key. 
 
 "Then, Arthur," she said, "it is better that such 
 a story should be told by a man than by a woman. 
 Let Mr. Berry tell you what he knows." 
 
 K 2
 
 133 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Silence, Marion \" said lier husband^ with the 
 full power of his voice. 
 
 "I am ordered to be silent, and I obey/' "said 
 Mrs. Berry, " but " 
 
 " But by the God that made me, I will be played 
 with no longer," cried Arthur Lygon, maddened 
 beyond self-restraint. "I will have an answer, 
 here, here ! You have some dark secret aflfecting 
 the character of my wife. I will have it before I 
 stir from this spot."" 
 
 " It is not I who withhold it," said Mrs. Berry, 
 in a voice of mournfulness — almost of sweetness. 
 
 " It is then you. Berry," said Lygon, turning to 
 his friend. " Do you keep this thing from me ?" 
 
 " Arthur Lygon," said Mr. Berry, taking both 
 the hands of his friend in his own. " Listen. If 
 you are now untrue to yourself, if you, in a mad- 
 dened impulse, force from our lips a story, which, 
 as there is a Heaven above us, there is no need 
 that you should know, the consequences be on your 
 own head. Stay. I have said our lips. I close 
 my wife's now and always, with the solemn decla- 
 ration that if that story comes to your knowledge, 
 except through myself " 
 
 "No need of threats," said Mrs. Berry. "I
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 133 
 
 know my duty. The story shall come through your- 
 self, if at all. But I utterly deny that Mr. Lygon 
 ought not to hear it." 
 
 *' Yet Mr. Berry has this instant declared in the 
 most solemn manner that it does not affect me," 
 replied Arthur. " This contradiction makes it more 
 plain than ever that there is a mystery between us, 
 and my course is clear. Berry, at whatever sacrifice 
 of your own feelings, and at whatever risk of the 
 consequences you darkly hint at, I demand to know 
 all, and I ask of Mrs. Berry to remain and bear 
 witness whether you tell mc all." 
 
 " I once more beg you to forego your demand," 
 said Mr. Berry, earnestly. 
 
 " I will not forego it," replied Arthur, sternly. 
 
 "And you are right," murmured Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Enough," said Mr. Berry. " If I did not feel 
 that our friendship forbids my longer resisting your 
 appeal, I would still oppose what I again declare to 
 be a folly, to which you are urged, Arthur, by one 
 who should have been a better friend than she has 
 proved to-day." 
 
 "My own conscience supplies my vindication," 
 said Mrs. Berry, in answer to the words and to the 
 look that accompanied them. "It is there that I 
 am accustomed to turn for guidance." 
 
 " Arthur," said her husband, with the manner of 
 a man who, having resolved on making a communi- 
 cation, desires that it should be thoroughly under- 
 stood, " follow me in what I may say, and answer 
 what I may ask. Also, reserve all comment until I
 
 134 THE SILVER COKD. 
 
 Lave done, and then ask what you will. Above all, 
 believe that, as I have yielded, I make you no half 
 confidence, and therefore do you attach no further 
 or worse meaning to anything I say than the words 
 ought to bear." 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 "It seems idle to ask you, Arthur, Avhether you 
 recollect the circumstances attendant on your mar- 
 riage, but I must recal them for a moment. Your 
 acquaintance with the admirable and excellent young 
 lady who is now your wife " (and Mr. Berry spoke 
 the words of praise with marked emphasis) " was 
 not a very long one. Your first meeting, I believe, 
 took place at " 
 
 " At a party — a sort of pic-nic party, in those 
 grounds yonder," said Arthur, pointing towards the 
 abbey. " It was on a fifteenth of May, my birth- 
 day ; I have forgotten nothing. Go on." 
 
 "And you married in the November following?" 
 
 ''But I stayed for six weeks of that summer at 
 the Barbel, and for nearly two months more in your 
 house in the town, to which you were kind enough 
 to make me remove." 
 
 *' That answer means that you had ample oppor- 
 tunity of becoming well acquainted with the character 
 and disposition of Miss Vernon, and that yours was 
 no hasty marriage. I had no such imputation in 
 my mind. You also became well acquainted with 
 part of the family of your intended wife." 
 
 " With her father, and with her sister Beatrice, 
 who had married Mr. Hawkesley, and with Charles
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 1-30 
 
 Hawkesley himself, who, you know, was the means 
 of my knowing the family/' 
 
 "But there was another person whom you did not 
 meet until after your marriage ?" 
 
 " You mean her sister Bertha/' 
 
 " Who had married two years before you came to 
 Lipthwaite." 
 
 " And was then living in Paris with her husband, 
 Mr. Urquhart." 
 
 "But you soon after became acquainted with the 
 Urquharts ?" 
 
 " We called on them in the Avenue de Versailles, 
 when I took Laura for her first A'isit to Paris, after 
 Clara was born." 
 
 "Did you become intimate?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I was not pleased with, Mrs. 
 Urquhart, — that is to say, she had become too much 
 of a Fi'enchwoman of the type I hate, but this 
 would not have prevented my behaving with cor- 
 diality towards Laura's sister, if Laura had desired 
 it, and circumstances had not come in the way. But 
 something — yes, it was a death in his family post- 
 poned the dinner to which we were, of course, in- 
 vited, and our stay being short, another call was all 
 that took place in the way of intercourse. Mr. 
 Urquhart had been summoned to Prussia on some 
 engineering business, and I did not then sec him 
 again. When we were next in Paris, the house was 
 shut up, Bertha and her husband having gone into 
 the country." 
 
 " Have you often met them since ?"
 
 13G THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Once at the railway hotel, when they were on 
 their way to Scotland, and we were together for 
 a very short time — Laura was ill, and could not 
 accompany me. And I once met Urquhart after- 
 wards, at a scientific association, when he told me 
 that his wife was at Boulogne. I believe those are 
 the only occasions on which we have met, so you 
 see there is no intimacy at all." 
 
 " Do the sisters correspond, to your knowledge ?" 
 
 '^Why do you say 'to my knowledge?'" 
 
 " Do not be annoyed at my putting any questions 
 in my own way." 
 
 " I need hardly tell you that I should never think 
 of asking my wife any question about her corre- 
 spondence, but I don't suppose she receives letters 
 which she does not mention to me, if they are worth 
 mentioning at all. Do you imply that she would 
 have letters from Bertha and conceal them from 
 me?'^ 
 
 "You know how I love and honour your wife, 
 Arthur, and yet I am bound to say that I think 
 it not impossible that she may do so — or may have 
 done so." 
 
 " In that case she would act — though, I own, not 
 as I might wish, for I think implicit confidence the 
 most sensible thing between married people — she 
 would act, I am certain, on a reason that would be 
 perfectly satisfactory. Sisters who have been inti- 
 mate from childhood may say a hundred things to 
 one another which have no meaning for the eye of 
 a third person, and assuredly I should never ask to
 
 THE SILVER COED. 137 
 
 see oue of their letters that was not voluntarily 
 shown to me." 
 
 "But if the fact of Mrs. Lygou having received 
 such letters were studiously withheld from you?" 
 persisted Mr. Berr}-. 
 
 Arthur Lygon^s face darkened with displeasure. 
 
 " You are now making a charge of insincerity — 
 nay, of deceit/' said he, '^ against Laura, who is 
 perfectly incapable of either." 
 
 "I begged you, and you promised, to^orbear from 
 remarks." 
 
 "Well, goon." 
 
 " Suppose for present purposes, that such had 
 been the case," said Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Why," said Lygon, impatiently, " even if I 
 were to suppose such a thing, I don't know how 
 it could well be possible. Our letters arrive be- 
 fore I leave in the morning ; they are all laid 
 on the breakfast-table, and I am always down, and 
 reading my paper, before Laura is dressed. I 
 should see anything with a foreign postmark, but 
 I am ashamed to discuss anything that implies 
 deceit in her." 
 
 " You are not asked to discuss anything," returned 
 Mr. Berr}'^, coldly, " but to answer questions drawn 
 upon you by yourself. As for a husband's knowing 
 what letters his wife receives, if she desire to conceal 
 them, the idea is childish." 
 
 " Not when the wife is like mine." 
 
 " I am an old lawyer, and have had forty years' 
 experience of men and women, and therefore, if I
 
 138 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 say what sounds harsh, you may take it as the result 
 of experience, and not as any suggestion against 
 anybody in particular. Letters not received se- 
 cretly ! You were yourself a gay man once and 
 might remember that such things are." 
 
 " I don't like your tone and manner, Berry, but 
 I have promised to hear you to the end," said 
 Arthur, haughtily. His tone and manner served 
 only to increase the old man's pertinacity. 
 
 " Tu VasA^oulu" he said. " Why, Lygon, cannot 
 a correspondent be told so to post letters that they 
 may be delivered at a time when the husband will 
 be out ? Or, as he never opens a letter of his wife's, 
 can she not toss across to him, as the contents of an 
 envelope, a harmless letter that was never in it at 
 all? Or cannot the letter be harmless enough, 
 while the postscript is on a separate paper, and not 
 producible — and not produced ? Or cannot the 
 letter be sent to or through a convenient lady- 
 friend ; or, better still, one who is unconscious that 
 she is aiding in a trick ? " 
 
 " Mr. Berry," said Arthur, in a rage, " you may 
 spare yourself the trouble of proving to me that you 
 have read a great many French plays, but when you 
 are speaking of " 
 
 " Of Mrs. Urquhart, who, living in Paris, must 
 have seen a great many French plays," said Mr. 
 Berry ; " why, then, the thing is not quite so 
 ridiculous, Lygon." 
 
 "But you are talking as if my wife could lend 
 herself to such chambermaid's devices."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 139 
 
 " She may have done so, and yet been irreproach- 
 able," replied Berry. 
 
 " Irreproachable ! " repeated Arthur, scornfully. 
 
 "Yes, perfectly so. Such things may have been 
 forced upon her by another, and she, placed in the 
 position of having to choose between evils, may have 
 chosen the lesser.'^ 
 
 " The lesser being — -what I Avill not describe — 
 what is the greater ? " replied Lygon, struggling with 
 passion. • 
 
 " Yes, tell me the lesser," returned Berry, fixing 
 his eyes keenly on Lygon. 
 
 " What ! " said Arthur, angrily. " Are you asking 
 me to imagine a wife, who has an honourable man^s 
 love and trust, sending him away in the morning 
 with an aflfectionate kiss and glance, bidding him 
 return as early as he can, and calling the children 
 to say good-bye ; and then, as the door closes behind 
 him, looking after him with a smile of the contempt 
 a deceiver feels for the deceived, and turning 
 complacently to her clandestine letters ? Tell 
 me your greater wrong, for that is beyond my 
 imagination." 
 
 " It is you who are at the French picture now," 
 said Berry, " and devilishly you have blackened it." 
 
 Mrs. Berry here felt it her duty to protest, by 
 gesture, against her husband's adverb. 
 
 "Yes," said the old man, in a kinder tone than 
 he had hitherto used, " you may be doing a cruel 
 injustice. It may be that the very woman whom 
 you accuse of smiling at her dupe, has at the mo-
 
 140 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 ment you describe her eyes flooded with tears at the 
 thought of her withheld confidence, that she would 
 give the world not to have been induced to become 
 a party to deceit, and that if she could but have 
 placed those letters in her husband's hands, and 
 leaned on his bosom as he read them, her heart, 
 which may be as true as gold, would have been 
 lightened of a bitter load. But you m.en of the 
 world, as you call yourselves, have experiences which 
 always help you to the worst construction of a 
 woman's act." 
 
 Arthur Lygon laid a rather strong grasp on his 
 friend's wrist. 
 
 " Mr. Berry," he said, in a suppressed voice, " you 
 are doing one of two things. You are either talking 
 vaguely, in the idea of getting through our inter- 
 view without telling me what I seek to know, or 
 you are preparing me for a revelation which, as your 
 wife has said, is terrible indeed. I would not 
 willingly insult you by believing that you are trying 
 to waste time." 
 
 "That is well, at all events," said Mr. Berry, 
 coldly. "You have given me your overdrawn and 
 malicious view of what may be a perfectly innocent 
 woman's course, and I will only ask you, for your 
 future peace of mind, to remember that I have 
 pointed out to you how such a course ought to be 
 regarded by a man who truly loves." 
 
 " My wife has then conducted a secret correspond- 
 ence," said Mr. Lygon, sternly. " Leave to me the 
 question how her conduct shall be dealt with."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 141 
 
 " I have not said that it is so, but that it may be 
 so. Granting that it is " 
 
 And Mrs. Berry's eyes were fixed intently upon 
 Arthur's, to watch how he would receive the rest. 
 
 "Granting that it is, can you, in the excess of the 
 love you profess for INtrs. Lygon, imagine no state 
 of things that could justify such a course on her 
 part ?" 
 
 "You know that I cannot wring the truth from 
 you," said Lygon, bitterly, " and therefore you 
 let it ooze out drop by drop. You have already told 
 me that which I wish to God I had not heard, but 
 will you give me at once what explanation there 
 may be, or am I to turn to Mrs. Berry ? " 
 
 " I have said that I am silent," said Mrs. Berry, 
 " but had I been permitted to speak, I would have 
 spared him this long suffering." 
 
 " I know your mercy," said her husband, mean- 
 ingly. " He is better in my hands. Arthur, it is true 
 that there is a secret in the family of Mr. Vernon. 
 But to reveal it to the world would simply be the 
 cruellest act of wickedness. What has been done 
 was done long ago, and bitterly and fully repented 
 of. Circumstances have entirely changed, and the 
 matter should be consigned to utter oblivion. That 
 secret, however, is known to certain persons, and 
 two of them are Mrs. Urquhart and Mrs, Lygon." 
 
 " How long has Mrs. Lygon known it ? " 
 
 " Always — that is to say, from the time when the 
 circumstances arose." 
 
 " Which was before her mai-riage ? "
 
 142 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Long before. And without having any know- 
 ledge whatever that those ladies may have corre- 
 sponded in connection with it, I do not consider 
 such a thing improbable/' 
 
 " And with this secret you couple my wife's dis- 
 appearance ? " asked Arthur, in agitation. 
 
 " I cannot say that I see any other solution of the 
 mystery." 
 
 "And the secret," gasped Arthur, '^and the 
 secret " 
 
 Berry stole a look at his wife's face. It was 
 marble ; but in the marble was the hungry, unpity- 
 ing look, that told him there was no mercy there. 
 One of them must assuredly speak, and therefore it 
 had better be himself. 
 
 " The secret, Arthur," he said, " is that a woman 
 was weak, and a man was a villain." 
 
 That was a strange effect which came over the 
 face of Arthur Lygon at the words. The eyes 
 lighted up with pleasure, a smile came to the lips, 
 and a half sob proclaimed that a weight was sud- 
 denly lifted from his heart. The voice, though 
 broken, was almost cheerful, as he replied — 
 
 "And Laura has kept the secret from me ! Well, 
 she knew all, and what there was to pity — and — 
 she should have told me. I might have been 
 trusted." 
 
 Watch, Marion Berry, Oh, watch, as the statue 
 Avatches the place where the treasure is hidden. 
 
 " I need name no name," said Berry, hurriedly. 
 
 " No, no. I understand all that I need know.
 
 THE Sn.VER CORD. 143^ 
 
 This accounts for the residence in France?" said 
 Arthur, in an undertone. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And Laura has luirried off there." 
 
 " Why, is the mystery." 
 
 " Which shall soon be no mystery. I will follow 
 by the next train. You will take care of my child." 
 
 " Stay," said Mr. Berry, " stay." 
 
 " When I have a clue to Laura ! " 
 
 " Still, stay." 
 
 " Are you mad. Berry ? " said Arthur, smiling. 
 " I shall be with her at this hour to-morrow — sooner 
 — sooner. Why, I am on the road, man ; I think 
 there is a mid-day boat." 
 
 "But consider one thing," said Mr. Berry. 
 
 "I can consider nothing, except the quickest way 
 to her." 
 
 " Which may not be the blindly rushing after 
 her," said Mr. Berry. "You do not seem to 
 remember all that you told — that you showed 
 me." 
 
 " Showed you ?" said Arthur, bewildered, for the 
 one idea had blotted out all the recollections. 
 
 "A note," said Mr. Berry, though with reluc- 
 tance, for he had not wished his wife to hear 
 of this. 
 
 "A note. True," said Arthur, hastily taking a 
 paper from his pocket. " A foolish, mad note ; but 
 what does it matter now ? Ah ! Look at it. 
 Berry, and tell me. Is it — is it her husband's 
 writine: ? "
 
 144 THE SILVEll CORD. 
 
 Mrs. Berry darted to her husband's side, and a 
 glance at the writing was enough for her. 
 
 " I scarcely know his hand," said Berry. 
 
 " He calls her Vernon, her maiden name," said 
 Lygon, eagerly. " He is Scotch, and they often 
 do that " 
 
 " It is not INIr. Urquhart's writing," said Mrs. 
 Berry. 
 
 " You are certain ? " asked Arthur. 
 
 " I am certain." 
 
 " That's strange. No, it might have been stranger 
 if it had been," said Arthur. "But we will clear 
 up all mysteries together. Dear, dear child, why 
 was she so wild, so untrustful — I have not deserved 
 it. I swear to you. Berry — but I can comprehend 
 her heart — they had been so closely attached, in 
 sorrow as well as in happiness. Silly child — she 
 shall pay me for this — God bless her." And the 
 strong man's eyes fairly ran over with tears. 
 
 Can you hear that prayer, Mrs. Berry, you who 
 are in the habit of praying — and can you keep your 
 eyes so steady and tearless ? 
 
 "■ I must see about the trains," cried Arthur, 
 hastily dashing his hand over his face — not that he 
 was ashamed of his emotion, or at that moment had 
 a thought for anything except the recovery of Laura. 
 " Let us go in. I will give Clai'a a kiss, and be off 
 at once on the chance of catching what conveyance 
 I can." 
 
 And he hurried with a light step to the porch, 
 leaving his host and hostess to themselves.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 145 
 
 " You are happy, now, I trust, Marion/' said Mr. 
 Berry, reproachfully. 
 
 " This is not a world for happiness, Mr. Berry," 
 was the icy reply. He thought it was but one of 
 the pietist's ordinary formulas. But he should have 
 looked at her eyes. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 146 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The carriage in which Mrs. Lygon was conveyed 
 from the boat was speedily out of Boulogne, and 
 proceeded with unusual rapidity along the high 
 road, whence it turned, after about two miles of 
 progress, down a wide lane, at the end of which a 
 second turning brought the vehicle before the door 
 of a plain, almost mean-looking, two-storied, steep- 
 roofed house, that looked like a third-rate English 
 inn. There was no garden or lawn in front, the 
 ground before the door was carelessly kept, and 
 fowls were busy on various heaps of rubbish, chiefly 
 of a vegetable character, that had been flung out at 
 the door. The green outside blinds were all closed, 
 with the exception of one that was falling from its 
 place, and which it might have been dangerous to 
 disturb on its single rusty hinge. The door had 
 been white, but it was warped and split, and it 
 looked unusually in want of priming and painting, 
 and the stone before it was lamentably cracked. 
 Yet, somehow, squalid as the house really was, it 
 had a cheery, Erench look in the sunshine, and a 
 pretty paysanne, with much colour in her dress 
 and more in her cheeks, was an additional and 
 improving feature, as she stood, leaning against 
 the open door, and singing very loud to some
 
 THE SILVER COED, 147 
 
 apples, as rosy as herself, which she was busily 
 peeling. 
 
 At the sight of Adair the song ceased like the 
 jet of a suddenly cut-off fountain, and the face of 
 the girl assumed an almost sullen expression. To 
 a few words, which he addressed to her in French, 
 she made no reply, but obeyed them by entering 
 the house and opening a door on the other side of 
 the large room which served for hall and kitchen. 
 The opening the further door showed a mass of 
 green foliage beyond, shining in the bright sun- 
 hght. 
 
 Ernest Adair alighted, and opened the carriage- 
 door. 
 
 " I need not recal the house to your recollectioUj 
 Madame,^' he said. "It was much used, in other 
 days, for pleasant little parties, at some of which 
 you have assisted. The present proprietor has 
 closed it against that class of visitors, but it is in 
 charge of the respectable Madame Maletarde, whom 
 you may remember as the cook, hostess, femme-de- 
 chambre, and everything else, to the ladies who 
 honoured the place. But, as I concluded that you 
 would have no special anxiety to see that worthy 
 person, or rather to be seen by her, upon this 
 occasion, madame has somehow been called away 
 to the town, and has left her niece in charge. 
 Justine has never been in this part of the country 
 before." 
 
 All this was said with the utmost deliberation be- 
 fore the speaker offered Mrs. Lygon his hand to
 
 148 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 assist her from the carriage. Indeed, as he stood at 
 the door, he presented an obstacle to her alighting. 
 
 " I observe/^ he went on, " that you look with 
 very well-merited distaste at the house, and I am 
 scandalised at asking you to enter so ill-repaired a 
 place. It is but to enter, however, for if you will 
 condescend to pass into the garden, we can there 
 say, in perfect security from interruption, all that is 
 necessary, and the carriage will await you where it 
 stands. As regards refreshments " 
 
 " I want nothing,'^ was the reply. 
 
 " In that case, will you be pleased to follow me ? " 
 
 They passed through the large room, over which 
 Mrs. Lygon gave a woman's rapid glance, and was 
 reminded of pleasant joyous days when a merry 
 little company — including herself and her young 
 husband — came forth in procession from the town, 
 bearing with them materials for a little feast, and 
 quartered themselves upon the delighted Madame 
 Maletarde, whose garden they ransacked for addi- 
 tions to the banquet, and whose utmost culinary skill 
 was gladly exerted to prepare it. There was but a 
 moment for the recollection of the laughing, and 
 the love-passages, and the rest of the happy meet- 
 ings, a moment to hush down the swelling heart, and 
 Mrs. Lygon stood in the well-remembered garden. 
 
 " We are out of ear-shot," said Adair, " though it 
 is of little consequence, for Justine, though she loves 
 the English, has no syllable of their language. I 
 will fetch you a chair." 
 
 " I will stand."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 149 
 
 " I accept the hint not to fatigue you by too long 
 an oration. You will, I know, forgive ray omission 
 to express to you the thanks which fill my heart for 
 your having obligingly consented to come here, and 
 you will prefer that I should proceed with almost 
 mercantile brevity to the business which has induced 
 me to ask your presence. I have rightly interpreted 
 your feelings, I trust." 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 " Precisely. Another graceful protest against 
 garrulity. That I may not offend again, will you 
 kindly allow this letter to speak for me ? It is not 
 my own writing, but that of a person who is in every 
 way more entitled to your attention." 
 
 He produced a pocket-book, from which he took a 
 letter, opened it, and handed it respectfully to her. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon evinced no surprise at seeing the 
 handwriting, but a flush of angry shame came over 
 her beautiful face as she perused the lines. This 
 evidence of feeling was noted by her companion, and 
 a smile of satisfaction stole to his lips, to be instantly 
 repressed. 
 
 The letter was to himself, and written by a sister 
 of her who read it. It was this : 
 
 " Have you no pity, Ernest ? AVhy are you 
 driving me to ruin ? Again and again, I assure you, 
 on my knees, that it is impossible for me to meet 
 your repeated demands, and I passed two days in sin 
 agony lest the means you forced me to adopt last 
 week should have been discovered. I can give you
 
 150 THE SILVER COKD. 
 
 no more, at least now, and, for mercy's sake, leave 
 me in peace for a short time. I send you a ring, 
 which I suppose is valuable, and which will supply 
 the immediate need you speak of; but do, Ernest, 
 try to spare me. Remember, that if you force me 
 into any act that may betray me, your own hopes 
 from me must be at an end for ever. You press me 
 so cruelly that I am at times on the point of con- 
 fessing all, and if the opium which I take to escape 
 from my dreadful thoughts should make me light- 
 headed, I know not what I may say. Pray, Ernest, 
 spare me for your own sake, if not for that of 
 
 "B. U." 
 
 Mrs. Lygon read the latter part of the note 
 hastily, but not so hastily as to fail in comprehending 
 its significance. She was about to return it to him, 
 and then instinctively drew back her hand. 
 
 " Nay," he said, " I am not playing a mean and 
 petty game. I have no wish to retain a document 
 that might inculpate the writer. Pray retain and 
 destroy it, if you please ; or rather I would say 
 retain it as your credentials for the negotiation which 
 I trust to succeed in inducing you to undertake 
 for me." 
 
 " For you." 
 
 The words were said in such a tone of contempt 
 that a worm might have turned at them, though 
 Adair did not. 
 
 "The expression has the misfortune to displease 
 you. I repeat it, and apologise. Let me say, then.
 
 THE SILVEIJ CORD. l")! 
 
 the negotiation which I trust you will undertake for 
 the sake of the writer of that interesting letter/' 
 
 " Ernest Hardwick — " said Mrs. Lygon. 
 
 " Ah/' he murmured, " the old name, and it is 
 ever the sweetest." 
 
 Disregarding his insolence, she proceeded: 
 
 " You know for what reasons I have undertaken a 
 certain task.'' 
 
 " The last word is harsh/' he said, " but we will 
 pass it by. I believe myself to be aware of those 
 reasons." 
 
 " You hold this unfortunate creature in your 
 power, and I know that it is idle to make any appeal 
 to your heart." 
 
 "And idleness is a charge which no one could 
 ever bring against Miss Laura Vernon or Mrs. 
 Arthur Lygon/' said he, in a passionless voice. 
 
 " You have had a great deal of money from her, 
 and your demands for more are endangering her 
 position as a wife." 
 
 "With what rapidity, in combination with what 
 exactitude, does Mrs. Lygon master the contents of 
 a letter ! " 
 
 " And we must perfectly understand our position, 
 if anything is to be done/' said Laura, without 
 deigning the slightest notice of his interruptions. 
 
 " Might I venture to suggest that one of us 
 seems — or is it an unfortunate misconception on 
 my part ? — to be slightly in danger of forgetting that 
 position." 
 
 " What do you mean ? "
 
 152 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " I mean, Mrs. Lygon/' he said, his tone chang- 
 ing, and his pale face becoming almost savage in 
 expression, " I mean that though I may choose to 
 forget certain things which it is not useful to me at 
 the moment to remember, they need not be for- 
 gotten by other persons. ^^ 
 
 She turned well-nigh as pale as himself, but 
 looked at him with firmness, and answered calmly, 
 " I repeat, that I do not understand you.^^ 
 " So ! " said, or rather cried, Adair, in a high 
 voice, and with angry surprise. He glared at her 
 for a few seconds ; but, whatever she may have felt, 
 she stood her ground bravely. 
 
 " So," he repeated. " That is the result of onr 
 deliberation. That is the decision of our council 
 of war. We are to fight. Councils of war never 
 vote for fighting, but pass for that. Defiance ! 
 Well, it is a bold game, but bold games seldom 
 succeed when I am on the other side. However, 
 it is not with Mrs. Lygon that I have now to do. 
 Her turn may come." 
 
 " I am entirely at a loss to find meaning for your 
 ■words," said Mrs. Lygon, " and, perhaps, you "will 
 listen to me. If I succeed in procuring more money 
 for you from Mrs. Urquhart, what seciurity have we 
 that this will be your last demand? " 
 " None whatever." 
 "Will it be your last demand ?" 
 " Most certainly not." 
 
 " Do you mean that you intend to persecute her 
 throughout her whole life ? "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 153 
 
 " I would prefer to say that I hope to induce her 
 to dedicate her life to making mine as happy as it 
 can be when I am deprived of her." 
 
 " Have you ever seen her husband, Mr. Hard- 
 wick ? " 
 
 "The Scottish Urquhart? I long since made it 
 my business to see and to be able to recognise him. 
 He is a fine animal, far too largely framed for 
 elegance, and probably six feet three in height, and 
 proportionately — I will do him that justice — pro- 
 portionately broad and strong. Is your inquiry 
 intended to direct the conversation towards the 
 possibility of that person and myself ever coming 
 into collision?" 
 
 " Do you know his character ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Lygon's question scarcely reveals her 
 usual perspicacity. Through my knowledge of Mr. 
 Urquhart's character I have acted, with much 
 success, upon the character of his wife. This large 
 Scotchman, or Scottishman, as I believe he would 
 prefer to be called, is understood to be of a stern 
 and resolute nature. He is a railway contractor, 
 and it is agreeably recorded of him that upon one 
 occasion he found a crowd of Belgian workmen 
 wasting his time in drinking, when they should 
 have been at their duty. Our admirable friend 
 remonstrated, but Scotch is not the language of 
 persuasion, I suppose, for they would not go to 
 work, and signified the same through a big brave 
 Belgian, their foreman. On which the Scottish 
 giant resorted to the extreme remedy of taking that
 
 164 * THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 brave big Belgian into his Caledonian arms, and 
 pitching him bodily off a viaduct to a road I do 
 not know how many feet below, but quite enough 
 to ensure the Belgian's never rising any more until 
 the day when we shall all rise together. The men 
 then went to their work. The anecdote charmed 
 me very much — excuse my prolixity in retailing it." 
 
 '' You have not, perhaps, considered what would 
 be the consequence of Mr. Urquhart's becoming 
 aware of the course you pursue towards his wife ? " 
 
 " Do me more justice. I think that being a 
 Scotchman, he would make all reasonable inquiry 
 before acting, but I think that when his preliminary 
 inquiry was complete, he would probably destroy 
 your amiable sister." 
 
 " Yet you refuse," she said, " to name a sum, 
 which, if paid, would free her from any further 
 importunities on your part ? " 
 
 " Please to inform me why I should." 
 
 " Because, if she thinks as I do," said Mrs. 
 Lygon, "she will prefer an hour of sorrow to a 
 life of torment, and unless you are to be bought 
 off at once and for ever, she will throw herself upon 
 the heart of the brave and good man who has 
 married her, explain all, and be — perhaps divorced, 
 perhaps forgiven — but, in either case, she will know 
 the worst." 
 
 "And my neck will infallibly be broken by the 
 giant, as a sort of peace-offering to the manes of 
 departed domestic happiness — that is, of course, 
 part of your delightful programme ? "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 155 
 
 " I think he would kill you ! I hope he would 
 kill you ! " said Mrs. Lygon, with a simple frankness 
 that belonged to her old days, and which, in spite 
 of the vindictive character of the words, was by 
 no means so utterly unfeminine as it may be feared 
 that they seem. 
 
 Ernest Adair laughed outright. 
 
 "That came from the heart," he said, "and the 
 estimable Goethe, whom I idolise, has told us that 
 whatever comes from the heart is divine and to be 
 honoured, in which he differs from certain other 
 authorities. But, as I have said, I shall endeavour 
 to protect myself against such a casualty; and I 
 have the best means of knowing when anything likely 
 to lead to it takes place in Mr. Urquharfs house." 
 
 " Spies, too, upon her," 
 
 "Well, it is not much in France. Here we arc 
 accustomed to surveillance, and a little of it more 
 or less is not woith counting." 
 
 Mrs. Lygon could not reply. 
 
 " I am happy to see that I convince you. Well, 
 you will go to Paris, and see your admirable sister, 
 and between you, as in the old days, you will strike 
 out some plan for preventing my having the humi- 
 liation of so frequently being compelled to remind 
 her of my need.'' 
 
 " Where am I to send to you ? " 
 
 "Fear no trouble on that account. A single 
 word on a card, which you can entrust to Mrs. 
 Urquhart's maid, Henderson, Mill bring me to any 
 place you may indicate."
 
 156 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " In the power of the servant, too ! I will go to 
 Paris." 
 
 " There will be a train in an hour." 
 
 " I go alone." 
 
 " Assuredly. But shall I not attend you to the 
 station ? " 
 
 " I prefer to go alone." 
 
 " Money — if one might suggest — " 
 
 " I am provided." 
 
 " In that case, our interview is over. The carriage 
 is at the door, where we left it." 
 
 " There is mischief in her head," said Adair, as 
 Mrs. Lygon drove away. 
 
 4
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Some breakfast at your earliest convenience, 
 Mrs. Hawkesley," said her husband, who, in an 
 exceedingly comfortable easy chair, was making 
 himself master of the forty-eight columns of close 
 reading, acquaintance with which has become the 
 rule of daily life for every man who supposes himself 
 to be civilised, and fit for intercourse with the world. 
 Who says that this is not a reading age ? Somebody 
 who utters his thoughts without due consideration. 
 A gentleman who fairly reads his newspaper every 
 day, gets through, almost as matter of amusement, 
 more study of condensed matter in a week than any 
 helluo librorum, whose omnivorous digestion of books 
 continues on record in servile biographies, ever could 
 have performed in ten times that period. Let us 
 stand up for ourselves, and not be overriden by the 
 fabulists. 
 
 " Well, what is your hurry V said his smiling and 
 stiU handsome wife, nee Beatrice Vernon, who had 
 just come down, looking exceedingly fresh and cheer- 
 ful, as the British matron should look in the mornings. 
 That simple, ample dress, plain in its neatness, was 
 expressly invented to complete the idea of home. It 
 is a dress, mind, and not a wrap, or anything that 
 means slipping down to breakfast anyhow, and
 
 158 THE SILVEK, CORD. 
 
 attending to one's toilette afterwards, as the manner 
 of some is. 
 
 " I'm never in a hurry, Betty, but look at the 
 clock." 
 
 " The clock's wrong, and we were late last night, 
 and we are half an hour earlier than yesterday, when 
 you made no complaint, and I won't be called Betty," 
 said Mrs. Hawkesley, pleading several matters, as 
 the lawyers say, and giving her lord the tiniest blow 
 on the ear as she passed him to her place at the table. 
 
 " Make the coffee good, and I will condone that 
 assault," said Charles Hawkesley, " but not other- 
 wise. There are some awful warnings to bad wives 
 in to-day's accounts from the Divorce Court." 
 
 " There are no bad wives," replied Mrs. Hawkes- 
 ley ; " and if there are they are made so by their 
 husbands. Is there anything interesting ?" 
 
 "An earthquake in Java has destroyed several 
 towns, and about ten thousand people." 
 
 " Nonsense about earthquakes — what do I care 
 about earthquakes ? " 
 
 " If some people continue to increase in size as 
 they are doing," said Mr. Hawkesley, with an affec- 
 tation of mumbling to himself, " the subject may 
 not be so uninteresting to some other persons, one 
 of these days." 
 
 " It's a great story, and don't you be impertinent, 
 sir. Mrs. Orbit says I am a great deal slighter than 
 I was six months ago. Will you have anything 
 beside the eggs, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes, a good many things; but I think I see
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 159 
 
 nearly all that I shall want. I have at last taught 
 you how a breakfast-table ought to look." 
 
 •* You taught me, indeed," said his wife, with a 
 toss of her head in pretended scorn. " Much you 
 knew of the comforts of a proper table when you 
 were a bachelor in chambers." 
 
 " Bachelors in chambers are not exactly starved 
 and miserable wretches," said Charles Hawkesley, 
 knowingly. 
 
 " Tlien they ought to be, selfish creatures. Is 
 your coffee sweet enough, dear ? " 
 
 " I don't know, madam — ask at a proper time, and 
 not when one is skinning a Negg." 
 
 Do you want any more of this, or is the above 
 enough to show that Charles and Beatrice Hawkes- 
 ley were a pleasant, affectionate couple, exceedingly 
 fond of one another, and by no means displeased 
 with a world that smiled on them both ? 
 
 " There is nothing in the paper, I suppose," said 
 Mrs. Hawkesley. 
 
 "Well — you scorn my humble earthquake — let's ^ 
 see. Would you like to hear what Lord Palmerston 
 says about the state of the continent?" 
 
 " Does he say that you are to take me to Baden- 
 Baden this year? If he does, read it out by all 
 means, and write an article saying that he is the best 
 man that ever lived." 
 
 "No, he does not say that, so far as I see. In 
 fact his words seem to imply that you ought not to 
 go, for he speaks of probable disturbances, and even 
 revolutions."
 
 160 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " The very things I want to see. I should like to 
 see a revolution of all things in the world, so you 
 write about lodgings for us, do you hear, sir ?" 
 
 " To hear is to obey," said Hawkesley ; '^ that is 
 to say, we^ll take it ad avisandum." 
 
 "We'll take it in July," said handsome Mrs. 
 Hawkesley. 
 
 " Very smart, dear. You must have been 
 surreptitiously looking into my new comedy, 
 and caught a taste of repartee. No, there is not 
 sugar enough.^' 
 
 " Yes, I have been looking at it, and I like it very 
 much, and we will spend some of the money you are 
 to get for it on the trip to Baden.'' 
 
 "And suppose it is dee, dash dee V 
 
 " It will not be — it is capital, I tell you — and if 
 it should be — it will show that you want change of 
 air, to put more oxymel into your system." 
 
 "Oxymel," laughed the author. "I never heard 
 that mentioned as good for comedies." 
 
 "Well, oxygen," said Mrs. Hawkesley. "It's all 
 the same. When is the play to come out ?" 
 
 " In a fortnight, or else it must stand over till next 
 season, which I should prefer." 
 
 *' But I should not. I hate keeping things back ; 
 and in your case I am sure that does not answer, 
 for you think over them, and find fault, and fidget, 
 and try to make them better, and who thanks you 
 for your trouble." 
 
 " An admiring posterity, my dear, directed by the 
 intelligent critics of the twentieth century, will thank
 
 THE SILVER COED. 161 
 
 me. Think of tliiit, and reverence the pale student 
 ■wasting his health and the midnight oil." 
 
 " Pale student, indeed/' said Beatrice, looking 
 lovingly at her lord. " I should like to catch you 
 looking pale, or wasting my oil either. You work a 
 great deal too hard as it is." 
 
 "And so, round comes the argument to Baden- 
 Baden again ?" said Hawkesley. 
 
 " You know I don't mean that," said his wife, 
 hastily touching his hand affectionately. 
 
 " My dear love ! " 
 
 They understood one another perfectly well. 
 
 " Graissessac and Beziers," read Hawkesley, re- 
 curring to his Times; " is not that one of Urquhart's 
 Unes?" 
 
 " Yes," said his wife, eagerly. " No accident, I 
 hope." 
 
 " A fall of an embankment — no particular harm 
 done — but the line is stopped until the engineer can 
 set all right again." 
 
 " Then I suppose that Robert will have to be 
 there." 
 
 " He is there by this time, depend upon it, and 
 driving the clod-compellers before him like frightened 
 sheep." 
 
 " But what a bore for Bertha, that he has to be 
 always running away to attend to something of that 
 kind. Why doesn't he build churches and theatres, 
 or something that would keep him in Paris with her, 
 poor thing?" 
 
 *' One reason, my dear, which may be as good as 
 TOL. I, a
 
 162 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 a dozen, is that he is a civil engineer and not an 
 architect/* 
 
 "I thought is was all the same," said Mrs. 
 Hawkesley, who, be it at once stated, was a woman 
 to be loved and honoured, for she never pretended 
 to understand everything, and received every correc- 
 tion of her originally imperfect education with the 
 frankest good-humour, and by virtue of that absti- 
 nence and that practice, became really far better 
 informed than nineteen out of twenty of the regularly 
 educated women of her acquaintance. 
 
 "But," said Hawkesley, "it occurs to me that 
 you are compassionating Bertha upon a subject on 
 which she may not particularly want your sympa- 
 thies. One does not care to talk much on such 
 matters; but I have told you that I think she 
 manages to endure Robertas absences exceedingly 
 well, and like a strong-minded woman, and not as a 
 weak creature like yourself would bear mine, if I 
 were called away to get up plays in Belgium or the 
 South of France." 
 
 "Indeed, yes," said Beatrice. "I frankly tell 
 you that I could not endure it. I want you to be 
 with me, and hear all I have to say, and — well, after 
 all, one's husband is meant to be one's companion, 
 isn't he?" 
 
 " I believe there may have been some such inten- 
 tion, when the marriage relations were devised," said 
 Charles Hawkesley, demurely, " but we have im- 
 proved all that." 
 
 " I should like to catch you improving it," said
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 163 
 
 Beatrice, pouring her husband his second cup of 
 coffee, which by the way was as hot and as strong as 
 the first. " But what 'you say about Bertha is quite 
 true, though I do not like to admit it even to myself. 
 Charles, it is a dreadful thing to say of one's own 
 sister — " 
 
 " Don't say it, dear. I will say it for you. Ber- 
 tha does not care for Robert Urquhart any more 
 than I care for — for that girl who just brought the 
 plate." 
 
 " Do not go so far as that, dear. Honour, and 
 respect, and regard him she must — how can she help 
 it ? But as for loving him, Charles, I don't believe 
 that she does." 
 
 " I do not think that she has — shall I say sense 
 enough, to know how worthy he is of her honour and 
 regard." 
 
 "Charles, you never understood Bertha. She 
 is a very clever girl — much cleverer than I am, for 
 instance." 
 
 *' My dear child," he replied warmly, " if you 
 will raise a comparison, you force me to say what it 
 seems absurd in a middle-aged husband to be saying 
 to his wife at her breakfast-table, namely, that she 
 is not worthy to hold your shawl. But leaving you 
 out of the question, I do not believe in her clever- 
 ness, and I utterly disbelieve in her heart." 
 
 " You have said that before, Charles, and I have 
 always assured you that you do not understand her. 
 Perhaps it is because you over-refine, and get too 
 subtle about her character, and perhaps you have 
 
 H 2
 
 164 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 heard so much about her from me, and have got 
 prejudiced. You would judge her more fairly if she 
 were more a stranger." 
 
 " We do not see a great deal of her." 
 
 " No, but I have told you so much, such heaps of 
 little things, and you have put them together in your 
 own way, and made up a person out of them, just as 
 baby sticks the puzzle together after his own fashion, 
 and calls it ' all wite.' " 
 
 " Well, if I am no nearer all right than baby, so 
 much the better for Bertha and Robert," said 
 Hawkesley ; " but I am not shaken in my conviction 
 at present. But we agree upon the most important 
 point." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that we do, Charles." 
 
 " I think he loves her." 
 
 "As intensely as ever, Charles; that I am certain 
 of. He is one of those men whose feelings are not 
 easily detected, but I have no more doubt of that 
 proud, cold, stern man's loving Bertha than I have 
 of—" 
 
 " Of this proud, cold, stern man's loving Beatrice." 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Hawkesley, earnestly, and with 
 something of a tear rising to her eyes, " I won't say 
 that, Charles, because that is like taking an oatli. 
 That you love me I know, and if I were made to 
 walk through fire, nothing could burn out that belief 
 — that is part of me. But as far as I can be certain 
 of anything else, I am certain of his affection for my 
 sister." 
 
 " And where, dearest, is the intellect you speak
 
 THE SIL\Ti:R COED. 165 
 
 of, when the woman is not proud of having inspired 
 affection in such a man as Robert Urquhart ? '' 
 
 "Well, I think she is, at times," returned his 
 wife, slowly. 
 
 " I don't think much of temporary sanity." 
 
 " And then he is not the man to invite a woman's 
 affection." 
 
 " I thought that a sort of general invitation was 
 included in a certain Service which you know of. 
 But, to speak gravely, ought she not, as I say, to be 
 so proud of such a husband, that if there be a certain 
 crust or armour that seems to come between her 
 and his heart, she should devote her whole life and 
 love to the breaking through it, and becoming the 
 wife of his trust as well as of his admiration and 
 love?" 
 
 "We were brought up very carelessly, dear 
 Charles, and perhaps we derived some odd notions 
 from the books we read, and the people we were 
 obliged to know." 
 
 " I forbid you to place yourself with Bertha, even 
 when you are using a sister's best efforts to excuse 
 her." 
 
 "Well, I do not, dear Charles; it would be affec 
 tation if I did. I have had a great advantage in 
 having married — not very unhappily," she said, 
 turning an arch and loving look towards him, " and 
 when a woman has learned the lesson of real happi- 
 ness, she can easily learn any other lesson of good. 
 But Bertha's marriage, though, as you say, it is a 
 grand one, cannot be called happy. It is of no use
 
 166 THE gILVER CORD. 
 
 — at least, it is of no use for you and me to try and 
 deceive ourselves about it." 
 
 *' It ouglit to be happy, with such a man, so truly 
 devoted to her, and every comfort of life about her." 
 
 " In saying that, dear, you talk like a man, and 
 you think as men insist upon thinking about us, 
 measuring us out our privileges by line and rule — " 
 
 " And giving capital measure. Come ? " 
 
 " Capital. But we are not to be measured and 
 fitted, poor creatures, in that wayj and you must 
 not insist on our opening debtor and creditor 
 accounts with you, and being good because we 
 ought to be good. You will often find the books 
 very badly kept ; not that we mean to cheat you ; 
 on the contrary, we delight to throw everything 
 we have in the world into your hands, in exchange 
 for a kind look, but we cannot be made to pay love 
 merely because we owe it." 
 
 "A most singular and objectionable way of con- 
 ducting one^s afi'airs, Beatrice, dear. I could put it 
 a little more severely — " 
 
 " But you shall not. You know what I mean. 
 And perhaps it is that very feeling on Bertha's part 
 that all the world is looking at her, and expecting 
 her to be a model wife in return for the great things 
 that have been done for her, that checks her from 
 being as good as she might be." 
 
 "And you consider it an excuse for not doing 
 one's duty, that one is expected to do it ? " 
 
 "Women don't like to be expected to do any- 
 thing. Bat do not suppose — of course you will
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 167 
 
 not — that I am making the least excuse for Bertha. 
 That is only my nonsense, or at least something 
 that may go a little way to explain things, not to 
 apologise for them. I only mean, dear, that if it 
 had been Bertha's good fortune to have a husband 
 of a gentler nature — " 
 
 "if I, for instance, had not previously been made 
 prize of?" 
 
 " No — you Tvould have had no patience with her 
 caprices. How dare you smile like that ? I have 
 none, sir. No, but I think that a husband like 
 Arthur would have made her a better wife." 
 
 " Arthur has chosen much better." 
 
 " Yes, I know you think Laura perfection. "What 
 a pity it was that she was too young for you." 
 
 " She was not. But do you think it a pity?" 
 
 " "You know what I think. And I love you better 
 for loving her, for she is a darling in word and in 
 deed." 
 
 "What on earth does that mean?" said Charles 
 Hawkesley, laughing. " I never heard such an 
 unearthly arrangement of ideas. A darling in word 
 and in deed." 
 
 " Be quiet," said Beatrice, smiling. " It is one 
 of my pet phrases, and I won't have it found fault 
 with. I know when you did not find fault with it." 
 
 " What — was I ever one ? " 
 
 " No. But somebody was foolish enough to tell 
 you so. And it is like your ingratitude to have 
 forgotten it." 
 
 " I never forget anything. And I agree with you,
 
 168 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 that tliough it would have been rather throwing 
 away Arthur Lygon to hand him over to a girl who 
 wanted so much done to her head and her heart, 
 he would perhaps have been more successful than 
 Urquhart. But possibly, Bettina, we may be 
 begging the question after all, and in secret Robert 
 Urquhart and his wife may be devoted lovers, pre- 
 serving their appearance of distance when before the 
 world/' 
 
 " There, now, that is another of your book -writing 
 notions — don't be angry, darling, you write beautiful 
 books, and you don't want me at this time of day to 
 tell you I think so — but people do not do those 
 things. I defy a couple of people to love one 
 another, and not let the world see it. Why one 
 look, or one tone, when they are off their guard, 
 tells the whole story. I only wish I could recall to 
 my memory any single thing of that kind in the 
 house at Versailles." 
 
 " You easily might, for we were there for a fort- 
 night." 
 
 " Don't be a goose." 
 
 " Very well. By the way, are Arthur and his 
 wife coming here on Saturday ?" 
 
 " Why should they come to an empty house ?" 
 
 " Do you call that any kind of answer which a 
 decent man is bound to take at his own table? 
 What do you mean, woman ? " 
 
 " I mean Burnham Beeches." 
 
 "Eh? O!" 
 
 " Now, you mean Burnham Beeches."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 109 
 
 " No, I do not. I mean to ask you whether you 
 seriously purpose to take advantage of a promise 
 wrung from a man Avho was hungering and thirst- 
 ing for a cigar, and whose case, as it is generally 
 believed, you had hidden aAvay in order to extort an 
 excursion?" 
 
 " Of course I do. We will go on Saturday, and 
 we will stay on Sunday at Mr. Skindell's, go to 
 church, dine quietly, and in the evening go on the 
 water. And come — I will make the afl'air perfect 
 for you — I will go round presently and see whether 
 Laura will come with us and bring Arthur." 
 
 " And bring Arthur ! And we spent twenty 
 millions in liberating the blacks. However, let us 
 rattle our chains — do as you like." 
 
 " I knew Laura's name would be a charm." 
 
 " So it is, and — well remembered — here is another 
 charm, which I will bestow upon you." 
 
 Eeatrice joined her hands, and caught the trinket. 
 
 " How very pretty ! An hour-glass, with a pair 
 of wings. Oh, thanks. Did you buy it for me ?" 
 
 " Of course not. I found it between the leaves of 
 n book at the British IMuseum." 
 
 " Story. It's quite new. I thought perhaps that 
 one of your actresses might have given it to you, in 
 gratitude for writing her a good part." 
 
 " You retain very vague notions about the man- 
 ners and customs of those artists. However, it was 
 not given me by one of my actresses, — I found it in 
 Cockspiir Street." 
 
 *' Nonsense ! "
 
 170 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, and in company with a quantity 
 of lovely coral, and behind a thick sheet of plate 
 glass." 
 
 " It is very pretty ; but you need not buy any 
 more ornaments for me. I have got quite enough. 
 A Avinged hour-glass ! What does it mean?" 
 
 " It means," said the author rising, and getting 
 to the door, "that the Hawkesleys, of Maida Hill, 
 ought to have finished breakfast before eleven 
 o'clock." 
 
 And he darted out of the room, followed by a 
 merry threat and laugh.
 
 THE SILVER COED. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 In company -with Arthur Lygon, we will shortly 
 leave Lipthwaite for a time. Brief as his sojourn 
 there had been, it seemed to him that an age had 
 elapsed since he left Gurdon Terrace, and hurried 
 indeed were his preparations for departure, now that 
 he had obtained, as he believed, a clue to his wife's 
 hiding-^place. The only process which he permitted 
 to delay him was the taking leave of Clara, who 
 looked very disconsolate at the idea of being left in 
 the charge of Mrs. Berry, and who had, perhaps, 
 apprehensions that the venomous old Aunt Empson 
 might make her re-appearance when there was no 
 papa present to protect his child. However, Mr. 
 Lygon gave her the most consolatory promises of 
 his speedy return for her, and of the gift of a certain 
 vast and splendidly-furnished doll's house, once seen 
 in a beatific -vasion in the Lowther Arcade, and up to 
 that time a thing to be whispered about, not dreamed 
 of as a possession. And, finally, the assurance that 
 her mother would be greatly pleased by Clara's 
 showing that she could conduct herself like a lady in 
 the absence of her parents, completed the moral 
 strengthening, and Miss Lygon, wiping her eyes, 
 declared herself equal to the endurance proposed to 
 her.
 
 172 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "I need hardly ask/' said Arthur Lygon to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Berry^ "that not a word on the subject 
 of Mrs. Lygon may be said to Clara until I re- 
 turn." 
 
 " Not a syllable/' said Mr. Berry. 
 
 " Or until you write and desire that any such 
 communication may be made/' said Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " That is not probable, my dear Mrs. Berry/' said 
 Lygon. 
 
 "I am a slave to my promises/' replied Mrs. 
 Berry, "and therefore I prefer to have them pro- 
 perly guarded and fenced before I enter into them." 
 
 " Quite right/' said Arthur, in no mood to discuss 
 anything just then. 
 
 " I will drive you over to the station/' said Mr. 
 Berry. " The next train will be there in an hour 
 and a half from this moment." 
 
 " I thought I saw that a train arrived in half an 
 hour." 
 
 " It does not stop here." 
 
 " But it stops at Hareton, and I could get over 
 there in the time." 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " That is an answer, from you," said Lygon, " but 
 it is vexatious to have to throw away an hour 
 when it may be so valuable at the other end of the 
 journey." 
 
 "That thought should remind you of a more 
 solemn one, Arthur," said Mrs. Berry, " and lead 
 you to recollect the folly of throwing away one hour, 
 when we are in health and strength, and having to
 
 THE SILVER COED. 173 
 
 look back upon such waste when we are on our 
 dying beds." 
 
 The remark was unexceptionable, if not cheerful, 
 and Mr. Lygon did not care to oppose it. Mr. 
 Berry, however, made more allowance for his friend's 
 feelings than his wife's, and observed, with some 
 asperity : 
 
 " Oh, bother." 
 
 " Nay," said Arthur, " Mrs. Berry is perfectly 
 right, and we do not always think of these things." 
 
 For he was so thankful for the revelation that had 
 taken place, and for the removal of so much weight 
 from his mind, that he could not speak with unkind- 
 ness even towards a person whom he had hated, and 
 to whom a sort of false reconciliation had not made 
 him draw with any closeness of regard, 
 
 *' Do not think of speaking in my behalf, Mr. 
 Lygon," she said, with the wronged woman's look 
 this time very strong upon her. " It is our duty to 
 submit to insult. I might almost say that it is our 
 privilege." 
 
 " Nobody thinks of insulting you, Marion," said 
 Mr. Berry ; " but you must own that when a man's 
 mind is intensely set upon an object dear to his 
 heart, that's a bad minute to select for preaching 
 him a sermon on dying beds." 
 
 " When I become aware," said Mrs. Berry, mourn- 
 fully, " that we are enjoined to watch until it shall 
 be pleasant to our fellow-creatures to hear what we 
 are commanded to tell them, I shall, I trust, obey 
 the injunction. Meantime, I cannot but remember
 
 174 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 that we are to be instant in season and out of 
 season/' 
 
 " Yes, but you are always out of season," said her 
 husband, irreverently, and in some irritation walking 
 away from the breakfast-room, muttering something 
 about ordering the chaise. 
 
 " Clara has promised to be an excessively good 
 girl while I am away, Mrs. Berry,'' said Arthur, 
 taking the child's hand; and she, like yourself, 
 always keeps her promises." 
 
 " We will endeavour to aid her in fulfilling it, at 
 all events," said Mrs. Berry, almost kindly. "We 
 will not talk about being excessively good, because 
 that would be a presumptuous expression ; but we 
 will endeavour to avoid such faults as guardianship 
 and advice can save us from." 
 
 " It will not be for long, my pet," thought Arthur, 
 after the excellent lady had paraded her dictionary 
 words. 
 
 " And as for lessons," continued Mrs. Berry, " I 
 dare say that we can contrive not to be retrograde," 
 
 " O, suppose we give her a holiday, Mrs. Berry ; 
 she will be less trouble to you, and I dare say that 
 she will have no objection." 
 
 " I dare say not," said Mrs. Berry ; " we are all 
 unfortunately prone to prefer our pleasures to our 
 duties. But the beautiful little hymn says : 
 
 That I may give for every day 
 Some good account at last. 
 
 Those are the words, Mr. Lygon. Every day. Not
 
 THE SILVER COBD. 175 
 
 every day except the day when I happened to be in 
 the country, and thought I should like to play about 
 the garden." 
 
 "It says healthful play/' said Clara colouring. 
 " Books, or work, or healthful play." 
 
 " So it does, little lady," said her papa, smiling. 
 " You see that we have taught her something, Mrs. 
 Berry." 
 
 " I fear that it is better not to know, than to use 
 our knowledge wrongly," said the lady, who had for 
 once been tripped up by the memory of the child, 
 but who was satisfied with the mildest form of 
 defence. But for something that was in Mrs. 
 Berry's head just then, Clara might not have been 
 the gainer in comfort by this little victory. Mrs. 
 Berry, however, looked at her quite gently for 
 Mrs. Berry, and continued, " Healthful play, my 
 dear, means play at such hours as those who have 
 the care of your health prescribe for your relaxation. 
 We will not forget the play, but papa will also allow 
 us to remember the work." 
 
 " Clara will do as she is bid," said Mr. Lygon, 
 though not much pleased. 
 
 The hour passed, and ]\Ir. Berry, who had kept 
 himself out of the way, came in to say that the 
 chaise would be at the gate in five minutes. 
 
 " Why not at the porch ? " said Mrs. Berry. 
 
 " Because it will be at the gate," said her husband, 
 doggedly. He was in anything but an amiable 
 temper, and snapped this reply in a way quite unu- 
 sual with the good-natured old gentleman.
 
 176 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " 1 regret that in Clara's presence such an ex- 
 ample of politeness should be afforded/' said Mrs. 
 Berry to Lygon ; " but she should know that big 
 folks often do and say things which little folks must 
 not imitate/* 
 
 Her husband's glance at her was a downright 
 savage one, almost evil. 
 
 " If Clara learns nothing worse in this house but 
 what she will learn from me, she will not come to 
 much harm. I can't say as much for everybody." 
 
 Mrs. Berry perfectly comprehended the meaning, 
 that did not lie on the surface, but smiled and 
 said : 
 
 "Mr. Berry is very properly thinking of the 
 servants, with whom it is objectionable that a very 
 young person should hold much intercourse. But 
 we will take care upon that point." 
 
 " Now, Lygon, if you are ready," said Mr. Berry, 
 turning from the window. 
 
 " If I am ready ! Adieu, my darling," and he 
 pressed Clara to his heart and kissed her affection- 
 ately. " Farewell, Mrs. Berry; I will thank you for 
 all your kindness when I return." 
 
 " That will be quite time enough," said Mrs. Berry, 
 very graciously ; " I would charge you with messages, 
 but you will have enough to think about. Let us 
 hear of you, and farewell ! " 
 
 He went out, and Clara was following to have a 
 last kiss, when Mrs. Berry called her back. 
 
 " Your papa has said good-bye to you, Clara." 
 
 The child stood still at command, but her little
 
 THE SILVER COED. 177 
 
 heart was overflowing, and she gazed very wistfully- 
 down towards the gate. 
 
 " Would you like to say one more good-bye ?" said 
 Mrs. Berry, quickly. 
 
 There was a " yes " in the swimming eyes suddenly 
 turned upon the monitrix. 
 
 " Then, here," she said, taking a little Testament 
 from the table, " run and give papa this, and tell him 
 he is to read it on his way." 
 Clara fled away like a bird. 
 
 Berry was in the chaise, and Lygon''s foot was 
 upon the step, when the child, with her hair stream- 
 ing in the wind, rushed up to her father's side, and 
 delivered the volume and the message. Lygon 
 smiled, but could not be displeased with Avhat once 
 more brought his lips to his child's forehead, and in 
 another minute the friends departed. 
 
 " What was the book ? " said Mv. Berry, gruffly. 
 " The good one," replied Lygon. 
 Evidently the old gentleman had resolved to be 
 displeased with everything in the world. 
 
 " I don't mean that she is worse than anybody 
 else in the same line," said he, "but it is gross 
 impertinence, in my opinion, to treat other people as 
 if they were heathens. What right had my wife to 
 assume that you had not got the book in your 
 travelling bag?" 
 
 "Ah, well," said Arthur, deprecatingly, "all 
 people have their own ways and usages, and no very 
 great wrong is intended." 
 
 " That's not the question," said jNIr. Berry.
 
 178 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 They drove on in silence for a few minutes, and 
 Berry then said, 
 
 " There." 
 
 Without another word he put an envelope into 
 Arthur's hand. Lygon looked at him inquiringly. 
 
 "Why, of course," said Berry, pettishly, ''there's 
 eighty pounds, in five-pound-notes. You need not 
 count 'em, they are all right, you may take my word 
 for it." 
 
 " I was not going to count them." 
 
 " Then you ought to have been. A man is a fool 
 who takes money without counting it. Put 'em up, 
 can't you. I would have given you gold, but I had 
 only twenty sovereigns in the house. There they are 
 in this bag. Take them, and don't lose the bag, if 
 you can think of it. Get on, horse, will you." 
 
 And though the appeal to the animal's volition was 
 gentle enough, the cut that immediately followed it 
 was inconsistent as well as severe. 
 
 " Ah," said Arthur, " you think I might — " 
 
 " I don't think anything, but a man can do several 
 things with an odd hundred pounds in his pocket, 
 which he can't do without it. I say, did Mrs. Berry 
 have any more talk with you after breakfast ? " 
 
 « Only about Clara." 
 
 " Nothing else. Not a word about 3' our present 
 business? " 
 
 " Not a syllable. Why, did not Mrs. Berry promise 
 that upon that subject she would not open her lips?" 
 
 " Lips. I hate the word ' lips.' It puts me in a 
 rajre."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 179 
 
 Arthur looked at his companion in some astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes; Mrs, Berry has been good enough to find 
 time to justify tlic statement •which, to my utter 
 astounding, she made this morning. She told you 
 that she had heard of your sorrow from my lips." 
 
 "Which was, I know, an untruth." 
 
 "It was nothing of the kind." 
 
 " What, you did tell her, then ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I don't, of course, understand." 
 
 " I should think not, and I should like to know 
 who ever did understand a woman, especially when 
 she grafts upon duplicity, which is natural to her, 
 religion, which is not. Nice crabs come of that 
 grafting, and this is one of them. She heard of 
 the sorrow from my lips. It seems that when I 
 woke in the morning — not that I had much sleep, 
 thinking of your aflFairs- I said to myself, ' Poor 
 Arthur.' She never spoke. I thought she was 
 asleep. But there it was from my lips, and she has 
 been asking me what I thought of a husband who 
 dared, in the presence of a third party, to accuse his 
 wife, unjustly, of a falsehood." 
 
 " Those two words were all that passed before my 
 meeting Mrs. Berry ? " 
 
 "All. And on those two words hangs her entire 
 justification of what she said to you. These are tlie 
 notions of people who give away Testaments. Never 
 mind. There's the station, and, by Jove ! yonder 
 comes the train. Look alive, you've just time. All
 
 180 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 right ! God bless you ! — and Arthur, a word, if the 
 train were upon us. Do nothing rashly. In, in, and 
 get your ticket ! " 
 
 Lygon saved the train, and was fortunate enough 
 to catch the next for Folkestone. 
 
 It was not until he had been travelling for some 
 time in this latter that he had completed his medi- 
 tations on all that he had heard that crowded 
 morning. 
 
 Later, and when on board the French boat, he put 
 his hand into the pocket where lay the Testament he 
 had received from the hand of his child. Opening 
 the volume, though in anything but a spirit of 
 gratitude to the donor, he perceived a note addressed 
 to himself, and found that it had been slightly 
 gummed between two pages to prevent its being 
 lost. 
 
 Tearing it out and open, he read : — 
 
 " I was forbidden to speak, but not to write. You 
 have heard but half the truth. What most con- 
 cerned yourself has been withheld." 
 
 This, in the book of comfort, given by the hand 
 of his darling, was Mrs. Berry's parting blow.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Miss Henderson," said Ernest Adair, as Mrs. 
 Urquhart's servant entered a little room on the 
 ground-floor of one of the little inns at Versailles, 
 "you are punctual, but you don't look pleased.'' 
 
 " I shouldn't say I was," replied the domestic. 
 
 She was rather a pretty girl, in spite of a flattish 
 face, a large mouth, with plenty of white strong 
 teeth in it, a couple of hard black eyes, and a 
 habit of erecting her head in a slanting and defiant 
 manner. 
 
 " I am so sorry," said Ernest Adair, whose regret 
 was certainly not expressed in the tone in which the 
 careless words were said, nor was it more palpably 
 demonstrated by the waj'^ in wliich he threw himself 
 upon a straw-bottomed chair, placed his feet upon 
 the other, and proceeded to kindle the eternal cigar- 
 ette. 
 
 "Now, don't make me smell of smoke, Mr. 
 Adair, but say what you want to say, and let me 
 go, as we have got some people, and I shall be 
 missed." 
 
 " You have got some people ? Name the people." 
 
 " Nobody you know." 
 
 " That, my dear, is an assumption on a subject 
 of which you know nothing. I know everybody,
 
 182 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 and whether I do or not^ be good enough to do as I 
 ask you." 
 
 " Well, I don't know the names." 
 
 " That is an untruth." 
 
 " I declare I don't. Madame called one of the 
 ladies her dear Louise." 
 
 " How long have they been there ? " 
 
 " Only half an hour." 
 
 "English or French?" 
 
 " There is a gentleman and two ladies. He is 
 French, and one of the ladies is English." 
 
 " Is that my dear Louise ? " 
 
 "No, the other." 
 
 "You are short in your replies to-day. Miss Hen- 
 derson, or shall I say Matilda — not that I believe 
 that to be your name. I should have thought that 
 your experience had told you that short answers do 
 not suit me." 
 
 " I have told you all I know, and how can I tell 
 you more ? " 
 
 " You can tell me a great deal more, and will have 
 the goodness to do so." 
 
 " I say then that I know nothing of them, except 
 that they came in a carriage." 
 
 " How many horses, and their colour ? " 
 
 " Two horses, — brown ones." 
 
 " Colour of carriage ? " 
 
 " Dark green." 
 
 " There, you see, valuable information at once, 
 which shows that you do not do yourself justice. 
 They sent in their cards, I suppose ? "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 183 
 
 " Angelique took them in." 
 
 " You will be kind enough to copy them for me, 
 and enclose the copy in one of those blue envelopes 
 I gave you. Post it this evening.^' 
 
 "Very well. Is that all? I shall be sure to 
 smell of smoke," said Matilda, " and INIadame does 
 hate it so." 
 
 " Naturally. It reminds her of her husband, Avho 
 is never without a cigar, I think." 
 
 " I wish you were half as good a man as Mr. 
 Urquhart." 
 
 "Never wish impossibilities, my dear. I have 
 no ambition to attain such a sublime of virtue as 
 can impress even INIiss Matilda Henderson with ad- 
 miration." 
 
 " Can I go ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. What I have told you is the 
 smallest part of our business. Your look of im- 
 patience is not lost upon me, and I answer it by 
 saying that if you had chosen to tell me all that you 
 have told me without giving me the trouble of 
 questioning, we should have saved much time. 
 So, if Madame boxes your ears it will be your own 
 fault." 
 
 " Madame box my ears, indeed ! " 
 
 "It might be for your good, occasionally," said 
 Ernest. " I have felt that so strongly, that I have 
 at times been inclined to do it myself, and I dou't 
 know that I may not yet make that effort for your 
 improvement. In the meantime, I have something 
 else to tell vou."
 
 184 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Do make haste/' said the girl. 
 
 " You are going to have another visitor." 
 
 " Yes, I expected that/' 
 
 " And why did you not mention your expectations 
 to me ? " 
 
 " Why, what time have I had ? The note came 
 only an hour ago." 
 
 "A lady's note, English hand, the letter L on the 
 seal?" 
 
 " No, there was no seal." 
 
 "Careless in the writer, knowing the house she 
 was writing to." 
 
 ' " It is like you, to drive a girl to spying and 
 meanness, and then throw it in her teeth," said 
 Matilda. 
 
 " Is it ? I pique myself on my consistency, do 
 you know ?" returned Adair, smiling. " How did 
 you manage to read the note?" 
 
 " I have not read it. Madame tore it open 
 eagerly, and hurried through it, and seemed very 
 much pleased. Then she went into the little spare 
 bedroom, and looked about it, as if she wanted it to 
 be ready for somebody." 
 
 " But gave no orders ? " \ 
 
 "No. Don't I tell you that these other people 
 came ? " 
 
 " Very well ; don't be angry. You have no idea 
 who this new visitor is ? " 
 
 " Not I. I shall know when she comes, T sup- 
 pose, and that will be time enough for me." 
 
 * It will not. There are reasons why you should
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 185 
 
 know beforehand, and that is why I have asked 
 your presence here, Miss Henderson/\ 
 
 " Well, who is it ? " 
 
 " Your mistress's sister. What a tell-tale face 
 you have ! You look as pleased as if it were your 
 own sister comiuj^. Perhaps more so?'' 
 
 " You have no call to talk about my sister, or 
 anybody else belonging to mc, Mr. Adair," returned 
 the girl flushing up. " I shall be very glad if Mrs. 
 Hawkesley is coming, because she is a kind crea- 
 ture." 
 
 "Visions of five-franc pieces spare my aching 
 sight ! ye unworn dresses crowd not on my soul!" 
 said Adair, rather to himself than the girl. 
 
 "It has nothing to do with her presents," re- 
 torted Matilda, catching at the meaning of the 
 parody ; " but because she is truly kind and con- 
 siderate, and thinks of a servant as if she were flesh 
 and blood." 
 
 " Is that a reproach to me, for having failed to 
 render due homage to your attractions?" 
 
 " Have you anything more to say to me, Mr. 
 Adair?" said the girl, not vouchsafing to notice the 
 speech. 
 
 " Yes. First, it is not Mrs. Hawkesley who is 
 coming. Don't look vexed, Mrs. Urquhart's other 
 sister is quite as well off as Mrs. Hawkesley, and 
 there are several reasons why the visit may be a 
 much better thing for you than if it were from that 
 good-natured lady who kept you up so late from her 
 love of going to the theatres."
 
 186 THE SILVER COE,D. 
 
 "Is it Mrs. Lygou?" 
 
 "Certainly. Has your mistress a third sister?" 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Lygon is a very sweet lady, too ; 
 though she is prouder than Mrs. Hawkesley." 
 
 "What the deuce do you know about pride?" 
 answered Adair, with an expression of bitter con- 
 tempt, which stung the girl into sudden anger. 
 
 "As muchas agentleman," she replied hastily, "who 
 sets servants to spy upon their mistresses, gets copies 
 of letters and cards, and does all sorts of mean tricks.^' 
 
 " I like that honest outbreak," said Adair, not in 
 the least discomposed. " I like earnestness, and never 
 quarrel with the way in which it shows itself. But if 
 I do some little things which oflFend the delicate feel- 
 ings of a lady's-maid, I do some generous things to 
 make up for them. I think that your handsome 
 admirer, Monsieur Silvain, would not have got quite 
 so well out of that little affair about Madame*'s wine 
 and some other trifles, if I had not befriended him 
 with the police." 
 
 " Poor Snvain would have been a better man, if 
 — if you had not made his acquaintance," said 
 Matilda, with tears rising to her eyes, " and why 
 you should demean yourself to make friends with 
 a perfumer I don't know, but I am sure for no good." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear such aristocratic sentiments 
 from a daughter of the people," said Ernest Adair, 
 gravely. " Don't you know that we are all equal, 
 and though you think I ought to despise poor little 
 Silvain—" 
 
 " Despise him, indeed ! " cried she, in another
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 187 
 
 rage. " You have much more right to be despised 
 by him, I can tell you that." 
 
 " Quite right, my dear. I have no settled resi- 
 dence and position in the world, whereas he has a 
 charming little shop in which he sells the very 
 ■worst perfumery in the whole world, at prices that 
 will soon enable him to claim Mademoiselle Hen- 
 derson"'s fair hand. But as she will not be able to 
 give it without my approbation, she should not try 
 to make me an enemy of the lover of her heart." 
 
 " I must go," said the girl. " What will Madame 
 say?" 
 
 " I will secure you from Madame's anger. There. 
 "V^Tien I say a thing of that kind I mean it. Now, 
 attend to me, and forget Monsieur Silvain for a 
 moment. Mrs. Lygon is coming to visit your 
 mistress, and as I want to arouse all your instincts 
 as a lady's-maid, let me tell you that the visit is a 
 secret one, and made without the knowledge of 
 either of the ladies' husbands. Now, if Madame 
 shows such want of confidence in you as to try to 
 keep that from you, I suppose that you know what 
 is due to yourself." 
 
 " What do I want to know about her secrets ? If 
 it was not for you I would never have touched one 
 of her letters in my life." 
 
 "Thank me for having educated you into in- 
 telligence, then. And whether you care about her 
 secrets or not, I care a good deal about them, and 
 therefore I shall require you to be particularly on 
 the alert until I tell you to relax your vigilance."
 
 188 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " You make me do what you like, but I hate my- 
 self, and — " 
 
 '^And me. We all hate people who compel us 
 to do sensible things, and I don't expect you to be 
 wiser than the rest of the world. But I promise 
 you that whatever you do, under my directions, 
 shall be to your advantage ; and it is exceedingly 
 agreeable, my dear Mademoiselle Henderson, to 
 put it in that way, instead of hinting at any little 
 unpleasantness that might arise — let us say to 
 Monsieur the perfumer, if he dropped out of my 
 good graces through any indiscretion of yours. You 
 understand ? " 
 
 " Tell me what to do,^' said Matilda, doggedly. 
 
 "In the first place, Mrs. Lygon will not come 
 direct to your house. She desires, as I say, to 
 avoid meeting your large master." 
 
 " She can't meet him, for there has been some 
 railway accident, and he is gone to set it right." 
 
 " Ah ! That is news to me," said Adair, turning 
 to her with more interest. " When did he go ? " 
 
 " This morning." 
 
 " The brave man ! The good man ! " 
 
 *' Yes, he is that," said Matilda, " though you do 
 not mean it when you say it." 
 
 " But I do. He delights me much. I am pleased 
 with the large Scotchman. Excellent Robert ! 
 Worthy Urquhart ! " 
 
 He was occupied in new and sudden thought, and the 
 mocking words dropped from his lips unmeaningly. 
 
 " That is well," he said, after a pause. " It would
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 189 
 
 be better if the other -were not on his way; but 
 Providence seldom sends us everything that we 
 desire, and perhaps it would not be good for us, my 
 dear, if it did. Not in Versailles — excellent ! Then 
 listen again, intending bride of Monsieur Silvain. 
 ^Irs. Lygon will be at your house sooner than ex- 
 ])ected. That is to say, she will meet her sister, to 
 whom she has of course written, making an appoint- 
 ment, and ]\rrs. Urquhart will state to her that the 
 Caledonian giant being away, his castle may be ap- 
 proached without fear. Now, I must know where 
 the ladies meet ; and that you must instantly find 
 out for me. After they have come home, the busi- 
 ness must be in your hands. So, off instantly Avith 
 you, and manage to find the note which Mrs. Urqu- 
 hart has received. If you can get it, do; but at all 
 events learn the place of meeting, and bring the 
 news to me." 
 
 " I think she put the note in her pocket. How 
 am I to get at it ? " 
 
 " Matilda, you make me blush for your incapacity. 
 Am I to tell a lady's-maid what pretence to invent 
 in order to get a dress into her hands — can I 
 imagine that it is torn, or is not fit to go out in, or 
 is wanted for a pattern, or any of the thousand- 
 and-one lies that are already in your mind, and any 
 one of which will do for an excuse to put your hand 
 upon the letter? Do I not know the adroitness 
 of your kind? Away, I tell you, and remember 
 that I am waiting for you here, and shall count the 
 minutes — "
 
 190 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " If I cannot get it/' 
 
 " Then I shall not reproacli you, my dear, but I 
 think that the worthy Monsieur Silvain may be 
 less forbearing, after the domiciliary visit with which 
 the police may favour him, at an early date/' 
 
 " I think you are a fiend," said Henderson, leaving 
 the room. 
 
 "I don't think I am," said Ernest Adair, aloud, 
 to himself, after her departure. "Indeed, I may 
 say that I am sure I cannot be a fiend, because 
 there are such manifest interpositions of Providence 
 in my favour. What a very remarkable piece of 
 good fortune it was that, instead of following Mrs. 
 Lygon to the station, I resolved to remain in 
 Boulogne, and see Jules Dufour about that other 
 matter. And again, how fortunate that the said 
 Jules had not recovered his night of gambling and 
 drinking, and thereupon could not appear until the 
 afternoon. Then, what an extraordinary good thing 
 it was that I happened to think of watching the 
 arrivals from England, and that I should hear Mr. 
 Arthur Lygon announce his advent on the soil of 
 France. Again it was a thing which really shows how 
 I am favoured of fate, that he should believe that ex- 
 tremely respectable official whom I sent to throw 
 himself in his Avay, and give him the exact time for 
 the departure of the Paris train, which train my 
 friend Mr. Lygon thereby missed. Well, in all 
 these successes, I had some share; and I will not 
 afi'ect to be over-grateful to fortune, but in this last 
 matter I claim no credit at all. Could I dream that
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 191 
 
 a railway accident would occur for the express pur- 
 pose of sending out of Versailles that gentleman 
 Avhose presence there was so peculiarly objectionable 
 to me at the moment ? No, I must distinctly dispute 
 my friend Matilda"'s proposition, and assert, on the 
 contrary, that I am not a fiend." 
 
 Ernest Adair either found pleasure in this kind 
 of mocking self-communing with himself, or it had 
 become a habit which he could not shake off. But, 
 to do him justice, he never indulged in it at a time 
 when it might have been dangerous, and it was a 
 favourite phrase with him that the melodramatic 
 expedient of an overheard soliloquy could not be 
 fairly introduced in the drama of his life. But to 
 talk to himself was Adair's custom, as it is with 
 many men, who will avow that they never seem 
 thoroughly masters of a plan, or thoroughly pre- 
 pared for an interview, until they have held actual 
 discourse with themselves upon it, and have had a 
 sort of private rehearsal of what is to come. It has 
 been held that talking to oneself is a sign of weak- 
 ness, although the wittiest men have defended the 
 practice by the wittiest suggestions; but there is 
 perhaps a greater weakness, and that is the attempt 
 to base a general psychological rule upon an ac- 
 cidental habit. 
 
 Adair had to wait longer than pleased him in the 
 little room at the inn, nor did the questionable 
 absinthe which he obtained there tend to make his 
 hour pass the more agreeably. 
 
 But at length his spy returned, hurriedly, from
 
 192 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 the house, which stood 'but a few hundred yards 
 from the Place d'Armes. 
 
 " Victory, eh ? " he said. 
 
 "Madame is actually out, and on her way ta 
 meet — " 
 
 " To meet where — where ? " 
 
 " Near the Fountain of Neptune." 
 
 " AVhat, in the gardens here ? " 
 
 " Yes/' 
 
 '' Good child — excellent Matilda — embrace Mon- 
 sieur Silvain on my behalf at the first opportunity," 
 said Adair, hastily gathering up his cap and gloves. 
 
 " You will meet her, or she will see you. I could 
 scarcely get away in time to run round."- 
 
 " My dear Matilda," said Ernest Adair, "is there 
 anything disreputable about me, which should make 
 me avoid the eyes of your mistress ? " 
 
 " Oh, I cannot understand you," said the girl. 
 
 "Probably not," he replied. "All in good time. 
 Nay, you are a meritorious agent, and deserve the 
 confidence of your principal. I will behave better 
 to you than Mrs. Urquhart does, in that respect. I 
 have no desire that the two ladies should have much 
 opportunity of talking confidentially in the gardens, 
 because I very much want to know what they say, 
 and listening in the open air is not a very easy 
 thing. Therefore, my dear Matilda, Madame Silvain 
 that is to be, I shall endeavour to drive the ladybirds 
 home, and therefore, at the right moment, I shall 
 permit Mrs. Urquhart to see that I am in the neigh- 
 bourhood."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 193 
 
 " I can see her coming," said the girl, looking out 
 of a side window. 
 
 "Very elegantly dressed, and in a way that does 
 her maid the highest honour,'^ said Adair. "That 
 fair complexion of hers reminds me of my own 
 beloved land — and now I think is just the time to 
 go out. Remember, Madame Silvain, from the 
 moment they return, you are to be all ear, except 
 that you are to be also all eye, as I shall be particu- 
 larly curious about any letters that may arrive during 
 Mrs. Lygon's visit. And find out whether the Scotch 
 giant sends any word of his intention to come home. 
 Good child ! " 
 
 He touched her black hair with his neatly gloved 
 hand, and went out. The girl dashed her hand im- 
 patiently over the place he had touched, as if to blot 
 out the impression of his having done so, and then 
 looked to see the meeting between him and her 
 mistress. But though from the door of the inn she 
 could see Mrs. Urquhart entering the gates of the 
 palace, Mr. Adair did not join her, nor could the 
 girl catch any glance of him on her way home. 
 
 The fact simply was that Ernest Adair had gone 
 in another direction, and long befoi'e Mrs. Urquhart 
 had passed through the court-yard, he was in the 
 gardens. How he managed this is not of much 
 consequence; persons with Ernest Adair's private 
 advantages over their fellows have frequently means 
 of obtaining singularly irregular admission to all 
 sorts of places, especially in France.
 
 19 i THE SILVER COED. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Mks. Urquiiart went on lier way as rapidly as is 
 consistent witli tlie walk and bearing of an elegantly 
 dressed woman in France, (one has seen an English- 
 woman in England sufficiently oblivious of the grand 
 duty of life as to be in an ungraceful hurry when on 
 the way to an important interview^ nay, even when 
 she had only a kindness to do), and was soon within 
 sight of the Fountain of Neptune. But she had 
 another and an unwelcome sight to encounter before 
 she could reach the basin in which stood and stands 
 the sea-compelling Poseidon. 
 
 It was, however, no more repulsive an object than 
 the well-dressed and striking-looking man who had 
 been interesting himself so deeply in her movements, 
 and he approached her with a newspaper in his hand, 
 and apparently without seeing her. 
 
 Yet he might Avell have been excused for lowering 
 his " Galignani,^' and noticing the beautiful woman 
 who advanced. 
 
 Exquisitely fair, and with features of singular 
 regularity, Mrs. Urquhart was permitted, even in 
 Paris to pass for a beauty. Her walking costume 
 prevented much display of her golden tresses, or of 
 the symmetry of her head and bust, but the delicate 
 mouth and the blue eves came with a double and
 
 THE SILVER CORD. - 195 
 
 instant cliarm upon you, and you felt thankful and 
 content to wait for other revehitions. Of middle 
 height, her figure was full and rounded, and to-day 
 her anxiety to meet her sister had given her step an 
 elasticity which it did not usually evince, and had 
 also imparted some addition of colour to her almost 
 too pale complexion. A lovelier creature had seldom 
 paced through those proud gardens, even in the days 
 when they were consecrated to all that was noble 
 and gay — and perhaps, even in those days of levity, 
 never had a lovely woman Avalked towards the Foun- 
 tain with more sadness at her heart, or better reason 
 for such sadness. 
 
 Ernest dropped his paper at the right moment, 
 recognised ISlrs. Urquhart, and raised his cap. He 
 noticed that her lips suddenly compressed, and then 
 formed themselves into a half-smile, Avhich had 
 nothing in it be^'^ond the stereotype courtesy of 
 society. She would as soon have been without her 
 charmingly-fitting gloves as without that smile when 
 she met an acquaintance. That was all. 
 
 But not quite all in the case of Ernest Adair. 
 Mrs. Urquhart's smile disappeared even sooner than 
 xisual, and in its place came a strange shade over tlie 
 beautiful face. The effect was painful — it was really 
 like that of the sudden fading away of sunshine from 
 a bright river or a glowing flower-plot. The features 
 • themselves were not perhaps capable of much expres- 
 sion, but the whole ftice yielded to the sensation of 
 the moment, and a story was told — one which there 
 was no need to tell to the man who stood before lier.
 
 100 ^ THE SILVER COED. 
 
 Stood^ but for a moment. His only object lias 
 been told by himself, and that was already attained. 
 
 He passed her with a bow, and the ordinary words 
 of greeting, and would have gone on. 
 
 But Bertha was a weak woman, and even while 
 she feared, dreaded, almost hated, she could not 
 bear to pass by the man whom she had so much 
 reason to abhor. Before finally judging her, note 
 her nature. 
 
 " Reading in the retirement of Versailles ? '' she 
 said, with a forced smile and a slight laugh which 
 was aught but cheerful, and had something in it that 
 should have suggested pity — those who have heard 
 such laughs often have spent a life which should 
 trouble them when it comes to the ending. 
 
 " I was looking for English news," said Adair, in 
 that artificial voice which implies a desire to forbear 
 from any earnest talk — men are, perhaps, cowards 
 when using it, — women, Avhen they speak in it, are 
 either to be feared or pitied, or both. " But I find," 
 he continued, " news which affects friends here. Is 
 this railway accident serious ? " 
 
 " No, no, I believe not. I do not know. I do not 
 understand such things. Mr. Urquhart has gone to 
 the place." 
 
 " Let us hope that lie will not be detained long." 
 
 And he was again about to pass on, when Bertha 
 said, harshly : 
 
 " You received my note ? " 
 
 "With the gage d'amitie. It is here," and he 
 touched his finger, and pressed it to his lips. " All
 
 THE SILVER COED. 197 
 
 thanks. But I must not detain you from your 
 walk." 
 
 And then he passed on in spite of a word which 
 still sought to stop him, and which he seemed not 
 to hear. Perhaps he left the gardens, perhaps he 
 entered the palace, and from some window gazed out 
 eagerly, as many a jealous lover or furious husband 
 may have done in the old days, for there is not a 
 corner of that strange place but has clinging in it a 
 story of a bad man and a foolish woman. 
 
 In a few minutes more the sisters met. 
 
 Words of affection, looks from moistened eyes, 
 warm pressure to the heart — and Laura and Bertha 
 were again, as of old, in council against the common 
 enemy. 
 
 " Did you meet him? " was Bertha's first question. 
 
 "No. What, has he followed you here?'' asked 
 Laura. 
 
 " I spoke to him this moment. I thought that 
 you must have seen us." 
 
 " It is the same thing for his purpose. He knows 
 *that you will have told me. O Bertha, Bertha, my 
 darling, how we are hunted ! " 
 
 And for a few moments the two women did look 
 tearful and helpless enough, as they stood each hold- 
 ing the other's hand convulsively. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon was the first to speak. 
 
 " It must not last, and shall not," she said, brush- 
 ing away her tears. " I have risked too much, — Oh ! 
 I know not what I have risked, but come what will 
 of it now, this torture must be ended."
 
 198 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Torture, indeed/' said Bertha, " but what can 
 we do? If I were rich, I might go on supplying 
 him, though, since he has taken to play, I could 
 never know where his demands would end. But 
 whether Robert has fancied that I am extravagant, 
 or whether he has calls upon him which make it 
 necessary for him to spend less, I know not, but he 
 lias supplied, me far less liberally of late, and I have 
 been driven to strange devices to obtain the money." 
 
 " Nothing that would be—'' 
 
 "Would be disgraceful if known, darling, yon 
 mean. No, not disgraceful — at least nothing wrong 
 — I am told that other women do such things. I 
 have no secrets from you. I have pawned a great 
 many of my jewels." 
 
 " Dearest Bertha." 
 
 " Well, that w^ould not be of much consequence, 
 because I have enough left to wear upon any ordi- 
 nary occasion, and Robert is not very likely to Avish 
 me to go to any grand place at present — he is so 
 closely occupied with business that he scarcely visits 
 anywhere, and always seems rather pleased when !• 
 refuse invitations." 
 
 " You ivlll tell me everything ? You have no 
 reason to apprehend that he has the faintest sus- 
 picion." 
 
 " You make me tremble so that I can scarcely 
 stand. You do not mean that you have heard any- 
 thing that makes you say that, Laura ? " 
 
 " Not a syllable, not a whisper, nothing of the 
 kind. I spoke only on what you had said."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 189 
 
 " Does anything I have said make you think that 
 such a thing is possible ? ^' gasped Bertha, trembling 
 like an aspen-leaf. " It may be so, now you detect 
 it at once, wliile I have been living in such a state 
 of maddening and distracting unhappiucss, that I 
 can form a judgment on nothing. Do you see any- 
 thing to terrify us ? " 
 
 " No, no. Bertha ; be calm, my love." 
 
 " I am certain you meant something." 
 
 " Indeed I did not." 
 
 " You have heard something, and that has brought 
 you over so suddenly and secretly, and I am to flee. 
 Oh, I cannot flee, my darling; if they hunt me to 
 death I must die. I have no more energy, no more 
 courage, and it would be much better that I were 
 dead." 
 
 " Do not talk madly," said Laura, energetically, 
 almost impatiently, pressing both her sister's hands 
 in her own. "There is no new danger whatever, at 
 least none to you." 
 
 " To whom then ? " 
 
 " To me, perhaps ; but we will not speak of that 
 now. AVhat I have done is done, and God Avill pro- 
 tect me through the rest, — at least I pray so. But 
 we must be calm and rational, my dearest Bertha, 
 and not bring the worst upon ourselves, when we 
 may be able to avert it. You were speaking of your 
 jewels." 
 
 " Oh, yes. I was saying that I did not care about 
 their being sent away as I have told you, only that 
 sometimes Robert lets a curious fancy come upon
 
 200 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 him^ and he asks me to come down to dinner witli 
 some particular ornament Avhicli he has given me. 
 His memory is wonderful ; and if he should happen 
 to ask me to wear something which I have not kept 
 back, I know not indeed, with my nerves in the con- 
 dition in which they are, what I should sa}^ His 
 going away, even for a few days, is a relief." 
 
 " My poor Bertha, I gathered all this from the 
 last note which you wrote to Mm." 
 
 " He has sent you that ? ^' said Bertha, colouring 
 to the temples. 
 
 " He gave it into my hand," said Laura, calmly. 
 "Where and when, I will tell you by-and-by. But 
 we have much to say to one another." 
 
 " We must not say it here,'^ said Bertha, looking 
 round, as if in terror. 
 
 " Not here, dear ? Where can there be less inter- 
 ruption than in these quiet walks ? " 
 
 "No, no. He, may hear us. I know he will. He 
 has spies everywhere — all round." 
 
 " You must exaggerate, dear Bertha. Your fears 
 have made you create dangers where there are 
 none." 
 
 "No, I tell you," said poor Bertha, sinking her 
 voice to a whisper, although there Avas no one within 
 a hundred yards of the sisters, " he knows everything. 
 Why is he in the garden to-day ? Only to show that 
 he knew I was coming, and why." 
 
 " Impossible, dear child, unless you have shown 
 hira my note." 
 
 " No, that I have in my pocket, here — see."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 201 
 
 Mrs. Urquhart felt for the note, and Laura saw 
 her face blanch with agitation. 
 
 "No, I have not got it. He has it. He has 
 taken it from me. I know not how, but he has it." 
 
 " How childish, dearest ! How much more rational 
 to suppose that, if you have really not got it, you left 
 it on the table or dropped it on the floor. How shall 
 I ever be able to help you if you are so wild ? " 
 
 '' I put it most carefully into my pocket, I tell 
 you," said Bertha, " and felt that it was safely there, 
 and yet he has managed to get hold of it. You may 
 judge what sort of a life I am leading." 
 
 " I will not argue with you, dear, but I wish I 
 were as sure of finding a bank-note on your table as 
 my letter." 
 
 " Come home at once with me. Oh, not for that, 
 but that we may speak in safety." 
 
 " Are we safer there than here ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes. Come dear." 
 
 " I would come in a moment, but there is one 
 thing I want to say. He hinted to me that yoii had 
 been compelled to place confidence — more than you 
 ought to place in any servant — in — " 
 
 " Henderson ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is the name." 
 
 " There is nothing to fear from her." 
 
 '' Bertha, she is in his power." 
 
 " There is nothing to fear from her. Do not speak 
 more about it. I would tell you everything." 
 
 " You must, dear, now, for reasons which I will 
 irivc vou. Else all will be ruined."
 
 202 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Well, come to the liouse." 
 
 " I will. But, Bertha, thei-e is no fear of Robert's 
 coining back while I am here ? " 
 
 " None whatever. He will be away at least a 
 Aveek. But tell me, dearest, why should you object 
 to see Robert ? I thought that you admired him so 
 much, and I am sure that he always had the highest 
 regard for you." 
 
 " I will answer that, dear, when I tell you my 
 whole story. Now, listen. It must not be known 
 that I am at your house.^^ 
 
 " Do you mean that the servants — Henderson 
 knows you, of course, but not any of the others.^^ 
 
 " What I mean is that jon must put me into 3'our 
 little room, where I will live while I am with you.^' 
 " Yes, yes, certainly, love.''^ 
 
 '' And remember. Bertha, whoever comes, and I 
 make no exception, dear — I am neither seen nor 
 mentioned." 
 
 " That is all easy enough, but, my dear girl, what 
 does this anxious charge mean ? Who are you afraid 
 should follow you ? " 
 
 " It does not matter. Nobod}^ must see me." 
 " Laura," sobbed out Bertha, " I dare not ask you 
 whether there is anything that you are — that you 
 are afraid to tell me — " 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," said Laura, in her turn 
 colouring deeply, but Avith a far different reason 
 from that which had crimsoned the face of her sister. 
 " I will tell you all, but promise me that I shall be 
 kept in concealment, come who may."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 203 
 
 *•' Why, of course I promise. What is such a pro- 
 mise as that between you and me ? But I warn you 
 of one thing. He will know it." 
 
 " That I care not for." 
 
 " Then let us go. I know that he is watching 
 us." 
 
 " To what end — to what good ? " 
 
 " I know not, but it is so. Come." 
 
 And the sisters left the palace, aud proceeded to 
 the house in the avenue.
 
 204 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The house in the avenue was a handsome one, 
 but the ground-floor was not used by the family of 
 Mr. Urquhart. That portion of the mansion had 
 been appropriated by its tenant to the reception of 
 a chaos of models of bridges, \iaducts, and the hun- 
 dred and one specimens of tentative inventions dear to 
 the civil engineeer, the walls being moreover covered 
 with more or less dingy -looking plans, some of which 
 had germinated into grand works that had suddenly 
 called into life the dormant energies of half a dozen 
 previously stagnant provinces — had bridged streams 
 that for centuries had impeded the progress of com- 
 merce — had joined in an indissoluble marriage cities 
 that were in a condition of mutual hate or sulkiness, 
 but which, united by science, learned to know and 
 value each other's abilities. The nursery of these 
 devices was a gloomy one as needed be, and withal 
 a dust}^, for what architect or engineer but pro- 
 claims an undying war to the domestic broom? It 
 Avould have been a bad day for the she-menial in 
 Mr. Urquhart's house when she dared to enter those 
 stern vault-like rooms without his special order. 
 The suite of apartments on the first floor comprised 
 dining and drawing-rooms, and a pretty little boudoir 
 furnished with almost lavish richness. On the next
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 205 
 
 floor were the principal bed-rooms, and at one end 
 of it, and over tlie boudoir, was the small chamber 
 which ^Irs. Lj'gon had desired might be assigned to 
 herself. The sisters were admitted by Angelique, 
 and in reply to ]\Irs. Urquhart's inquiry for Hender- 
 son, she was told that the latter had gone out to 
 make some purchases. 
 
 The strictest not-at-home order having been given, 
 tlie sisters were about to go up to the little bed-room, 
 when Mrs. Lygon said : 
 
 " See whether my note is not here, Bertha." 
 
 Bertha shook her head, but Mrs. L^^gon, passing 
 through the rooms, and glancing at the tables in 
 each, speedily detected the note lying on a chair in 
 the boudoir. 
 
 " Here it is, dear," she said, with a smile. 
 
 Bertha looked at her earnestly for a moment, 
 closed her own eyes, as if in thought, and then re- 
 peated the gesture of disbelief. 
 
 " Let us go up-stairs," she said. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon followed her in silence, and they 
 entered the daintily furnished little room, which was 
 adorned with a profusion of the elegant nothing- 
 nesses with which a feminine hand can turn a garret 
 into a fairy temple. 
 
 " This must be my retreat, dear," said Mrs. Lygon, 
 seating herself, and removing her bonnet, and let- 
 ting her beautiful dark hair fall in masses upon her 
 takes houlders. " Now, Bertha, sit down, and let us 
 counsel, for indeed we need all the wisdom we have, 
 to save us in this peril."
 
 20G THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " And the children, Laura ? How selfish you must 
 think me not to have said a word of them." 
 
 " Not a word of them now," said Mrs. Lygon, with 
 a quivering lip. " They are well. God grant I may 
 be allowed — I tell you we will not speak of them 
 now," she repeated, struggling with her sobs. 
 
 Bertha gazed on her in astonishment, but seated 
 herself as desired, and had there been a third person 
 present the contrasted beauty of the two women 
 would have been a sight worth his recollection on 
 many another day. 
 
 "We must not be overheard," said Mrs. Lygon, 
 rising to close the door. 
 
 " Leave the door open, dear. It is always the 
 best way." 
 
 " Where has she been learning that lesson of cau- 
 tion ? " thought Mrs. Lygon, returning to her seat, 
 with a melancholy look at her sister. 
 
 " I will shut the doors of the further room," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 She did so, and came back, giving a furtive look 
 round the bed-room. The look did not escape Laura, 
 who immediately and suddenly threw back the cur- 
 tain of the alcove bed. 
 
 "What thoughts you put into my head, Bertha/' 
 she said, almost reproachfully. 
 
 Bertha smiled — but such a helpless smile ! 
 
 " Now, Bertha," said Mrs. Lj^gon, clearing back 
 her hair from her forehead, and speaking in a firm 
 under-tone, "listen to me. We must bring this 
 persecution to an end."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 207 
 
 " O, if we coultl/' replied poor Bertha, feebly. 
 
 *' If Avc could/' repeated her sister. " It must be 
 done. Whatever price we have to paj' for freedom 
 from it, the price must be paid." 
 
 "I told you how I am situated," said Bertha. 
 *' Whatever money — " Mrs. Lygon laid her hand on 
 the hand of Bertha. 
 
 "I do not know that I am speaking of money. 
 I wish that money would do, for tliere is no sacrifice 
 which I would not make to obtain it. But I have 
 the solemn and deliberate assurance from the man's 
 own mouth that he will not be bought off, and that 
 he prefers exacting a supply from time to time. He 
 distinctly told me that he would never cease to per- 
 secute you." 
 
 " I shall die." 
 
 " Bertha," said Laura, " I will hear no words of 
 folly from you. I have come to France with the 
 determination to save you, if it be possible, and you 
 must not let your terrors and fears get the mastery 
 over you. You must help me. Heaven knows that 
 I shall want all the help I can have, in a struggle 
 with the most detestable wretch, as I believe, in this 
 world. Now remember what is at stake, and be firm 
 and rational." 
 
 "I wish I had your courage and spirit," sighed 
 Bertha. 
 
 " I have neither courage nor spirit," said her 
 sister, " except what may have come suddenly to me 
 under the most dreadful pressure. 1 know myself 
 too well. Thev will tell vou at home — Arthur will
 
 208 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 tell you, that I am one of the most timid and easily 
 led persons in the world, and that his calm head 
 and strong heart are my stay and support. I say 
 this to you, Bertha, dear, because the same cruelt}^ 
 that seems to have given me strength to act ouglit 
 to do as much for you, and because you must be true 
 to me and to yourself. You will, I know ? " she 
 added, laying her hand kindly on her sister's. 
 
 " I will do what I can," said Bertha. " But what 
 either of us is to do is a perfect mystery to me." 
 
 " I do not say that it is much clearer to me," 
 replied Mrs. Lygon, " but it shall be, before many 
 hours are over. I have heard of a poor stag, driven 
 into a corner by the dogs, becoming desperate and 
 dangerous, and if ever there were a case when two 
 women might defend themselves, it is our case. It 
 must be done." 
 
 " What must ? " asked Bertha, astounded at the 
 energy of the sister whom she had known from 
 childhood as the gentle creature she had described 
 herself. 
 
 "Whatever will release us, I tell you," replied 
 Laura, in a low resolved voice. 
 
 " You begin to terrify me, Laura. Of what are 
 you dreaming ? " 
 
 " Dreaming is the right word," said Laura, slowly. 
 " And we do things in dreams that we should tremble 
 to think of, were we awake. We will call it a dream, 
 but we will dream it out." 
 
 And she sat for some minutes silent and without 
 moving eye or limb.
 
 THE SILVER COKD. 200 
 
 " Bertha," she said, after this strange pause, " oui's 
 is a case in which the right of self-defence against 
 horrid wickedness leaves us free to use any means 
 Avhich may come to our hands. When honour and 
 liappiness, and not only our own honour and hap- 
 piness, but that of those Ave love beyond all words, 
 are brought into peril by such a miscreant as that 
 man, I do not believe that anything we may do can 
 be blamed. But let that be as it may, I have 
 decided, or I would not be here, and I will be 
 deterred by no fear, if our one great fear can be 
 ended for ever." 
 
 " I can make you no answer, Laura," said Bertha, 
 "I feel like a child in your hands." 
 
 "Answer me, then, as truly as a child would, 
 dear. AVhat do you know of his habits and asso- 
 ciates ? " 
 
 They spoke as if there was but one man in the 
 world. 
 
 " Kot much," said Bertha. " I see him but sel- 
 dom." 
 
 " Ever in society ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in society where I have been surprised 
 to see him." 
 
 " Better than he is entitled to enter ? — I mean if 
 he were an honest man instead of what he is." 
 
 "In Fi'auce, you know, it is not difficult for a 
 gentleman, no matter what his means may be, to 
 mix with a class that in England would not welcome 
 a poor man, unless he were a singer, who came to 
 amuse them, or something of that kind. But there 
 
 TOL. I. V
 
 210 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 is another class here into which it is very difficult 
 for a man without position to get, and even there I 
 have met him/^ 
 
 "And well received ?" 
 
 " Sometimes I have thought not, and then at other 
 times I have seen him received with such marked 
 attention, with almost more than is usual/' 
 
 " Do you knoAV any of his intimate friends ? " 
 
 " Not one. But I think — at least I have an 
 impression, that they belong to an inferior class. 
 I remember one day in particular, we had been 
 driving in the Bois de Boulogne, and for some 
 reason Robert ordered the coachman to go home 
 through some streets I did not know, and so we 
 passed him. He was standing talking and laughing 
 with two villainous-looking men, and had his hand 
 on the shoulder of one of them — they were evidently 
 low persons.^' 
 
 " Bertha, you know what I said he had told me 
 about your servant." 
 
 " Yes," said Bertha, uneasily. " It is not so." 
 
 *' It is not what, dear ? " 
 
 "He said — or hinted — at least, you understood 
 him to say that I was in some way in her — her 
 power. You could not have understood him rightly. 
 It is not so." 
 
 " Whether it is so or not," said Mrs. Lygon, " and 
 we will speak of that presently — whether it is so or 
 not, that girl is in his power." 
 
 " No, no," said Bertha, hastily. " It is entirely 
 without foundation — I mean vour idea. She is a
 
 THE SILVER COED. 211 
 
 very good, honourable girl, and mucli attaclied to 
 me, because I know her goodness." 
 
 " Bertha," said ]\Irs. Lygou, calmly, " I fear we 
 shall not be able to work together. You are deceiv- 
 ing me." 
 
 " How ? I deceive you, Laura ! What do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " You are a bad dissembler, Bertha, and I am glad 
 of it. But you are very false to me now. I know 
 that it is so — why not spare me the pain of proving 
 it to you ? I can." 
 
 " I do not understand you in the least," said 
 Bertha, reddening. 
 
 "1 suppose that my faculties are sharpened by 
 danger," replied Mrs, Lygon, still preserving her 
 calmness, " or I might not have noticed the uneasy 
 looks which you have been casting that way," — and 
 she pointed — "while we have been speaking about 
 him." 
 
 Bertha coloured, painfully, to her very hair. 
 
 "There," said her sister, "there ought to be 
 nothing unkind between us. His spy is concealed 
 in that wardrobe. Call lier out." 
 
 iMrs. Urquhart burst into tears, and hid her face 
 in her fsxir hands. Mrs. Lygon rose, and would 
 have opened one of the wings of the piece of fur- 
 niture in question, when the other opened, and 
 Henderson stepped out. 
 
 She did not say a word upon the subject of her 
 concealment, but, dropping a respectful curtsey to 
 IMrs. Lygon, went over to the toilette-table, took a
 
 212 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 bottle of perfume, and brought it to her mistress, at 
 the same time giving her a handkerchief, and, in 
 short, tending her in as orderly a manner, as if it 
 were in obedience to a regular summons. Having 
 done this, the girl was about to leave the room, when 
 Mrs. Lygon stopped her. 
 
 " I wish to speak to you, with your mistress's 
 permission," said Laura. 
 
 Henderson was all respectful attention. 
 
 " In an English village," said Mrs. Lygon, address- 
 ing her in a grave, kind tone, "there live an old 
 couple who gave their daughter an education above 
 her station, because they loved her better than she 
 deserved. They had her taught French, and other- 
 wise made her fit to be a lady's trusted attendant. 
 They hope, some day, to see her again in their vil- 
 lage, and to kiss her as the wife of some good, honest 
 man — perhaps they hope to see her children growing 
 up around them. It will be bad news for the old 
 father, and Avorse for the old mother, when they 
 hear that their daughter has become a street-walker 
 in France." 
 
 Henderson's black eyes flashed out with fire at 
 the last words, and her plebeian face became elevated 
 in expression by the manifestation of her genuine 
 indignation. 
 
 " It is false, Madame," she said passionately. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon took her seat, and, sorely constrain- 
 ing her nature, forced her beautiful mouth into a 
 smile of as much contempt as she could manage 
 to assume.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 213 
 
 The smile stung the girl to the quick, as it was 
 intended to do. 
 
 " It is false/' she repeated, " wickedly false. You 
 may sit there smiling, INIadame, but it is false." 
 
 Mrs. Lygon remained silent. 
 
 It was the best course, for in a moment or two the 
 girl flung herself upon her knees in a passion of 
 tears. 
 
 " You will not go and say that in Brading, Madame. 
 I am sure you will not. For you do not believe it, 
 though you say it. Perhaps it has been told you," 
 she added, her eyes again flashing through her tears. 
 " You have seen somebody who has told you that, 
 and he is a villain incarnate." 
 
 A throb of pleasure — no, of hope — passed through 
 Mrs. Lygon's frame, and sent the blood to her fore- 
 head. But she retained her self-command. 
 
 Henderson continued to sob. 
 
 " It is false, false," she repeated, swaying herself 
 about. 
 
 " You had better leave the room," said Laura. " I 
 have said all that I wish to say to you." 
 
 " Never, INIadame, — I swear that I Avill not go 
 from the room, nor rise from this floor, until you 
 tell me that you will not carry such a story as that 
 with you to England. Say you do not believe it, 
 and indeed you may." 
 
 INIrs. Lygon pointed to the closet whence Hen- 
 derson had come. 
 
 " Yes, yes, INIadamc — dear Mrs. Lygon — yes, that 
 was bad, wickedly bad in me, and you must despise
 
 214 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 and loatlie me for it, and you are right to do it. 
 But not the other — it is not true. I swear it is not 
 true," she said, clasping her hands with energy. 
 
 Need it be said that the Laura of England would 
 have long since raised the girl from her knees, com- 
 forted her for that terrible word, and said what 
 woman should say to woman, wrongfully accused. 
 
 But not so the Laura of France. She had her 
 own to hold against a deadly enemy. 
 
 " Do you think," she said coldly, " that the word 
 of a bad servant gu*l is to be taken against the word 
 of a gentleman ? " 
 
 Fire to powder. The girl sprang to her feet, 
 clenched her hands, and was impotent to speak, 
 through the potency of her rage. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon eyed her with a stern satisfaction. 
 As for Bertha, she merely sat with her handkerchief 
 to her face. It was one of the situations in which 
 very weak people are simply out of court. 
 
 " The word of a gentleman," repeated Henderson, 
 as soon as she could find utterance. " The word of 
 a gentleman. No, IMrs. Lygon, he may wear fine 
 clothes, and go among fine people, as IMadame has 
 said " (she was far too frantically in earnest to think 
 of affecting hesitation to use what she had heard) 
 " but he is not a gentleman, and you gave him his 
 rightful name when you called him by the blackest 
 name you could put your tongue to. And yet you 
 would believe him sooner than me because he is 
 called a gentleman by those who do not know him. 
 No, you will not, J\Irs. Lygon, I know you will not."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 215 
 
 Henderson, thoroughly roused, came over to Mrs. 
 Lygon, and again fell on her knees beside Laura's 
 chair — actually ventured lightly to touch her hand. 
 Had Laura played out her part thoroughly, she 
 would have snatched away her hand as from con- 
 tamination, but she did not do it, and the girl 
 uttered a cry of triumph. 
 
 " Ah ! you don't believe it — you do not, IMadame, 
 or you would not have let me do that ; and if you 
 ought to have believed it, never would I have dared. 
 God bless you, Mrs. Lygon ! God bless you ! though 
 it is not for me to say such a word." 
 
 And then came more tears. 
 
 " Mary Henderson," said Mrs. Lygon, and then 
 the impetuous girl interrupted her, rising, however, 
 and retreating to a decorous distance. 
 
 " Thank you, !Madame, for letting me hear my 
 own rightful name again. 'My name is jNIary, and 
 it was a bad time when I was fool enough to change 
 it." 
 
 " Listen, then, Mary. „ You assure me on the 
 solemn Avord of a girl of character, that there is no 
 ground for my believing you worse than you have 
 shown yourself to-day ? " 
 
 The girl clasped her hands together, and assented 
 with a vehement oath, which, it being in the nature 
 of an ordeal, might perhaps be pardoned, but need 
 not be set down. 
 
 " I shall return to England almost immediately, 
 and I shall visit Brading soon after. I should have 
 been glad to carry back an account of you which
 
 21G THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 would make the hearts of your parents rejoice. But 
 that you have made impossible.'^ 
 
 " But I will make it possible, Madame/' cried 
 Henderson, eagerly. " If you will let me, Madame, 
 I will make it quite possible, — I mean if you will 
 graciously let byegones be byegones. I know it is 
 a bold thing to ask ; but when a girl has been called 
 a dreadful name — and I know, Madame, that it was 
 put into your mouth, and let him that put it there 
 look well to his comings and goings — " 
 
 Mrs. Lygon held up a finger. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Madame," said Henderson, 
 humbly, ''for my low and dirty action. That is its 
 right name." 
 
 " It is of your mistress that you should ask par- 
 don," said Mrs. Lygon, watching earnestly the effect 
 of the words, and pained, though not surprised, to 
 see that the idea of Bertha's displeasure did not 
 seem to impress the mind of her servant. 
 
 " And I do so, I 'm sure," said INIary Henderson, 
 but far less submissively ihan Mrs. Lygon deemed 
 proper. 
 
 " I do not wish to hear anything," said Bertha, 
 overcome by the whole scene, and helplessly shaking 
 her handkerchief as if to wave away all appeal. 
 
 " And as I say, Madame," continued Henderson, 
 again addressing herself to Mrs. Lygon, " if byegones 
 might be byegones, and never shall they be repeated 
 by me, and you would let me make amends, I can do 
 something, and may be more than a little, in bringing 
 to you some knowledge which you wish to have."
 
 THE SILVER COED. 217 
 
 " What kind of knowledge ? " asked Mrs. Lygon, 
 quietly. 
 
 " Ah ! yes, Madame. That is indeed like a lady 
 — that is truly good in you to take me at my word, 
 and let byegones be byegones at once, and forget 
 what I was doing just now. But it is me that must 
 remember them against myself/' said the girl, with 
 a more softened expression of face than her features 
 had seemed capable of wearing. " I won't say more 
 than becomes me, but you ladies wish to know some- 
 thing about a man whom you hate, as I was going 
 to say, but that I ought not to say to ladies. But I 
 hate him,'' she added, with a look that left no doubt 
 of her meaning, "and if I can do anything to bring 
 a house upon his head down it comes. And if I 
 may not do it on account of others, I Avill do it on 
 my own." 
 
 " I cannot say that your anger is wrong, Mary," 
 said Mrs. Lygon. 
 
 '' Indeed it is not, Madame," returned the girl, 
 *' and when I think what might have been the conse- 
 quences, if you had gone back to England believing 
 tliat wicked lie — " 
 
 ^Which it Avill be remembered, Ernest Adair had 
 never uttered.] 
 
 " I could drive my nails into my hands, Madame. 
 But I will have my revenge for my good name." 
 
 " I can hear nothing about your revenge, Mary. 
 Try to live so that all who know you may discredit 
 anything that may be said against you." 
 
 "And I will, Madame. But I will have my
 
 218 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 revenge first, begging your pardon for naming it 
 again." 
 
 " Well, now, Mary, suppose you go down stairs. 
 I shall have something to say to you presently, hut 
 I must first have some conversation with your 
 mistress." 
 
 " Certainly, Madame." 
 
 And Mary withdrew, with a look which, while 
 directed towards Laura, was chiefly expressive of a 
 sort of grim gratitude, but which, as the girl turned 
 to go, spoke most distinctly of a savage determina- 
 tion to wreak her wrong. 
 
 " Help comes Vv'hen we least expect it. Bertha 
 dear," said her sister, as soon as Mary had empha- 
 tically closed the most distant of the doors. 
 
 " I have no idea what you mean to do," said Mrs. 
 Urquhart, who really seemed bewildered by the 
 scene she had witnessed. 
 
 " No, I suppose not," said jMrs. Lygon. 
 
 " But you ought to be very careful," said Bertha, 
 wisely. 
 
 "And I will," returned her sister. "Trust me, 
 dear. Would you order something to be sent up to 
 me, for I am growing rather faint, and let Henderson 
 bring it ? " 
 
 " Certainly, dear. I ought to have thought of it 
 sooner." 
 
 People of Bertha's temperament have, it may be 
 remarked, a habit of forgetting to think of the pos- 
 sible wants and comforts of others, but easily forgive 
 themselves for what they euphuistically call absence
 
 THE SILYEU CORD. SI 9 
 
 of mind — some people save a good deal of trouble and 
 expense by that convenient furlough. However, 
 Mary Henderson^s zeal made up for any slackness 
 on the part of her mistress, and Mrs. Lygon was 
 tended with the utmost care and consideration. 
 Henderson had much to tell her, and something to 
 hear from her.
 
 220 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 But Bertlia herself was doomed tliat day to sus- 
 tain, single-handed, an interview of a far more 
 embarrassing character. To sit and witness her 
 sister's triumph, in the conversion of a hostile 
 spy into a useful ally, was not an exertion 
 that drew much upon her mental resources; 
 but, about two hours later, and while deeply 
 musing upon the questions whether she should dress 
 for dinner that night, and if so, what dress she 
 should wear, Angelique brought in the card of 
 Mr. Lygon. 
 
 Mrs. Urquhart's mind, suddenly recalled from her 
 toilette, was in such a state of bewilderment that 
 she had already issued the slightly contradictory 
 orders to admit him, and to say that she was in the 
 country, when she found herself holding his hand, 
 and declaring how glad she was to see him. 
 
 Arthur Lygon was in no mood to be critical upon 
 his reception. He had hurried to Versailles, and 
 thought only of again seeing Laura. He scarcely 
 allowed his hostess time to falter out her welcome. 
 
 " And where is Laura ? " 
 
 Poor Bertha strove to put on a surprised air, and, 
 with a heightened colour, was about to reply, when 
 Arthur's kind feeling, united with his eagerness to
 
 THE SIL\Ti:R CORD. 221 
 
 meet his wife, hastened to save her from embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " My dear Bertha/' he said, taking her hand, and 
 speaking low, " there is no need for any attempt at 
 secrcsy. If I had been trusted sooner, I might have 
 saved and been saved from great pain. But nothing 
 need be said, dear, but this. Certain things — they 
 need not be recalled " — and he looked away from 
 her as he spoke — " have come to my knowledge, and 
 my only complaint, as I have said, is that I was not 
 trusted. Now, I have no complaint to make — / 
 hioio all." 
 
 With a gentleman's instinct, and in order to give 
 his sister-in-law time to recover from the effect of 
 such a communication, Lygon, pressing her hand 
 kindly, crossed the room, looked from the window 
 for a moment, and said : 
 
 " She is here, I suppose ? " and he entered the 
 little boudoir. 
 
 No, Laura was not there; but on the table was 
 the note which she had sent to Mrs. Urquhart, an- 
 nouncing her arrival in Paris, and upon the writing 
 the husband's eye immediately fell. He snatched it 
 up, and smiled as he read it, and returned to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Bertha was gone. Perhaps the best thing for the 
 weak creature to do was to fly. 
 
 He was not surprised. For he had been pondering, 
 of course, over the information which he had received, 
 and it was by no means a pleasant thing to have to 
 apprise a woman, who had hitherto been unsuspected
 
 222 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 by him, that he knew of the errors of her early life. 
 He was glad to have cut the knot in the abrupt way 
 he had done so, and he concluded that though Bertha 
 would not remain to continue such a conversation, 
 she had gone to communicate it to Laura, who, in 
 another minute, ought to be in the room. 
 
 Three minutes elapsed — perhaps five — and then, 
 regardless of all the conventionalities, Mr. Lygonran 
 into the dining-room, and, finding no Laura there, 
 mounted the staircase leading to the bed-rooms. 
 
 " Can she be afraid to meet me?" he said, " Laura 
 afraid of me ! " 
 
 And he opened the first door that he reached, half 
 expecting to find Bertha and her sister crying toge- 
 ther, and one urging the other to lose no time in 
 coming down. 
 
 No, the room, Mrs. Urquhart's, was untenanted. 
 
 His hand was on a second handle, when Mary 
 Henderson stopped him. 
 
 " Mr. Lygon, sir. That is my room." 
 
 " Ah, Henderson, how do you do. Where is Mrs. 
 Lygon ? " 
 
 The girl's quick eye saw that he held his wife's note 
 in his hand, and her quick brain instantly suggested 
 that it was useless to afi'ect surprise at his words. 
 
 " Why, did you not meet her, sir ? " 
 
 " Meet her — where, where ? " said Arthur. 
 
 " Which Avay could 3'^ou have come, sir ? " 
 
 " Straight from the railway." 
 
 « Ah, but which ? " 
 
 " How should I know? What do you mean ? Is
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 223 
 
 Mrs. Lygoii — . Stop. Dou't be surprised, Hender- 
 son, but — " 
 
 Surprised or not, she saw the excited Lygon, 
 brcaliing off short in his speech, rush in succession 
 to each of the doors on that floor, and look into the 
 rooms. He hastily penetrated into the little bed- 
 room in which five minutes earlier he would have 
 found his wife. 
 
 But she was no longer there. 
 
 Bertha had flown to Laura with his name upon 
 her tongue, and the latter, certain that he would be 
 stayed by no obstacle, had darted down a second 
 staircase. Bertha following, but managing to say a 
 word to Henderson, scarcely needed by her. 
 
 " ]\Ir. Lygon, sir, if you would only listen." 
 
 " Where is your mistress ? " 
 
 " In the drawing-room, sir." 
 
 " She is not." 
 
 " She went there, sir, directly Mrs. Lygon went 
 out." 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Lygon," demanded Arthur. 
 
 " !Mrs. Lygon has only gone into Paris for the 
 evening. I tliought that you would have met her at 
 the train, but whether she Avent by the right bank or 
 left bank I am not sure, and you do not know which 
 you came from." 
 
 " What do you say about the evening — where is 
 she gone ? " 
 
 " I — I am not sure, but Madame knows." 
 
 Again Arthur Lygon had searched the rooms, but 
 the result mav be imajriued.
 
 224 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " Mrs. Urquhart must be in the bouse/^ be said, 
 sternly, " and I must see ber. Find ber, Hender- 
 son.^^ 
 
 " But sbe was bere five minutes ago/' said Hen- 
 derson. 
 
 " Where's Mr. Urqubart ? " 
 
 " He is away from Paris, sir ; there has been a 
 railway accident, and he was sent for." 
 
 " Find your mistress.^' 
 
 He paced the apartment in a state of mind, which 
 may need no description. 
 
 " I cannot find Mrs. Urqubart,'^ said Henderson, 
 after delaying as long as she thought was safe. " I 
 have not seen her since she said good-bye to Mrs. 
 Lygon, and Angelique believed ber to be bere, as 
 she was when yon came in.'' 
 
 " Has she taken flight, too ? " said Lygon in 
 passion. 
 
 Henderson was silent, the remark not being ad- 
 dressed, directly to her. 
 
 " Do you say that Mrs. Lygon is expected here 
 again to-night,'^ he said, in a calmer voice. 
 
 Henderson, left without directions, scarcely knew 
 what to say. If she replied in the affirmative, Mr. 
 Lygon, evidently an unwelcome guest, would natu- 
 rally desire to remain and await his wife's return. 
 A contrary answer would make him still more 
 determined to see Mrs. Urqubart. So rejecting 
 fiction altogether, she resolved on adhering to the 
 truth, and stating that she did not know. This left 
 him to decide for himself.
 
 THE SILVEIl CORD. 225 
 
 " Bertha might well desire to keep out of the 
 way," he said to himself, " after what I had said to 
 her. It would be strange if she did not. But why 
 could she not have spoken of Laura ? However, I 
 am on her traces now, and I will not lose them 
 again." 
 
 He put a variety of ordinary questions to Hender- 
 son, as to the time of his wife's arrival, the room she 
 occupied, and her state of health, and then, dismiss- 
 ing the girl, he wrote a brief note to Mrs. Urquhart, 
 in which he begged her to let him know when 
 Laura was expected back, and her address in Paris. 
 
 " Get this into Mrs. Urquhart's hand as soon as 
 you can," he said, " and if you have the answer 
 ready for me when I call again in half an hour, this 
 shall be doubled." He put a gold coin into her hand 
 as he spoke, and went out. 
 
 But Mary Henderson had no opportunity of earn- 
 ing the additional wage which he had offered. The 
 sisters were fairly away from the avenue, and Bertha 
 had led Laura through an obscure part of the town, 
 and into a quarter where an English stranger was 
 not at all likely to penetrate. Nor for many gold 
 coins would Mary Henderson, under the influences 
 which then guided her, have done anything which 
 could offend or embarrass Mrs. Lygon. 
 
 Arthur Lygon walked rapidly hither and thither, 
 in the neighbourhood of the house, and though 
 irritated almost beyond bounds at the chance, as he 
 thought, that had prevented his meeting Laura, did 
 not entertain an idea that she was voluntarily hiding 
 
 VOU I. Q
 
 S2G THE SILVER COED. 
 
 from him. The girl had played her part so natu- 
 rally and promptly, that Lygon had no cause for 
 suspicion, while the disappearance of Mrs. Urquhart 
 was easily accounted for. But lie made his half hour a 
 short one, and soon had his hand again on the bell. 
 
 " I am sorry to say, sir, that I have not been able 
 to find Madame. How or when she could have gone 
 out, I cannot think, but she is certainly not in the 
 house.'^ 
 
 " She must come in sooner or later," said Lygon. 
 " I will wait for her." 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 
 " Will any one be here to dinner ? " 
 
 "No, sir_," said Henderson, quickly. "Madame 
 dined very early, with Mrs. Lygon." 
 
 " I shall wait." 
 
 He re-entered the drawing-room, and the faithful 
 Henderson retired to consider how this new diffi- 
 culty could be met. It was evident to her mind 
 that neither of the ladies would return to the house 
 while they thought Mr. Lygon was there. But 
 where could they go ? and how inconvenient to have 
 to hurry out into the miserable Versailles. Perhaps 
 though, they might actually have departed for Paris. 
 But then, what was to be done with Lygon ? 
 
 A brilliant thought flashed upon her mind, and in 
 another minute she, too, had left the house. 
 
 Lygon paraded the rooms in irritation, and yet 
 scarcely knew how to affix blame anywhere. Acci- 
 dent had gone against him. But it is small conso- 
 lation, in trouble, to have nobody to blame.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 227 
 
 He had passed another hour in this state of mind 
 — which made the period seem treble its length — 
 when Mary came in again, in haste. 
 
 "A young man, sir, has come with a message." 
 
 ^' From whom ? " said Arthur, eagerly. 
 
 " FroYn Madame. Enter, Monsieur Silvain." 
 
 Arthur Lygon had not much attention to bestow 
 upon the small, wiry-looking, intelligent Frenchman 
 thus introduced, but at once demanded his news. 
 
 In brief, which was not the way M. Silvain told it 
 (for he wished to distinguish himself in the eyes of 
 his mistress), M. Silvain had been at the railway 
 terminus, inquiring after some perfumery which he 
 had ordered from Paris, when Madame Urquhart, to 
 whom he was well known, had called him to her, 
 and had requested him immediately to present him- 
 self at her house, and acquaint the strange gentleman 
 from England that she had gone to Paris, following 
 the strange gentleman's wife, and that he was, if he 
 pleased, to come on to Paris also, and a letter should 
 be sent to him, to the Hotel Marie, Boulevard des 
 Capucins, telling him where to find them. M. Sil- 
 vain was desolated not to have been able to come 
 sooner, but his perfumery had not arrived, and he 
 had been obliged to send a special messenger 
 after it. 
 
 It was a Avell-lcarned story, but M'hat is the use of 
 :i lover if he cannot learn anything his mistress 
 orders ! It was a bold falsehood, but what is the 
 use of an ally who is timid? At any rate it sent 
 Mr. Lygon away from Versailles. 
 
 (i2
 
 228 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Letter from Archibald Vernon to Charles 
 Haavkesley. 
 
 •' Canonbury Square. 
 
 "My dear Charles, 
 
 " I am sure I do not know "".vhy we see so little of 
 one another, except that having carefully examined 
 the map, having discovered that between your new 
 house and my Patmos, there is exactly distance 
 enough for an agreeable and healthy walk, and 
 having solemnly agreed with myself that duty and 
 pleasure alike enjoined my coming to visit you at 
 the earliest opportunity, I have not found that oppor- 
 tunity. With your merciless business habit, you 
 will harshly demand what on earth I have to do that 
 should prevent my putting on my hat any fine morn- 
 ing, and marching across to Maida Hill. This stern 
 question I might find it difficult to answer — and yet 
 not difficult, only you hate long letters, and I cannot 
 write short ones. You will, I foresee, hand this 
 letter over to Beatrice, with instructions to find out 
 what her father wants, and tell you when you come 
 out of that hermetically sealed study for the glass of 
 sherry and biscuit that are to fortify you for another 
 onslaught upon some less fortunate author, another 
 act of the new comedy, another chapter of the 
 
 i
 
 THE SILVEIl CORD. 829 
 
 forthcoming novel, another column of proof that 
 some king of the earth ought to be promptly de- 
 posed. My dear multifarious son-in-law, I want you 
 to be good enough to read this letter for yourself. 
 
 "Thank you mucli for the books. Indeed I 
 ought to have thanked you long ago. I have not 
 read them, but Beatrice's pretty paper-knife has 
 been at work on them, and I propose to begin them 
 one of these days. I hear jou, sir, and procras- 
 tination is a long and sonorous word, and is also 
 the thief of time. Never mind. Let me go on in 
 my own way. I admire, but do not envy you 
 regular men, who do everything at the proper time, 
 and are always to be relied upon. I got my notions 
 of literary labour before the new type of author 
 came out, and I am now too old to change my 
 habits. Perhaps, if I had been more of a man of 
 business, I should have been dating to you from my 
 own villa, and sending you this letter by my own 
 servant, instead of writing from a boarding-house, 
 and hoping that the maid will not omit to stick on 
 a penny stamp when it shall please her to take my 
 epistle round to the post-office. But if I am not 
 a man of business, I have been made what I am by 
 the discouragements of life, and by the oppression 
 of people who resolutely set themselves to keep me 
 down. Had my wife's aunts been less bigoted, and 
 had they fvdvanced a sum to get me out of my 
 troubles, I might have been heard of more advan- 
 tageously, for I own that I do not find that the men 
 wlio make great successes in these days are ray
 
 230 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 superiors in handicraft. I hear you again, sir, and 
 egotism, though a shorter word than procrastination, 
 has almost as classical a sound — 
 
 [At this point in the letter, Mr. Hawlcesley looked 
 up, and in answer to a curious glance from his wife, 
 observed : 
 
 "Only autobiography at present, but he wishes 
 me to read it all." 
 
 " Dear old man ! " said Beatrice, " and so you 
 shall."] 
 
 " The papers, Charles, are very full of interest — 
 
 ["I wish he had to find subjects for leading 
 articles," grunted the journalist.] 
 — and it is my opinion that a very important crisis 
 is at hand. [Another grunt.] When we look at the 
 condition of the Western World, it is impossible not 
 to perceive that there is an upheaving among its 
 populations, both in the northern and southern 
 continent, which must ere long result in some 
 remarkable events. If we turn to the East, and 
 inquire — 
 
 " You are skipping, Charles ; you are not reading 
 it all.' 
 
 " My dear child, am I to be kept from my desk to 
 inquire into the Eastern question ? " 
 
 " Why, you were writing about it yourself yester- 
 day — you told me so." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind. I said the Great Eastern 
 question." 
 
 " It's all the same. No, but do read it, dear, 
 when he asks you."
 
 TUi: SILVKll CORD. 331 
 
 "You really merge your conjugal in your filial 
 duty, Mrs. Hawkesley. But let us see/'] 
 — and inquire what will be the ultimate destiny of 
 the interesting nations on the seaboard of the Medi- 
 terranean, I cannot but be struck with the utter indif- 
 ference displayed by the world in general upon a topic 
 of such magnitude. For my own part, I have quite 
 made up ray mind that the shores of the tideless sea 
 will be the scenes of some very extraordinary events 
 in the time that is coming, and I wish that you, who 
 have the ear of the public, would write more strongly 
 and urgently than you do. I observe with regret, 
 that you and others are far too prone to accept 
 existing things as if they were in themselves good ; 
 and that in place of denouncing much that you are 
 convinced is evil, you are inclined to exhort people 
 to make the best of things as they are. This policy 
 is entirely erroneous, and there must be a general 
 tempest-sweep throughout Europe before society can 
 hope for regeneration. 
 
 ["I am sure the dear old thing writes very beau- 
 tifully," said Mrs. Hawkesley. 
 
 "Who's a denyin'' on it, Betsy Prig?" returned 
 her husband. "But one has heard all this before 
 from him. It is a regular manifesto — a Vernon 
 Gallery of contemporary history. What is he medi- 
 tating ? "] 
 
 " I have been thinking of writing to the managers 
 of a literary institution in this neighbourhood, to 
 inquire of them whether in the event of my making 
 up my mind to prepare some lectures on the existing
 
 232 TPIE SILVER CORD. 
 
 state of Europe, they would be inclined to negotiate 
 Avitli me for their delivery. 
 
 [" Thinking of writing to inquire whether if — 
 come, that is worthy of Sir Robert Peel, deceased,^' 
 
 " Tell him so, dear, that will please him, I know. 
 He used to speak highly of Sir Robert Peel. Was 
 it not Sir Robert Peel who said every man had his 
 price ? " 
 
 " Sir Robert Walpole said something like it." 
 
 " O yes, it was Walpole. But he was a Prime 
 Minister, I know." 
 
 " Quite right, m}'' dear." 
 
 '' If you laugh, I will box your ears. 1 am sure it 
 was a good guess."] 
 
 " If I decide upon writing, I shall ask you to 
 give me your opinion upon the terms, and the best 
 way of dealing with the subject, for I have not had 
 much experience of such matters ; and, indeed, if 
 you would not mind taking the initiative, and 
 Avriting in your own name to ascertain about it, 
 and arrange, I should have nothing more to do 
 except — 
 
 [" Except to ask me to write the lectures." 
 
 " I am sure that he does not mean that. And if 
 he does, you will just not do it, dear. You have a 
 great deal too much work on your hands as it is," 
 said Beatrice. 
 
 " Likely to have, while people spend unheard-of 
 sums on bronzes," said Mr. Hawkesley, glancing at 
 a little figure on the mantelpiece. 
 
 "You great story-teller! — it's worth five times
 
 TIIF. SILVER CORD. 233 
 
 what I f^avc for it, and the man said that Lord 
 Corbally would jump at it." 
 
 " There is no Lord Corbally, so his gymnastics 
 must be indefinitely postponed. But we won^t re- 
 open that question, the figure is lovely, and was very 
 cheap, and I am delighted with it.'' 
 
 " Now, I will just change it to-morrow," said 
 Beatrice. 
 
 " Pray don't, or I will buy another — be awfully 
 cheated — get something you don't like — and refuse 
 to say where I bought it. Listen to your father, if 
 you please."] 
 
 "There is, however, no immediate hurry about 
 this, and indeed it might not be altogether amiss to 
 wait, and see what results from the negotiations 
 which I find are likely to be set on foot about the 
 Archipelago, and which I shall watch with very great 
 interest. So wc will let this subject stand over 
 until I can see you on it, and explain my views more 
 fully. 
 
 [" So all the letter, thus far, was unnecessary ? "] 
 
 " I do not know, indeed, that I should have 
 written to you to-day (for I have picked up a very 
 curious tract, dated 1790, upon the French Revolu- 
 tion, and I am very anxious to finish it), but that I 
 have received a letter which has caused me very great 
 uneasiness. 
 
 [" What is that, dear ? " said Beatrice. 
 
 "Well, it cannot be much to alarm one, when he 
 brings it in after the Mediterranean question and the 
 French Revolution."
 
 4 
 
 234 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " But that is his way. It always was. He would 
 talk about a dozen things before coming to some- 
 thing serious. It was not levity, but he always 
 disliked to touch anything disagreeable.'" 
 
 " So do I/' said Hawkesley, putting his arm 
 round his wife's waist, and reading on.] 
 
 " Uneasiness. I had not heard for a long time 
 from Laura, nor have I had any of Walter's scribble, 
 which he is so fond of sending to grandpapa. But I 
 did not think much of this, for I am not the best 
 correspondent in the world, and I may not have 
 answered their last despatches. 
 
 [" That would not have prevented Laura from 
 writing to him,^^ said Beatrice. 
 
 " Of course not. His mentioning it is onl}' 
 another instance of what j'ou were just saying — his 
 dislike to get to the facts."] 
 
 " I had fully intended to go over to Gurdon Ter- 
 race this week, and see after them all, but it has 
 been very hot, and my light coat had gone to be 
 mended, and one thing and another interfered. But 
 last night I received a letter — 
 
 [" Last night, and written at once. It must be 
 something to have stirred him to such promptness," 
 said Hawkesley.] 
 
 — which I had better enclose to you instead of 
 recapitulating its contents. 
 
 " Where is it ? " said Beatrice. " Let us read 
 that at once, and hear his comments upon it 
 afterwards." 
 
 But there was no letter enclosed.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 235 
 
 " Just like him," said Lis daughter. " Just 
 exactly like him."] 
 
 " "When you have read this, return it to me, with 
 your own ideas as to what it means, or what should 
 be done. As for the * impending evil,* and the 
 'duty of watching over Laura's children,* the lan- 
 guage is perfectly incomprehensible to me. You 
 may, perhaps, make a better guess at its meaning. 
 Has there been any epidemic about Brompton ? I 
 regret to say that I have not paid the attention that 
 I ought to the interesting and valuable reports of the 
 Registrar-General, but that functionary frequently 
 makes allusion to diseases of a painful character, and 
 the details grate upon my nerves. You may, very 
 likely, be better informed than I am, as I know that 
 you frequently write upon sanatory subjects. If any- 
 thing of this kind is the case, I think that you 
 should at once send or write to Laura, advising her 
 to remove into some other neighbourhood. I could 
 wish that she liked this district, as I am sure it is 
 healthy, and she would be near me, which Avould be 
 very convenient to me, but this I would not unduly 
 press, though you might more properly urge that 
 consideration. 
 
 [*' I am sure I shan't advise her to go and bury 
 herself at Islington/' interjected Beatrice. " But I 
 cannot think what he is talking about. How ridi- 
 culous to leave out the only important thing." 
 
 "I will send over for the letter he intended to 
 enclose." 
 
 " Yes, do. Stop, I will go myself," said Beatrice.
 
 23(» THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " You will not be going out ? I will not stay there 
 ten minutes. Is there anything else ? " 
 
 " Not much. He hopes that we will attend to the 
 matter directly, and let him hear soon."] 
 
 " I shall write to you agaia very soon, and with 
 love to Beatrice, and kisses to the children ; 
 " Always yours affectionately, 
 
 "Archibald Vernon." 
 
 '' Beatrice," said Hawkesley, " go by all means, 
 and do not lose any time in getting back." 
 
 His wife instantly detected a certain gravity in 
 his tone. 
 
 " Charles. Why do you say that ? " 
 
 " I will tell you. I do not think I am giving way 
 to a mere fancy, or I would keep it to myself; but is 
 it not odd that neither Arthur nor Laura sends us a 
 line>from the country ? " 
 
 " That has crossed my mind. But I told you what 
 Price said." 
 
 "Yes. But however interested they may be 
 about the condition of their friend, and I cannot 
 make out, after all, who it is that is so ill, one of 
 them might have written. I wonder whether Price 
 has heard." 
 
 " Send there, while I am gone to Canonbury." 
 
 " I have a good mind to walk over." 
 
 " Well, if you can spare the time, do ; and tell 
 the boys to come to-morrow." 
 
 " I cannot well spare the time, and yet I should like 
 to know. It is so unlike Lvgon not to send a line."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 237 
 
 " Perhaps the lady is dead." 
 
 " Very likely, and -we are fidgctting about nothing. 
 But I confess that I shall be pleased to hear that all 
 is right." 
 
 " But what can be wrong, dear ? " 
 
 " I do not know. But the letter which your 
 father meant to enclose has followed so closely upon 
 some vague thoughts of mine — however, dear, put 
 on your bonnet, and I will send for a cab. I will 
 not go out until you return. '^ 
 
 " I was only inclined to be angry with papa for 
 his carelessness, but you have put that out of my 
 head," said Beatrice. " You have not heard any- 
 thing ? " she said, earnestly. 
 
 " Would I have kept it from you, darling ? " 
 
 When Mrs. Hawkesley reached Canonbury Square, 
 she found Mr. Vernon comfortably reclined upon a 
 sofa, reading the newspaper. Robed in his dress- 
 ing-gown, and slippered, and with a handsome 
 smoking-cap upon his head, the slight and refined 
 looking old gentleman rose to salute her with a very 
 kindly smile. 
 
 "You did not expect me, papa?" 
 
 " Indeed, ray dear child, I did," lie said, plea- 
 santly. 
 
 " After what you sent, you mean, papa ? " 
 
 " And after what I did not send." 
 
 "What is this letter, and how could you forget 
 it, "when it was so important, papa ? " said Mrs. 
 Hawkesley.
 
 238 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "I did not forget it, my love. I was about to 
 enclose it, when it occurred to me that if I did not 
 put it in, I should certainly have the pleasure of 
 seeing you here as soon as possible, and so I kept 
 it out." 
 
 '^Leaving us in such a state of uncertainty. 
 What is it ? Where is it ? " 
 
 " Impatient as ever, my dear. It is in my desk 
 in my bed-room, for one has no private room here, 
 and in the fine weather I write at my window, which 
 gives me a view of the trees." 
 
 " Will you get it, or shall I run up ? " 
 
 " I believe that the room is being arranged by the 
 domestic — " 
 
 " What does that signify, dear ? Please get it." 
 
 " I know you of old, my dear, and that to obey is 
 the least trouble where you are concerned," said Mr. 
 Vernon, leaving the room with another smile. 
 
 He returned in a few minutes, declaring himself 
 unable to find the letter, at which announcement 
 his daughter's impatience was manifested M'ith little 
 restraint. 
 
 " Not find it, papa — you cannot have half looked." 
 
 '' Yes, dear, I have managed to mislay it. The 
 fact is that we — I mean myself and two gentlemen 
 who are staying here — got into an interesting dis- 
 cussion last night, and perhaps we grew too warm, 
 at least they did, for I will never affect to be only 
 half in earnest on subjects of political importance. 
 We separated in some heat, and — " 
 
 "But what has a ridiculous political squabble to
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 23^ 
 
 do with an important letter about Laura?" said 
 Beatrice, irritated. "Never mind that; tell me who 
 the letter was from, and what was in it." 
 
 " My dear Beatrice, I Avish you would emulate 
 your husband's calmness and patience." 
 
 " He was as angry as myself that you had left 
 out the letter, and would have been more angry if 
 he had supposed that you liad done it on purpose. 
 But what is it — you can tell me what was in it. 
 Who was it from ? " 
 
 " That, my dear, I certainly cannot tell you." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because it is anonymous." 
 
 "Oh, an anonymous letter/' said Beatrice ; " that 
 is a relief." 
 
 " I don't understand why, my dear — " 
 
 " Yes," said Beatrice, impetuously, " because 
 any one who could send an anonymous letter is a 
 creature whose words are not worth a moment's 
 attention, except to find him out and punish 
 him." 
 
 " I do not feel entirely with you, my dear,'* said 
 Mr. Vernon, blandly ; " I think such a view is 
 common-place and even coarse. I can quite under- 
 stand that a person may be desirous that a fact 
 should be known to another person, and yet may 
 not wish to be known as the informant. If, of 
 course, he states falsehoods, he is an unworthy 
 person, but in simply laying a truth before another, 
 and yet remaining shrouded, he may only wish that 
 the truth should be looked at, abstractedly, and
 
 240 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 without the colouring derived from the other's 
 possible opinion of the writer." 
 
 "An anonymous letter- writer is a wretch/' re- 
 turned the prompt and unconvinced Mrs. Hawkesley; 
 " and to think of such a one writing to you about 
 Laura ? What did he say, papa ? " 
 
 " You beg the question of sex, my dear ; but 
 from my own impression of the letter, which I 
 much regret to have mislaid in the way I was about 
 to explain to you, I am inclined to think the writer 
 was a lady." 
 
 " Not a lady, certainly. A woman, perhaps." 
 
 ''"Waiving that aristocratic distinction, my dear, 
 I would say that the hand was very neat, and of 
 the kind which is usually supposed to denote 
 education." 
 
 "And the words?" asked Mrs. Hawkesley, com- 
 pressing her lips, and filially trying not to be in a rage 
 with the author of her being. "What were they?" 
 
 "I will not affect to quote them accurately, but 
 the main point was what I mentioned in my letter. 
 I was recommended to watch over Laura's children, 
 as some danger — as a heavy evil — was impending 
 over them." 
 
 "And that was all?" 
 
 "No. I was further advised to visit Gurdon 
 Terrace, and endeavour to ascertain, if possible, 
 where Mrs. Lj^gon had really gone, as the writer 
 had very good reason to believe that there had been 
 an endeavour to place everybody on the wrong scent 
 — or something to that efiect."
 
 THE SILVER COIID. 241 
 
 "I must have that letter, papa, directly, if I ran- 
 sack the house from top to bottom with my own 
 hands. How very wrong in you not to have sent it 
 us. 
 
 "I do not know where else to look for it, my 
 dear. And I may as well add/' he said, with some 
 firmness, " that if I could lay m}^ hand upon it at 
 this moment, I do not yet know that I should feel it 
 my duty to give it you." * 
 
 " I am sure you would. * Charles would do his 
 utmost to have the writer traced out." 
 
 " For that very reason, my dear, I am not clear 
 that I should not be betraying the confidence of a 
 person who had written to me with the best in- 
 tentions." 
 
 "What, and accusing Laura of deceit ! " 
 " I do not read any such charge, my dear. The 
 allegation is that there is deceit somewhere. Were 
 the accusation more specific, I do not know that I 
 ought to hand over the writer to the unreasonable 
 anger of others, even though they arc members of 
 my own family." 
 
 " I have no patience with such hair-splitting, 
 papa." 
 
 " I am aware, my love, that patience is not exactly 
 your forte, nor do you seem to have cultivated it 
 much." 
 
 " How can you speak so coolly, when such a 
 charge is made against Laura? She is all truthful- 
 ness, as you know. Do you mean to say that you in 
 your heart believe that she is gone anywhere but
 
 243 THE SILVEK CORD. 
 
 where Arthur says she is? I never heard anything 
 so wicked in all my life." 
 
 '' I have no means of forming any opinion on the 
 subject^ my dear. I am very little consulted by my 
 children as to what they do, and I cannot tell what 
 Arthur's course in life may be. Perhaps he has got 
 into difl&culties.^' 
 
 "I am sure he has not/' returned she indig- 
 nantly. * 
 
 " As upright men as Mr. Lygon have done so," 
 replied her father; "nor need you repel the sug- 
 gestion with so much violence.'' 
 
 " You make me quite angry, papa, when you talk 
 in that wild, fanciful way, at the same time im- 
 puting the worst things to the best people whom 
 you know. You do not care what you say. Was 
 it all a fancy that the letter hinted something 
 about the neighbourhood being unwholesome, or 
 an epidemic being about, — what was it you wrote?'' 
 
 " No, there was a word in the note that put the 
 idea into my head. I cannot positively say that 
 there was anything to lead to a definite impression* 
 on the subject." 
 
 " It was only a wild guess of yours, then ? But, 
 papa, you must really have that note found, or I 
 shall have to ask Charles to come over and convince 
 you that he must have it. In Arthvu-'s absence 
 Charles is bound to see after his interests." 
 
 "I shall be very happy to see Hawkesley, my 
 dear, and to argue with him on that or any other 
 subject. In the meantime you must allow me to
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 343 
 
 take my own view of what is right. If there is 
 anj'thing of truth in the letter, why not act upon 
 the information, in any way that circumstances may 
 dictate, witliout reference to the writer herself?" 
 
 ** You are actually defending the wretch, and 
 making yourself a party to her accusation." 
 
 "No, my dear, I am only refusing to permit my 
 natural feelings as a father to predominate over my 
 sense of justice to a fellow-creature," 
 
 " Well, papa, you will hear what Charles thinks 
 about it ; but it is very unkind of you to place me 
 in such a positioii. I have to go back to my hus- 
 band, and tell him that my father takes side with 
 a cowardly, anonymous letter-writer, and has more 
 regard for this skulking creature than for the feel- 
 ings of his own children." 
 
 There were tears in her eyes as she spoke, and the 
 heart of the father began rapidly to soften. His 
 theories seldom stood long in presence of the sorrow 
 of those whom he loved. 
 
 " Nay, Beatrice, my dear, you are quite wrong, 
 and you do me much injustice. I do not think you 
 ought to avail yourself of my affection to induce me 
 to act unfairly." 
 
 "It is not unfairly," said his daughter, seeing her 
 advantage, and taking his hand. " And I am sure 
 you would not make us all unhappy for the sake of a 
 malicious stranger. Get me the letter, papa dear," 
 she added, giving him a kiss. 
 
 " You are going to be so angry with me," said 
 Mr. Vernon. 
 
 n 2
 
 244 
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Angry, papa dear? You know I am hasty and 
 apt to say anything that comes to my tongue, but I 
 never mean to be unkind. Forgive rae if I spoke 
 rudely, as I know I did." And she gave him another 
 kiss. 
 
 It completed her victory, but the victory was not 
 a very profitable one. Mr. Vernon began to look 
 rather foolish, and he said in a sort of whisper, 
 
 " What if I cannot give it you ? " 
 
 " I know you can, — I know you can find it if you 
 like, dear."" 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Vernon, "if I had it, I would 
 give it you with all my heart; but the fact is, 
 Beatrice, I knew that though ray views were right, 
 yours would conquer, and in the fear of that I — I 
 burned the letter.^^ 
 
 And he had done so. But may it be supposed 
 that our readers have some idea whence the letter 
 came ? 
 
 Not until Mrs. Hawkesley had signified an affec- 
 tionate forgiveness of his act was she allowed to 
 depart, and though she could not help giving him 
 what she described as a good scolding, the father is 
 not unhappy who, in these days of liberty and 
 equality, has never heard more unkind language 
 from his child.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Again did Ernest Adair and the girl Henderson 
 meet in the little room at the inn at Versailles. 
 But this time the manner of the master was entirely 
 altered. He neither threw himself upon a chair, 
 nor had he recourse to his favourite cigarette, but 
 the moment that Henderson entered the room, he 
 signed her to close the door ; and then, approaching 
 her hastily, he addressed her almost with sternness. 
 
 "Now, say at once what you have to say. My 
 time is precious/^ The girl's manner was as much 
 changed as his own. Instead of employing the 
 petulant, half-defiant tone in which she had resisted 
 or resented his questions on the former occasions, 
 Mary Henderson was as submissive and respectful 
 as if he had been her lawful master, demanding 
 from his own servant an account of her doings. 
 
 " Will you ask me anything, or shall I speak 
 without?" she said almost humbly. 
 
 " Both. Tell me your own story first, and then 
 answer what I ask." 
 
 " I managed to hear a conversation between 
 Madame and her sister." 
 
 " Only one ? " 
 
 " It was impossible for me to hear more, and I do 
 not think that they have had any more."
 
 346 
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Don^t talk to me about impossibilities. The 
 other thing is more to the purpose, and what makes 
 you say that they have had one talk only ? " 
 
 " Because Mrs. Lygon did not see her sister again 
 until bed-time, and then Madame was not in the 
 bed-room with her for more than two or three 
 minutes.'^ 
 
 " What ! Not see her at dinner ? '' 
 
 " There were visitors at dinner, and Mrs. Lygon 
 had a tray sent to her own room." 
 
 "Was she ill, or only anxious to avoid strangers?" 
 
 " I did not hear anything about her being ill. 
 She ate her dinner, I know." 
 
 "Very right to notice that. I shall make you 
 valuable in time. Mrs. Lygon evidently wishes not 
 to be seen here. Well, now, go on. W^hat was their 
 conversation ? " 
 
 " It was partly about yourself, Mr. Adair." 
 
 "Not improbable. Well. They spoke bitterly 
 of me, abused me, called me fiend, as you did ? 
 Tell me. I can bear it." 
 
 " They said that you were a bad man." 
 
 " Quite right. Go on." 
 
 " When they dropped into whispers I could not 
 very well hear, because I was a good way ofi"; but I 
 had no difficulty in understanding that you have 
 been making Madame give you a great deal of 
 money, and that you want more." 
 
 " Come, I see that you are telling me the truth," 
 said Adair. "That is an accurate report of an 
 accurate statement."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 347 
 
 "Madame does not know how to ^et more money 
 for you." 
 
 " Well/' said Adair, listening intently. 
 
 " Mrs. Lygoti has not got much." 
 
 "Goon, girl." 
 
 " But," said Henderson, " they agreed that the 
 money must be raised in some way." 
 
 " Sensible and practical women." 
 
 " They mentioned various plans for raising it, but 
 none of them seemed to suit, for reasons which I 
 could not well make out. But thei'e was one way 
 Avhich they seemed to agree would do if some 
 things could be got at which they called — I did 
 not know the name, and I wrote it down after- 
 wards — " 
 
 " Good girl." 
 
 She took a scrap of paper from her pocket, and 
 glancing at a pencilled word, said, 
 
 " Yes ; do you know what coupons are ?" 
 
 " Most certainly." 
 
 " Well, then, they are to be got at, and as I 
 made out, they are to be handed to somebody who 
 will pay money for them. And this is to be given 
 to you." 
 
 " With any conditions, did you hear ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. You are to be asked to live in 
 London." 
 
 "Unheard-of cruelty. You are sure of that ?" 
 
 " Yes, I suppose — indeed, Madame said something 
 about gambling, and I suppose that they want you to 
 be out of the way of it."
 
 248 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "There being no gambling in London. That 
 is very thoughtful and provident of the dear ladies." 
 
 " I do not think that it was out of any kindness 
 to you, but because it is wished to put you out of 
 the way of people who cheat you and send you to 
 worry Madame." 
 
 "Did they say that? " said Adair, and a flush of 
 anger for once showed itself on the pale features. 
 He could bear all the abject humiliation of his 
 position, all the self-contempt, even the taunts of 
 such persons as Henderson and his other tools, 
 but he was wretched at being described as a 
 dupe of cleverer scoundrels. " They said I was 
 cheated ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, with woman^s quickness, 
 perceiving that she had managed to sting him. 
 "Mrs. Lygon laughed at the idea of your being any 
 match for the Frenchmen, and said that it was hard 
 that money, got with so much difficulty, should be 
 lost clumsily." 
 
 " You are lying," said Ernest Adair, quickly. 
 
 " You had better listen for yourself, if you doubt 
 me," replied Henderson, with a touch of her natural 
 petulance. " I beg your pardon, but indeed I am 
 telling you the very words." 
 
 " It may be so. It had better be so. "Well, and 
 in case I do not choose to live in London, what do 
 they propose ? " 
 
 " Nothing was said about that, and I suppose 
 they think that you are in such a desperate condi- 
 tion that vou must accept the money."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 249 
 
 "Ah! I have impressed that pleasant belief on 
 them, then ? And who is to obtain these coupons ? " 
 
 '^ Madame. '^ 
 
 "And tlie other lady is to use them ? " 
 
 " I think so.'' 
 
 Adair turned round upon her, and gazed in her 
 face for some moments. Her eyes met his steadily 
 for the first few seconds, and then she dropped them 
 from before his fixed look, and said : 
 
 " I have angered you, and learned some of your 
 secrets, but it was not my fault ; you put me on the 
 business." 
 
 "You have not angered me in the least, I assure 
 you," was his reply. " On the contrary, you bring 
 me very good news, and you shall not fail to have 
 your reward when I receive mine. By the way, I 
 suppose that we shall both have to wait some little 
 time." 
 
 " Madame was urgent about making haste." 
 
 " And the other was not." 
 
 " She is so calm and reserved, I can hardly make 
 her out." 
 
 "How did the conversation end?" 
 
 " Madame was to get the — the — things as soon as 
 she could." 
 
 " How you forget the word, although you took the 
 pains to write it down, which so fixes a thing in the 
 memory. Are you sure that you have the right word ?" 
 
 " Quite right, quite right." 
 
 " Look again." 
 
 " I know I am riuht."
 
 250 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Look again, I say." 
 
 Somewhat more slowly than seemed natural, Hen- 
 derson took the paper from her pocket, glanced at it 
 again, and was about to replace it. 
 
 "Yes, I said so, coupons." 
 
 He snatched her wrist, and though her hand 
 closed on the paper, he forced open her fingers and 
 took the paper. 
 
 " How absurd you are," he said. " Where my 
 interests are so much concerned, is it strange that 
 I should desire to be rightly informed ? Are you 
 ashamed of my seeing your way of spelling a French 
 word — and has not Silvain completed your educa- 
 tion ? " 
 
 He looked at the paper as he spoke. 
 
 "Yes, you were quite correct," he said, gently, 
 " quite." 
 
 She rubbed her wrist, with an expression of pain, 
 and the tears came to her eyes. 
 
 "What, was I rough? Nay, I cannot have hurt 
 you. I should never forgive myself. There, there, 
 don't be angry. You have done your mission 
 admirably, and I repeat to you, you shall not lose 
 your reward. Well, I need not detaia you. I will 
 send for you when I want you again. Take that 
 napoleon, and buy a ribbon for the pretty wrist I 
 have so ill-treated. And do not expose me to the 
 wrath of Monsieur Silvain." 
 
 He pressed the coin into her hand, and opening 
 the door, rather urged her departure — she this time 
 seeming inclined to linger.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 251 
 
 When she had gone, he fastened the door, and 
 examined the scrap of paper carefully. 
 
 "That is not the scrawl of a lady's-maid," he 
 said. 
 
 Then from an inner pocket he took out two or 
 three letters, and compared their writing with that 
 on the paper he had seized. 
 
 "Time has passed," he said, "and hands alter. 
 But I believe that it is hers. And tliey are laying a 
 trap. Henderson was to remember the word, and it 
 was written down for her, before she was sent with 
 the pretty story. What do they want me to believe ? 
 That Madame means to rob her husband's strong- 
 box of some valuable documents in order to pay me ? 
 But, on the other hand, why should she not do it V 
 The scheme would be a very sensible one. But that 
 infernal scrap of paper ; and why would not the girl 
 give it me ? Let me balance my convictions." 
 
 A business which the reader will gladly leave him 
 to perform alone.
 
 252 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 After a fruitless search for the hotel mentioned 
 by Silvain, as that at which a letter would be left 
 for Mr. Lygon, the latter, whose nature was unsus- 
 picious, endeavoured to retain the belief that a hasty 
 message had been misunderstood, and that the 
 Erenchman had accidentally directed him wrongly. 
 But the sorrow, the excitement, and the irritation 
 which Arthur had gone through since his wife's 
 departure from England began to tell upon him, 
 and some darker thoughts than he had ever before 
 admitted to his mind took the place of the frank 
 and unsuspecting feeling with which he had been in 
 the habit of receiving the statements of others. The 
 transition was unfortunate for his own happiness, 
 for a nature like his, once warped, often proceeds to 
 subtleties of distrust and suspicion which tinge sub- 
 sequent life with a gloom that no conviction can ever 
 entirely dispel. The steel once tarnished may be 
 polished never so carefully, at times the spots will 
 re-appear upon the blade. 
 
 He lost little time in returning to the avenue. 
 
 Expecting that Mrs Urquhart might be denied to 
 him, he had made up his mind not to leave the 
 house again until he had had an interview with her. 
 But her part had been assigned to her, and Lygon 
 was at once admitted.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 253 
 
 Bertha rose, gave him her hand, and spoke before 
 he had time to address her. 
 
 "Arthur, what must you have thought of my un- 
 ceremonious flight?" 
 
 " I might understand that, Bertha," he said, 
 lElmost sternly, " but not the absence of another, 
 whom I come back to see. Where is Laura?" 
 
 " That is what I have to tell you, but pray do not 
 agitate me, for I am very ill." 
 
 " You have only to answer a question." 
 "First I must tell you that Henderson is out 
 of her wits with alarm at the terrible mistake she 
 has committed. She caused her French lover, Sil- 
 vain, to deliver to you a message that was never 
 intended for yourself, and which must have taken 
 you to Paris on a useless errand. The blunder was, 
 I believe, his rather than hers, and the message 
 was for a friend of Mr. Urquhart's, a gentleman 
 who has been hunting him up about some railway 
 business." 
 
 Lygon looked at her with a keen glance. 
 "It matters little, Bertha. All I want at this 
 moment is to sec Laura. "Where is she?" 
 
 " She has gone into Paris — Henderson says that 
 she told you so." 
 "Where in Paris?" 
 " I am not to tell you." 
 
 " Bertha, what kind of an answer is that ?" said 
 Lygon, turning white with anger. 
 
 " You may frighten me to death," said Bertha, 
 crying, " but I can make you no other."
 
 254 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Is it — do you dare to tell me — that my wife has 
 given you this inj unction ?" 
 
 " I do not say that, but I am not to say 
 more." 
 
 " Bertha, beware what you are about ! The 
 woman who lends herself to help a separation of 
 man and wife incurs an awful responsibility." 
 
 " It will all come right/' sobbed Bertha ; " but do 
 be patient." 
 
 "Are you mad, Bertha? Patient, Avith a wife 
 whom I loved better than my life, suddenly aban- 
 doning her home and her children, and hiding her- 
 self from me, as if she were criminal ? I command 
 you to disobey any orders, and tell me where my 
 wife has gone." 
 
 " You — you have no right to command me," 
 stammered Bertha. 
 
 " No," said Lygon, more calmly. " That is true. 
 But Hobert Urquhart has a right, and he shall exert 
 it." 
 
 The tone of his voice was merely expressive of 
 determination, but Bertha's conscience read menace 
 in it, and she suddenly sprang to his side, and fell 
 on her knees. 
 
 " No, no, Arthur. For God's sake, spare me. 
 He will kill me." 
 
 " What can you mean ? " replied Arthur Lygon, 
 astonished. 
 
 " Nay, I know what you mean," said Bertha, 
 clutching at his arm." " You came here prepared to 
 use your power."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 255 
 
 " My power," repeated Lygon, in sincere bewilder- 
 ment. 
 
 "You told me that you knew all," said Bertlia, 
 agitated. " But I implore you, Arthur, spare me." 
 
 Lygou's mind was too painfully filled with his 
 own trouble to comprehend hei's for the moment. 
 But as her meaning dawned upon him, he raised 
 her from the ground, and said — there was both 
 indignation and kindness in his voice — 
 
 " I am ashamed to understand you, Bertha. 
 More ashamed that you should be able to think 
 such a thought of me.^' 
 
 " You do not mean to reveal to INIr. Urquhart — " 
 
 " Silence, Bertha, for very shame ! What have 
 I done to deserve such a question? Why, have 
 I not found my only comfort in believing that 
 Laura has foolishly come over here in order to serve 
 you in some mysterious way, and what other belief 
 could make me forgive her wild step ? I wish to 
 know nothing but where I can find her. Tell me 
 that." 
 
 " If I refuse, you will call on Robert to compel 
 me?" 
 
 " You will not refuse." 
 
 " Indeed I must." 
 
 "And your reason for refusing?" said Lygon, 
 trembling with passion. 
 
 " That I must not say." 
 
 " Berthn, I will have an answer, even if I am 
 driven to demand it through your husband. I will 
 ask him for nothing but that simple answer. It will
 
 25G THE SILVER CORD, 
 
 be your owu act if he, in obtaining it for me, asks 
 why Laura has come here." 
 
 " She did not come on my affairs," said Bertha, in 
 an undertone. 
 
 " What ! " cried Lygon, fiercely. " Nay, you are 
 not speaking truthfully,'' he added, in a gentler 
 voice. 
 
 " You have a right to insult me," said Mrs. 
 Urquhart, piteously. 
 
 " Neither right nor wish," was his reply, " but 
 you must not play with my feelings. Let me hear 
 the truth from you." 
 
 " So you do. It is not on my business that Laura 
 has come over, but on her own. I swear it to you." 
 
 '' Be it what it may," said Arthur, " I am upon 
 her traces, and I must find her. There is no time for 
 soft language, Bertha. I must know where she is, 
 and I once more demand it of you." 
 
 "You will compel me to speak," gasped poor 
 Bertha, terrified. "There is no kindness in your 
 voice now — " 
 
 " Nor in my heart, nor will there be until I am 
 satisfied." 
 
 " He will kill me," muttered Bertha. 
 
 "What is this madness?" he replied, angrily. 
 "You are only asked to give up a secret that you 
 have no right to keep. Five words between us and 
 we part for years. Tell me what I ask — but beware 
 of deceiving me again." 
 
 "Again?" said Bertha, looking up at him with 
 tearful eyes.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 257 
 
 "You are talking to gain time,'^ said lie, impe- 
 tuousl}^ " Do you think I believe that your adroit 
 servant made a blunder in the message ? Now, the 
 truth/' 
 
 " Laura is on her way back to England." 
 
 " To her home ? " 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 " Am I to believe this ? " said he. 
 
 " Shall I swear it to you ? " 
 
 "No," said Arthur, with a certain cynicism of 
 tone which struck on the heart of Bertha. 
 
 " I understand you," she said. " You tJiink that 
 — that an oath would have no terror for me. But 
 you are wrong, and I am telling you the truth now. 
 Laura is returning to England. You cannot follow 
 her to-night, for the last train has left. Look at the 
 paper for yourself." 
 
 "Mrs. TJrquhart," said he, with a strong effort 
 suppressing all manifestation of feeling, " I must 
 hear more from you. I have a right to ask more, and 
 whether that be so or not, I do ask more. My own 
 heart furnishes me with excuse for aught that may 
 seem harsh, and I can bear to be trifled with no 
 longer. Tell me the business which brought my wife 
 to France." 
 
 " I do not know, I do not know," repeated Mrs. 
 TJrquhart. 
 
 " That must be false. You have no secrets between 
 you." 
 
 " This is one, Arthur. If I made a guess I might 
 deceive you, which I have no wish to do — " 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 258 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 •'Well," said lie, tMnking a gleam of light might 
 be afforded him. 
 
 " It may be — I almost suppose it is — something 
 about my father." 
 
 " About Mr. Vernon ? " 
 
 "Yes. When he came over to France during his 
 troubles, he was engaged in a dark plot against the 
 Government. I never understood it, but there were 
 oaths and secrets, and the police knew all about it. 
 From what Laura has said, and it was very little, I 
 think that she has been summoned on a matter of life 
 and death, but more I know not. I do know that she 
 has accomplished her business, and is returning." 
 
 " I have no means of knowing whether you speak 
 truthfully or not ; but remember, your story will be 
 tested in a few days." 
 
 " Do not threaten me until you find I deserve it." 
 
 *' It Avill then be too late for threats," said Arthur 
 Lygon. " Eemember that ; and if you are withhold- 
 ing the truth from me, you have still an opportunity 
 of setting yourself right." 
 
 ^' I have told you all I know," said Bertha, ''except 
 Laura's address in Paris, and that would be of no 
 use to you, because she will have left before you 
 could reach it." 
 
 " That is true," said Arthur. " Still give it me, 
 as proof that the rest of the story is true." 
 
 Bertha took a card from among several that lay in 
 a China basket, and gave it to Lygon. He saw that 
 it was a woman's card, with an address, and placed 
 it in his pocket.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 259 
 
 " There are no more trains," Bertha repeated. 
 "You will stay here to-night, though it will be 
 sad for you, Robert being away, and my being so 
 ill. But Ave will make you as comfortable as we 
 €an." 
 
 " I thank you. Bertha, but no. I shall be off by 
 the earliest train, and it would disturb your house- 
 hold. I will sleep in the town here, and trouble no 
 one. Farewell. If you are behaving loyally to me 
 now, I shall have an opportunity of saying to you — 
 or, better, of showing you that you retain a friend, 
 although — " 
 
 " Although Laura Anil be ordered never to see or 
 correspond with me again." 
 
 " I am too much in the dark to speak of the 
 future, but no one as yet has had a right to call me a 
 harsh judge. What I may be under disloyal treat- 
 ment, I know not." 
 
 " If you knew all, Arthur, you would indeed pity 
 me." 
 
 " Indeed I do, and should, if I only knew that 
 you were a wife Avho dares jiot tell her husband 
 every thought of her heart. I do indeed pity you. 
 Bertha." 
 
 "Laura tells you every thought of hers," said 
 Bertha, holding his hand. 
 
 "I believed so. I believe that she will do so. 
 When I believe that she ceases to do so I shall have 
 no wife. Farewell, Bertha." 
 
 He pressed her hand, and went out into the now 
 lovely summer night. 
 
 8 2
 
 260 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 When Mrs. Hawkesley had departed on her visit 
 to her father at Canonbury, her husband, after 
 making short work with the end of an article in 
 which the House of Hapsburg was strongly, yet 
 affectionately, recommended by him to set itself in 
 order at the earliest opportunity, started for his walk 
 to Brompton, to visit Laura's children. But a man 
 must mind his own business, more or less, whatever 
 may be happening to his friends, and in the Park 
 Hawkesley encountered the manager of one of the 
 pleasantest of the London theatres. 
 
 " Stand and deliver ! " said Mr. Aventayle. " I 
 see a manuscript in your pocket, and of course it is 
 the piece you have promised me so long. This is not 
 exactly in your way from Maida Hill to the theatre ; 
 but perhaps you were going to read out to yourself 
 sub tegmine fagi ? " 
 
 "This is not a manuscript," said the author, 
 laughing. " Do you think I would trust myself with 
 valuables in solitary places where managers and such 
 like walk about ? This is a kaleidoscope, which 
 affords you a good opportunity for introducing an 
 appropriate quotation — 
 
 'Each change of many-coloured life he drew.'" 
 
 " But he — meaning you — did nothing of the sort.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 261 
 
 There's no getting anything out of you. I suppose 
 you do not care about money." 
 
 "Not the least. If I take it, that is only for 
 form's sake. I write purely to do my fellow-creatures 
 good." 
 
 " Do me some, and give me a good piece," said 
 Mr. Aventayle. "We want it particularly just 
 now." 
 
 " Just now I am particularly busy, my dear 
 Aventayle." 
 
 " Of course you are. But, come, promise, and 
 then I shall get it." 
 
 "I cannot say, to a week, when I can take 
 it up." 
 
 " I don't want you to say to a week — say it to me. 
 Laughs," added !Mr. Aventayle, mockingly quoting 
 a stage direction. 
 
 " If you can make such epigrams as that, you 
 might write your own pieces," said Hawkesley, 
 " and not try to demoralise me by giving me such 
 work. But walk with me this way, that's a good 
 fellow, for I have a call over yonder to make." 
 
 " What, at the French Embassy ? Going to ask 
 the Ambassador for the loan of a few French plays," 
 laughed Aventayle, a gentlemanly and accomplished 
 man, out of whom not even the troubled politics of 
 management had been able to make what the 
 necessity of self-defence makes of a good many of 
 us, both in and out of management. They walked 
 on in companionship. 
 
 " Nonsense apart, Ilawkesley, I should be very
 
 262 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 glad of a piece from you just now. We are getting 
 capital houses to the Bright Poker, and long may 
 they last ; but I want to be ready with something 
 else the moment that flags." 
 
 " I can^t write Bright Pokers. I am a moral 
 man, and the father of a family.^' 
 
 "There^s nothing immoral in our piece, come, 
 young virtuous. You have not seen it." 
 
 " I have, three times." 
 
 " More shame to you, if it isn't correct. Shows 
 your real nature. But the fact is, there is not an 
 objectionable word in the whole thing." 
 
 " No. But the plot is simply an illustration of 
 how a married woman can conceal a disgraceful 
 intrigue by the most enormous lying." 
 
 " Ah, and don^t she lie well ? But it's a French 
 notion, and French morals are admitted duty free." 
 
 " Very neat, but proves nothing, except, as I say, 
 Aventayle, that you ought to Avrite your own 
 pieces." 
 
 " I prefer paying you. And I don't pay badly, do 
 I, come ? " 
 
 '' No, on the contrary. But let us see, you have 
 been debihtating your company, haven't you ? " 
 
 "No such thing; so there's not that excuse for 
 you." 
 
 "I saw in a paper that Mrs. Dumbarton was 
 leaving you." 
 
 " Well, she doesn't attract, and she doesn't play 
 half as well as she did." 
 
 " You thought difierently at Easter."
 
 THE SILVER COED. 2G3 
 
 " Certainl)', because she was then coming to me, 
 and noYT slie's going away. If she comes back at 
 Christmas, I shall be prepared to think about her 
 as I thought in March, namely, that she is a capital 
 actress, and a very disagreeable woman. That is the 
 only change in my company, Hawkesley of Maida 
 Hill/' 
 
 " No, no, Salter told me that Miss Pinnock was 
 leaving you.'' 
 
 " Salter lied. Miss Pinnock some time ago got 
 from her Catechism to her Marriage Service, and 
 the result may detain her at home for a moon or so, 
 but she will be quite ready to play your young lady. 
 Any other mean excuse for not getting to work." 
 
 "Well, ni look up some jottings I made for a 
 piece, and let you know whether I see my way 
 in it." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind/' said Aven- 
 tayle, taking out a memorandum book. " You will 
 state to me here, with your foot upon your native 
 park, and your name jMcHawkesley, what day I am 
 to receive the first act. Now, let me write it 
 down." 
 
 " You shall have the first when you have the rest. 
 They say women and fools ought never to be allowed 
 to see anything in an unfinished state, and though 
 you are neither woman nor fool, I have a prejudice 
 for extending the rule to people who have to get up 
 a play." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I should not think of looking at 
 your manuscript until I got the whole of it. But I
 
 2G4 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 like to have an instalment under lock and key. 
 When will you hand over the vrhole ? " 
 
 " Don't tie me down, that's a good fellow. I'll not 
 lose time." 
 
 "Will it be a full piece?" 
 
 " Yes, I will use as many of your stars as I can, 
 never fear." 
 
 " None of your scoffs. It is the best company 
 in London, which is the reason, Mr. Hawkesley of 
 Maida Hill, why I apply to the best author to write 
 for it. Give me an idea of the scenery, and I will 
 set Vister to work." 
 
 " Well — first act, before a gentleman's country- 
 house." 
 
 " Manly sports on the lawn, greased pole, and leg 
 of mutton, running in sacks, and all that. Or, I 
 say, take it into Scotland, and let the tenants be 
 putting the stone, tossing* the caber, and so on. 
 The Highland dresses will look well." 
 
 " Keep such things for your pantomimes, sir, and 
 don't seek to degrade the drama. Upon second 
 thoughts, I don't mind some targets, and girls in 
 archery costume, only your girls are such guys." 
 
 " I tell you that you don't know the company. 
 Little Fanny Tudor is as pretty a girl as is on the 
 stage, and then there's Maria Lincoln, come, and 
 Julia Greening, come, and Loo Fennell, come. If 
 those girls are guys, I wish it was fifth of November 
 all the year round." 
 
 " I forgot your resources. Well, make a pretty 
 house, and a lawn, and have Fanny, and Maria, and
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 2G5 
 
 Julia^ and Loo taught some shooting, and I will 
 let you know about the second act as soon as I 
 can." 
 
 " But make it as great a contrast to the sunshiny- 
 lawn as you can. You couldn't lay the next scene 
 down a coal-pit, could you ? " 
 
 "And end with an explosion of fire-damp, and 
 call the piece ' Davy's Lamp.' Thank you." 
 
 " Hra," said the manager, " many a good word 
 is spoken in jest, and if I don't have a fire-damp 
 explosion before long — never mind. Do you copy- 
 right the suggestion." 
 
 " No, I present it to you." 
 
 The manager, with a look of aff'ected solenmity 
 of the most awful description, made a note in his 
 pocket-book. 
 
 " By the way," he said, closing it, " I have some- 
 thing else to say to you, which is also of a pro- 
 fessional kind. I have had a piece sent to me by a 
 man whose name I never heard, but the drama is 
 full of good stuff, only crudely put together. I 
 have a strong notion that it would do, but it wants 
 manipulation. Would you give it a look over, and 
 see whether you agree with me ? If you would do 
 the necessary work to it yourself, of course it should 
 be worth your while, but, anyhow, look it over." 
 
 " Send it me. Who's the man ? '' 
 
 " His name is Adair. Probably a nom de plume. 
 But he is a very smart fellow, and has a genius for 
 ' situation.' Also he writes a beautiful hand, which 
 is more than can be said of everv friend of mine."
 
 206 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " Distrust any man who writes too good a hand, 
 that is, a hand in the least degree better than mine." 
 
 " I shall be happy to distrust him ; but if you 
 think as Avell of his piece as I do, I shall also be 
 very happy to play it." 
 
 " Then you can give me a couple of months 
 longer for mine." 
 
 " Not an hour. If you Avere ready to-day, I 
 would underline it to-morrow, and I will on 
 Monday, if you will give me the title. There is 
 confidence." 
 
 "Assurance, you mean," said Hawkesley, laugh- 
 ing. " But I'll think of you. I am going to call in 
 Gundon Terrace, on some little people." 
 
 " Will you like to give them a box ? " said the 
 good-natured Aventayle. " I dare say I have got 
 one." 
 
 " Sorry you have any to give away ; but I will 
 take it notwithstanding, as they are too young to be 
 hurt by your Bright Poker. Thanks." 
 
 They parted, and Charles Hawkesley went on to 
 Lygon's house. 
 
 "Uncle Charles !" cried Fred, with a great shout, 
 as his friend entered. "Walter," he bawled at the 
 top of his lungs, " here''s Uncle Charles ! " 
 
 Walter was immediately heard jumping down- 
 stairs half-a-dozen at a time, with intermediate 
 lumps at the landings. 
 
 "Easy to see that mamma and papa are away. 
 Master Walter, by the way you come down. How 
 are you, my boy ?"
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 2G7 
 
 " Oh, all right/' said Walter. " How's aunty V 
 
 " Very well. "VViil you come to us to-morrow, and 
 spend the day ?" 
 
 " I will/' said Fred, promptly. 
 
 " "Who asked you ? " said his uncle, laughing. 
 
 " I had rather not come, uncle," said Walter, 
 " Papa and mamma might come home while I was 
 away." 
 
 "And don't you think they could bear to wait for 
 you till night?" 
 
 "Yes," said Walter, his eyes filling Avith tears, 
 " but I couldn't bear to Avait for them." 
 
 " My boy, I dare say it is lonely for you," said 
 Charles Hawkesley, taking his hand, " but of course 
 they will soon be back." 
 
 "Have you heard from them yet, uncle?" said 
 Walter, anxiously. 
 
 " Well, no ; but the reason for that of course is, 
 that as they must be coming home so soon they 
 don'*t think it worth Avhile to write. Don't you 
 think so. Price?" he said to the domestic, a very 
 respectable and kindly-looking woman — just the 
 person to be left in charge of children, and ex- 
 tremely unlikely to invoke any form of Bogey to 
 aid her. 
 
 " That would be a very good reason, sir," she 
 said. " Could I speak to you for a moment?" she 
 added. 
 
 " Certainly, Price. I'll come to you boys directly; 
 stop here in the dining-room/' said Hawkesley, and 
 he went into the little room with the servant.
 
 268 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for taking the liberty, sir — " 
 
 « No liberty, Price. What can I do ?" 
 
 " You said you had not heard from master or 
 mistress, sir." 
 
 ** I have not, nor has Mrs. Hawkesley, and I 
 thought that Mr. and Mrs, Lygon might have re- 
 turned, and I walked over to see. Anything wanted 
 that we can do V 
 
 " I hope you will not think me overbold, sir," 
 said Price, closing the door, "but there are some 
 very strange things going about, and I would not 
 for the world they should come to the ears of the 
 dear children ; and if you did not think that my 
 mistress would be back soon, and it would not be 
 putting you out of your way, it might be best for 
 them to stop at your house with their cousins." 
 
 " That Avas what I came to tell them, but certainly 
 not for any reason like yours. What do you mean. 
 Price ? " 
 
 " You have heard nothing, sir, about my mis- 
 tress ? " 
 
 "Nothing, except that her father accidentally 
 mentions in a letter that he has not heard of her, or 
 from Walter, lately." 
 
 " That's Mr. Vernon, sir? " 
 
 "To be sure — who else? " 
 
 "And it was he," said Price, "who came here 
 late last night. I judged as much from the 
 description." 
 
 " Came to see the children ! " 
 
 " No, sir, they were in bed, and I had gone out
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 269 
 
 to get some things in. Mr. Vernon came in a way 
 very unlike a gentleman — I mean he rang the serv- 
 ants' bell, and when Eliza answered it, he only said 
 he wished to know if all was right. She did not 
 know him, and thought there was some trick of a 
 thief, so she very properly put the chain up, and let 
 him speak across it. He asked some curious ques- 
 tions which she did not quite understand, and said 
 we were to write to Canonbury, which gave me the 
 clue." 
 
 " But there is nothing to be uneasy about in that. 
 He evidently did not wish to alarm anybody, but 
 wanted to satisfy himself. He is an odd man, but 
 very kind-hearted." 
 
 " I cannot see why he should ring the servants' 
 he]]/' persisted Price. 
 
 " Perhaps he took it for the visitors' bell." 
 
 " Maybe, sir, but I cannot say I like appear- 
 ances,'' replied the domestic. " However, that 
 would not be much, one way or the other, and I 
 should not have felt it my duty to speak about it, 
 if it had not happened to tally, as I may say, with 
 what you said." 
 
 " But you spoke of strange things. Price. There's 
 nothing very strange in a grandfather coming to 
 inquire after his grandchildren, ringing the wrong 
 bell by mistake, and frightening a girl who did not 
 know him." 
 
 " No, sir, there is not. But I wish that was all. 
 The tradespeople in the neighbourhood have heard 
 something else, and it has been brought to me.
 
 270 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 I only wisli it could have been kept to me, and I 
 know I used that language to Eliza, for repeating 
 some of it, that a woman should not use to a young 
 girl unless she richly deserves it." 
 
 " I know Avell, Price, that you Avould be as much 
 vexed at any false rumours that affected the house of 
 your master as he himself could be/' 
 
 " I hope so, sir, for he and ray mistress have 
 been as kind as kind could be to me, and mine I 
 may say, for Mr. Lygon got my half-brother Henry 
 a place on the railway ; and as for my mistress, when 
 I was ill, no sister of her own could have been better 
 nursed. And there ought to be a law for making 
 people hold their tongues, unless they can prove it," 
 said Price, getting a little confused in her usually 
 excellent English. 
 
 (( Prove Avhat, Price ? '' 
 
 " Sir," said she, in a lower tone, " I don't believe 
 a syllable of it, and if it were true, there is some- 
 thing at the bottom that we know nothing about ; 
 but I believe it to be all a Avicked lie. But some of 
 the tradespeople that we deal with have had a hint 
 that Mrs. Lygon will not come back." 
 
 " I should like six words with any of them 
 who have dared to circulate such a slander," said 
 Hawkesley, " and you will tell me their names." 
 
 " It is very strange, sir, that three of them should 
 all have heard of it at once, that is Turton, the 
 baker^ and two others. But what is strangest is 
 that Watkins, the grocer, should have heard it, 
 because we have dealt with him onlv for about ten
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 271 
 
 days, and my mistress has been there only once, 
 with Miss Clara." 
 
 " That would certainly look as if — but, Price, you 
 may speak frankly to me, indeed it is your place to 
 do so. What do you understand to be meant by 
 *not coming back? ' " 
 
 " Well, sir, people who like to spread such stories 
 are generally cowardly as well as base, and take 
 great care what words they use that may be brought 
 against them. I dare say that if my mistress were 
 home to-morrow, as I heartily hope she may be, 
 and anything was said to one of the tradesmen 
 about the report, he would pretend to be horridly 
 shocked at being accused, and swear that he had 
 never dreamed of such a thing, and very likely 
 want to punish any poor servant who had men- 
 tioned what he said. But a good deal can be said 
 without many words. I am ashamed to repeat such 
 a thing, sir, but the story is that Mrs. Lygon has 
 gone off with a gentleman." 
 
 " Run away from her husband ? " 
 
 *^It comes to that." 
 
 " What scoundrels these fellows must be ! One 
 wonders that their own interest does not shut their 
 mouths." 
 
 " I thought of that, sir, but it seems the notion is 
 that Mr. Lygon will give up the house and go away, 
 so there will be not much more to be got out of us. 
 But not a shilling from this house shall be spent in 
 an 3' of their shops again, unless m}^ mistress chooses to 
 do it after she has heard of their slandering ton^rucs.''
 
 S72 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " Well, Price, you know as well as I do that the 
 story is a confounded and malicious lie, and we will 
 think hereafter about punishing those who have 
 dared to spread it. Meantime you had better 
 adhere to what Mr. Lygon told you, and say, from 
 me if you like, that as there is no change in the 
 condition of the lady whom your mistress went to 
 visit, she has to remain in the country.'^ 
 
 " That I certainly will, sir, and gladly." 
 
 " And for fear such a notion should reach the 
 children, I will take them back with me. Send 
 them over a carpet-bag to my house with what 
 they will want for three or four days. I trust that 
 their mother will be back, before that, to see after 
 them.^^ 
 
 " It would be too bold in me to ask you, now I 
 have told you everything, whether this news breaks 
 on you for the first time, sir ? " 
 
 " Price, you are a faithful and trustworthy person, 
 and deserve every confidence I can place in you. 
 Your mistress has no more gone away with a gentle- 
 man, in the sense in which these rascals use the 
 word, than you have, but I have a reason of my own 
 for thinking that she has made an enemy of a very 
 bad and malicious person, who has somehow heard 
 of her absence, and takes advantage of it to spread 
 lies. When the time comes, we will punish that 
 person in a way that shall satisfy everybody. INIean- 
 time, we must be prudent.^" 
 
 " My mistress have an enemy ! I am sure, sir, 
 that she has never done anything to deserve one."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 273 
 
 " Never, but that is no rule, Price/' 
 
 " I will pack the carpet-bag for Master Fred, sir, 
 and Master Walter, if he v,ill go/' 
 
 "What makes you think that he will not wish 
 to go?" 
 
 " You heard what he said, sir/' 
 
 " Ah, yes ; he is a very good affectionate lad, but 
 he must not stay moping here, especially under the 
 circumstances/' 
 
 ]Mr. Hawkesley intimated to the boys that they 
 should accompany him to Maida Hill. Usually 
 such an announcement from him was a subject of 
 exultation, for in addition to the enjoyments of his 
 cheerful house (one in which, as Mr. Vernon had 
 written, there was a hermetically sealed study, 
 which prevented Hawkesley from being the terror 
 and bugbear of everybody who played a tune or 
 laughed a laugh during the author's hours of work), 
 the evening was often made brilliant by a visit to 
 some theatre, and the still more exquisite delight of 
 a manly supper with uncle at some oyster-room or 
 other place of terrible Sybaritism. 
 
 " Would you take Fred, uncle ? " said Walter, 
 " I had rather stay at home." 
 
 " j\Iy dear boy, your parents would much prefer 
 your coming to us." 
 
 " They have not told you so, uncle." 
 
 " No, my dear Walter. But you must be quite 
 sure that your aunt and I know what would please 
 them/' 
 
 " I think you only say it in kindness, uncle, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 because you think that we are dull here. Pred is, 
 and I wish you'd take him off; but I am not dull 
 at all, and I am writing out something that I know 
 papa will like." 
 
 " But you can write at my house as well as here 
 — better, as you have said more than once, sir, 
 don't you recollect?" 
 
 '^ Ah, that was in the days when this house was 
 happy/' said Walter, bursting into a paroxysm of 
 tears, and throwing himself into his uncle's arms. 
 
 " When this house was happy," repeated Charles 
 Hawkesley, holding the sobbing boy kindly, and 
 striving to calm him. "Why, this house has 
 always been happy, and is going to be happy for 
 many a long day to come. What can you be 
 thinking of, Walter ? " 
 
 " Will she ever come back ? " faltered Walter, 
 shaken with his agitation. 
 
 " Mamma. Why, of course she will. What has 
 put such a strange idea into your head ? For 
 shame, Walter. It is a baby's question when its 
 mother goes out of the room, not the question of 
 a schoolboy who reads Eutropius." 
 
 " Whisper, uncle," said Walter, clutching Hawkes- 
 ley's hand convulsively, "and don't let little Fred 
 hear. A boy I know told me that it was all about 
 London that mamma had run away." 
 
 " And where did you hit that boy ? " 
 
 " Aha ! " said Walter, Avith a sort of spasmodic 
 laugh, and a proud smile through his tears ; " he 
 was thirteen, but that didn't help him, uncle. I
 
 THE silat]:r cord. 275 
 
 blacked his eye, and as for what he got in the 
 mouth, look here," and lie showed his knuckles, 
 which were still bleeding. 
 
 " Sent him down, I hope." 
 
 " He fell down and wouldn^t get up, and I kicked 
 him soundly. I hope it wasn't cowardly, uncle, to 
 kick him when he was down, but it wasn't my 
 fault that he wouldn't get up. A butcher said it 
 was right," added the boy, pensively and gravely. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 On the day following that of Adair's interview 
 with Henderson, at which he had extracted the 
 scrap of paper from the reluctant hand of the 
 lady's-maid, Ernest, who had taken up his quarters 
 at the little inn at Versailles, received an unexpected 
 visitor. This was M. Silvain, who presented him- 
 self with considerable sternness of manner. The 
 symptom was not lost on the observant Adair, but 
 he had his own reasons for being very little affected 
 by any bearing in the usually polite and deferential 
 perfumer. 
 
 " Ah, the dear Alphonse ! " said Adair, in French, 
 the language in which their subsequent conversation 
 was conducted, and which Adair spoke with perfect 
 facility. 
 
 M. Silvain bowed slightly, upon which Adair rose, 
 mockingly returned an elaborate salute, and then 
 resuming his seat, proceeded to make a cigarette. 
 
 " I wish to be favoured with your attention, Mon- 
 sieur," said Silvain, coldly. 
 
 " You have it, my good Alphonse. Have you 
 discovered a new hair-dye, or does some confiding 
 victim to your last invention in that line threaten 
 you with the tribunals ? " 
 
 " I am not here to badiner, Monsieur."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 277 
 
 " Is that a grateful answer, when a friend antici- 
 pates your griefs, and prepares to solace them ? " 
 
 *' Before we separate you will need another prepa- 
 ration, M. Adair." 
 
 "For my hair?" 
 
 " I forbid you to jest at my profession. Monsieur, 
 or on any other subject at the present moment." 
 
 " Diavolo ! " said Adair, opening his eyes. "Let 
 US hear more, and shall I order you some absinthe? 
 It is ver}'^ bad, but you are accustomed to deleterious 
 liquids." 
 
 " I repeat to you, M. Adair, that I forbid jesting." 
 
 " Well, if you will neither be consoled nor treated, 
 the tribune is to you. Speak." 
 
 "I had thought you, M. Adair, with certain draw- 
 backs, for which I know how to make allowances, a 
 man of honour." 
 
 " I swear to you that I have kept your secrets. 
 Nobody has learned from me how you colour the 
 violet pomade. I only refuse to use it." 
 
 " You seek to enrage me, M. Adair, but you have 
 already done so more effectually than by your coarse 
 taunts." 
 
 " Euragedyou, Alphonse ! — you, the pattern of all 
 that is soft and amiable. Nay, then I am a wretch 
 indeed, and miserable to the lowest extent. De 
 profundis I implore you to tell me my crime ; only 
 break it to me gently, knowing the feminine tender- 
 ness of my heart." 
 
 " The word is well chosen, M. Adair, by a man 
 "who commits a brutal outrage upon a woman."
 
 278 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 "And Avlio has done sucli a truly shocking 
 thing?" 
 
 " You yourself, Monsieur, and in this very apart- 
 ment." 
 
 " I begin to think, my fabulous Alphonse, that 
 my hospitable offer of refreshment was something 
 more than superfluous, and that you were wise to 
 decline it. I would not presume to dictate, but I 
 think that the interests of our trade may suffer if 
 we indulge too freel}'^ in the sensuous pleasures, at 
 least during business hours." 
 
 This was said very indolently, and the punctuation 
 supplied by light puffs of smoke. 
 
 " Your insolence. Monsieur, will not deter me 
 from the purpose I have come for," returned Silvain, 
 who, though pale with anger, preserved much com- 
 posure of deportment. 
 
 " I should be very sorry to deter you from any- 
 thing, my dear Alphonse," replied Adair. " I cannot 
 charge myself with habitually keeping you out of 
 mischief. But tipsiness is such an exceedingly 
 objectionable frailty, that a friend's ardour may be 
 pardoned." 
 
 " A friend, M. Adair. That name is never again 
 to be used between us." 
 
 " Exactly as you please, Alphonse. Perhaps you 
 are right. E-eal friends need no parade of their 
 affectionate sentiments." 
 
 " In this apartment, M. Adair, you dared to per- 
 mit yourself, yesterday, to outrage a woman whom 
 you were bound to treat with respect."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 279 
 
 *' You are rather a tiresome raconteur, Alphonse. 
 You told me this just now, with a slight deduction. 
 A narrative should advance — and one would think 
 a perfumer understood fiction." 
 
 " It is no fiction, Monsieur. Do you dare to deny 
 having wrenched from a young girl's hand a certain 
 paper ? " 
 
 " Suppose I denied it ? " 
 
 " That would be a fresh insult, because you would 
 charge her with a falsehood of which she is inca- 
 pable. Do you know that ? '' 
 
 " Indeed, M. Silvain, Avith all apologies to you, 
 I know of no falsehood of which any female is inca- 
 pable." 
 
 " The sentiment is worthy of you, iSI. Adair. But 
 spare j'^ourself the unnecessary trouble. Mademoi- 
 selle Matilde has informed me, somewhat reluctantly, 
 of your conduct, and I am here." 
 
 " Well," said Ernest, emitting a large puff of 
 smoke. 
 
 " Had you been the man of honour I had sup- 
 posed you, this conversation would have been 
 needless." 
 
 " It is." 
 
 "That is false. Monsieur. It would have been 
 needless, for you Avould at once have made your 
 reparation, and charged me with apology. I do 
 not observe that you are in the slightest hurry to do 
 either." 
 
 " Did you ever observe me in the slightest hurry 
 about anything ? "
 
 280 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Again, I repeat. Monsieur, that I will not be 
 provoked into anger, and I invite you to take the 
 course which is due to the young person you have 
 injured." 
 
 " I have injured nobody, and you are a fool, 
 Alphonse." 
 
 "We shall see presentl}^, M. Adair." 
 
 " As you please ; but I warn you that I was read- 
 ing something much more pleasant than your con- 
 versation, and I may easily be fatigued by a repetition 
 of your absurdities. Have some absinthe, and go 
 away and become tolerable." 
 
 " I may have the misfortune to fatigue you with- 
 out much conversation, M. Adair. But I prefer to 
 act in the first place with consideration. You de- 
 prived Mademoiselle Matilde of a paper." 
 
 " What, again ? " 
 
 "You will, at once, deposit that paper in my 
 hands, first placing it in this envelope." And he 
 produced one from his pocket." 
 
 " This envelope," said Adair, affecting to smell 
 it, and then tossing it at Silvain, "is so infernally 
 scented with bad millefleurs, that I must protest 
 against touching it again." 
 
 M. Silvain's eyes sparkled with rage. 
 
 "I produce the envelope. Monsieur, because^ 
 although I shall return the paper in question to 
 Mademoiselle, I refuse to be thought to have seen 
 the writing upon it, or to have become acquainted 
 with her least secret." 
 
 " Chivalrous Alphonse, worthy to have been chris-
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 281 
 
 tened after Spanish royalty ! But your scruples are 
 in excess. There was but one word on the piece of 
 paper, but I half suspect that Mademoiselle's curious 
 French has made you think there was some allusion 
 to yourself or your calling. Tranquillise your mind. 
 The word was not couper, but coupon." 
 
 " Monsieur, you are a dastard." 
 
 "You should not say that, when I have been 
 bold enough to permit you to shave me. I have 
 had wounds from your awkwardness that testify to 
 my bravery." 
 
 " You may have others, ere long, Monsieur." 
 
 " That is, I think, the third time that you have 
 darkly hinted at some scheme of personal vengeance, 
 my dear Alphonse. You force me also into the bad 
 and dull habit of repetition, and constrain me again 
 to say that you are a fool." 
 
 " Enough, and more than enough, M. Adair." 
 
 "The interview is at an end, then. The fates are 
 merciful." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the Frenchman, suddenly 
 rising, and leaving the room, and as hastily return- 
 ing with a long wooden box, which he placed on the 
 table. 
 
 "Ah, now you interest me," said Adair. "The 
 dialogue was really flagging. Now we have novelty. 
 And what is that box ? You have some new inven- 
 tion, after all, only you meditated an amiable 
 surprise for your friend. Come, no more mystifi- 
 cation. Is it a monster bottle of home-made Eau 
 dc Cologne?"
 
 282 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 The Frenchman quietly unlocked the box, took 
 out two small swords, and threw off his coat. 
 
 " Eh ! " said Ernest Adair, affecting pleasure. 
 *^That is charming. Two real swords. Did you 
 buy them a bargain, to be cut up into scissors ? 
 Well, any improvement in your French cutlery is to 
 be hailed with ecstacy." 
 
 But while he spoke his eye was vigilant, and his 
 foot firm on the floor, and ready for a spring, should 
 Silvain offer sudden violence. 
 
 The Frenchman had no such base intent. He 
 placed the box on a chair, pushed away the table, so 
 as to leave the centre of the room free, and calmly 
 offered Adair his choice of weapons. 
 
 For a moment it crossed Ernest's mind to snatch 
 both, but the next instant he smiled and took one of 
 the swords. 
 
 " This looks the prettier handle,'^ he said, without 
 rising, "but both are very nicely cleaned, and do 
 credit to our crystal scouring powder, brevete. What 
 next ? " 
 
 " Next, defend yourself. Monsieur," said Silvain, 
 retiring, and taking up his position in a very 
 determined manner. " The door is behind me," 
 he added, for the first time letting a taunt escape 
 him. 
 
 " I am obliged by the counsel and the informa- 
 tion," said Adair, still keeping his seat. " But are 
 you sufficiently insane, M. Silvain, — and as you 
 repudiate intoxication, observe the ready charity 
 that offers you another excuse — are you sufficiently
 
 THE SILVER CORD, 283 
 
 insane to suppose that I am going to figlit a hair- 
 dresser about a lady's-maid ? " 
 
 "We uill not talk, M. Adair. You haA^e long 
 since waived all the considerations of rank, even if I 
 allowed them. You have insulted a young person 
 whom I esteem, Monsieur, therefore defend your- 
 self." 
 
 He looked so determined as he spoke, that Ernest 
 thought it prudent to rise, in order to repel any 
 sudden attack, but he did not advance upon his 
 antagonist. 
 
 ''This is a gentleman's reward when he conde- 
 scends to fraternise with canaille," he said, with calm 
 impertinence. 
 
 " Fight, and do not talk," replied the Frenchman, 
 advancing upon him, with the most evident intention 
 of doing his very worst. 
 
 Ernest instinctively fell upon guard — the blades 
 crossed — and M. Silvain's sword, like that of the 
 Corsair, made fast atonement for its first delay. 
 He. attacked Adair with downright fury, and any 
 one thrust which he delivered would, unparried, 
 have worked important change in the subsequent 
 destinies of several persons with whom the reader 
 is acquainted. But Adair, retaining his cigarette 
 between his teeth, coolly parried every lunge, with- 
 out making a return. 
 
 " How long," he said, as M. Silvain, baffled in 
 a vigorous onslaught, retreated for a moment, and 
 glared vengefully at his antagonist, " how long is 
 this delightful assault of arms to proceed ? "
 
 284 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "Until one falls, Monsieur/^ cried M. Silvain, 
 anew advancing to the combat. Ernest smiled. 
 
 But the most cold-blooded man is roused sooner 
 or later by the persistent efforts of another to do 
 him mortal harm, and, moreover, there is something 
 in the rapid clash of steel that fires the soul of the 
 swordsman. Another desperate effort of Silvain's to 
 get home, and Ernest had no longer the paper in his 
 teeth, but had set them, and with a very evil eye 
 was keeping deadly watch on that of his enemy. 
 Adair was rapidly forgetting how inexcusably foolish 
 he would be to derange all his schemes for the sake 
 of punishing a petty shopkeeper, and was on the 
 very point of leaving the defensive and lunging his 
 best when the voice of Mary Henderson was heard 
 hastily asking whether Mr. Adair was within. 
 
 The sound operated differently on the two men. 
 Adair instantly recalled his better judgment to his 
 aid, and, still watching his enraged antagonist, did 
 not return his thrust. But the voice of his mistress 
 roused the lover to heroism, and he felt that he 
 would have given his own life to let her see her enemy 
 stretched on the floor between them. Thirsting to 
 finish the duel, he rushed at Adair, delivered three 
 or four rapid and desperate lunges, and laid himself 
 open to a thrust that, had Adair pleased, would have 
 speedily ended M. Silvain's life, love, and woes. 
 But Ernest (as will have been perceived), a practised 
 and skilful fencer, did not so please ; but at the 
 instant Mary^s hand was on the door, he suddenly 
 performed one of the feats known in the art ; and
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 285 
 
 as the girl entered, she had the satisfaction of 
 seeing her lover, with a wrenched wrist, glaring 
 with anger and discomfiture at Ernest, the sword 
 of Silvain having flown to a distance on the floor. 
 
 '•' And I had forbidden you/^ said Mary, reproach- 
 fully, to Silvain. 
 
 " Forbidden him to give me a fencing lesson. 
 Mademoiselle ? " said Adair, as calmly as usual. 
 " That was indeed cruel, for he is so good a master 
 of the sword that I proflt greatly by his teaching." 
 
 The girl looked searchingly at her lover, con- 
 ceiving from the expression of his face and from 
 his being defenceless, that he might have received 
 a hurt, the rather that Silvain was too mortified 
 to speak on the instant. 
 
 " He has not stabbed you ? " asked Mary, vehe- 
 mently. 
 
 " ^Vhat a word. Mademoiselle ! " said Ernest. 
 *' We do not stab, except under very exceptional 
 circumstances. ]\I. Silvain is perfectly unhurt, and 
 I hope will pardon my awkwardness in knocking 
 his sword out of his hand." 
 
 He picked up Silvain's weapon, and replaced it, 
 yviih his own, in the box, which he quietly locked. 
 
 Meantime Mary was administering in an under 
 tone that mixture of reproach, consolation, and 
 aflfection which woman has ever ready for him whom 
 she loves, and Silvain, with his hand in hers, was 
 almost comforted for his defeat by the unwonted 
 kindness with which his usually rather undemon- 
 strative mistress caressed him.
 
 28G THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 " But I ordered you not/' she added. 
 
 " I thought of you, and could not obey you," said 
 M. Silvain, tenderly and epigrammatically. 
 
 "And now, my dear Alphonse/' said Adair, 
 cheerfully, " let me renew my offer of absinthe. 
 After a fencing-lesson one requires refreshment. 
 What say you. Mademoiselle ? You must teach 
 him to take care of himself.^' 
 
 " And I will," said Mary, firmly, and leading her 
 lover from the room, whence he certainly did not 
 depart very triumphantly. 
 
 " I could have spiked the idiot a dozen times," 
 said Ernest, " but what would have been the good ? 
 And he has spilled the ink over my papers. If I 
 had seen that before, he should have had something 
 in his arm that would have prevented his snapping 
 his scissors for a month to come. He has been in 
 luck, the insolent haircutter ! I have not seen 
 anything so laughable for many a long day. Peace 
 to your manes, M. Roland, for rendering me so 
 capable of defending my innocent life against frantic 
 barbers ! "
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 387 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 It will easily be supposed by those who have ever 
 had their hearts determinately set upon the attain- 
 ment of an object, that although it did not enter 
 into the calculation of Mrs. Urquhart that Arthur 
 Lygon would be on his way to Paris without waiting^ 
 for the morning, he was hastening thither in a few 
 moments from leaving her house. He was, in fact, 
 walking towards the capital at his best speed. The 
 journey is not much to a man in health and with 
 average powers, but to Lygon, under the circum- 
 stances, it seemed the merest trifle compared with 
 the delay of a few hours. He walked well, and, 
 though by his exertion of strong will he excluded to 
 the utmost of his ability the thoughts which inces- 
 santly pressed upon him, as Abraham drove away 
 the birds that sought to come down to the sacrifice, 
 his sensations, alternating between an agitating 
 hopefulness and a ])itter and reproachful distrust, 
 made him regardless both of distance and of the 
 minor incidents of the night. 
 
 He reached Paris, just as the beautiful city was 
 lying in the earliest light of the summer morning, 
 but he had no eye for the charming spectacle that 
 rewards the stranger who will at such an hour be 
 astir in the Prench capital. He made direct for the
 
 288 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 quarter in which stood the residence of the lady 
 whose card had been given him. The address had 
 been fixed in his mind by a glance, but on taking 
 out the card to be certain as to the number of the 
 house, he perceived that other cards must have lain 
 at angles across it for many a day, as its enamel was 
 partially soiled with dust. But he did not at the 
 moment attach any significance to this little sign, 
 and pushed on for the street designated. It was 
 in the Luxembourg quarter, which he speedily 
 reached. He found the street, he found the house, 
 he found the number, but the last was upon a wall 
 already devoted to the architect, whose destroying 
 workmen (not yet come to that day's dut}') had 
 almost removed the house to which Lygon had 
 been sent. 
 
 He had been deceived again. 
 
 Almost against hope he made such inquiries as 
 were possible. At first, at that hour, tliere was 
 no one whom he could consult ; but, as the morning 
 wore on, and houses opened, Lygon had the oppor- 
 tunity of ascertaining from respectable evidence that 
 Madame ***** had certainly resided at the 
 mansion in question, and was well known, but that, 
 at least six months back, she had sold the place to 
 a celebrated banker, who, as Monsieur could see, 
 was going to rebuild it on a scale of — O, such 
 magnificence ! As for Madame, she had gone to 
 Italy. 
 
 He said nothing, now, that could have told a 
 stranger that Lygon was wounded, grieved, or
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 289 
 
 angered. The time for such words had passed. 
 He made no sign that could attract the notice of 
 a passer-by. Casually addressed by a workman 
 who asked him for a light, he took out a fusee-box 
 and helped the man to kindle his pipe. A child, 
 toddling after its hurrying mother, fell and bewailed 
 itself, and Arthur Lygon raised it from the ground, 
 and brought it to the woman's hand. He actually 
 stood still and permitted his eye to range over the 
 architecture of one of the churches, though utterly 
 unaware of what he was doing. 
 
 At length, exhausted both in body and mind, he 
 entered the first decent place of refreshment and 
 partook of food. He felt that he hated it, and all 
 else that reminded him of home and comfort ; but 
 he forced himself to eat. 
 
 Then he went out and walked in the now busy 
 city, sparkling in the sunshine, and as he saw men 
 of his own rank on their way to their duties, he 
 looked curiously in their faces, and wondered 
 whether any one of them had left a wife who had 
 embraced him tenderly, and would, in a few hours, 
 have abandoned his house. 
 
 Lygon passed some time — he knew not how 
 long — in the state in which intervals of a stupefied 
 unbelief, of utter rejection of the grim circumstances 
 around us, are broken by fever-fits of intense con- 
 sciousness and bitter agony. And when these hours 
 of agitation were over, and the brain cleared, and 
 the heart throbbed less violently at the recurrence of 
 the image of Laura, Arthur passed to a worse state
 
 200 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 — that iu which a man resolves to believe the very 
 worst. 
 
 And what words shall tell of that agony ? Laugh 
 at the attempt, you who have known such an hour. 
 Laugh, and do not desire to be saddened by the 
 picture, feeble as it would be, you who have never 
 loved, or have loved and never known yourselves to 
 have been deceived. 
 
 A tremendous hand on his shoulder, and the 
 heartiest of voices in his ear, as he crossed for the 
 fiftieth time, it might have been, the bridge near the 
 Place de la Concorde. 
 
 " Arthur Lygon in Paris ! That's as things should 
 be." 
 
 He turned to be cordially greeted by Robert 
 Urquhart. 
 
 The great, tall, broad Scotsman was delighted, 
 and gave out of his big chest one of those laughs 
 which are rarely heard, and so are the more worth 
 hearing. And Parisians looked up at the sound, 
 which indeed was rather over the heads of most of 
 them, and wondered what was pleasing the genial 
 giant with those insufferably ill-made clothes and 
 vast round hat, and why his blue eyes and white 
 teeth should shine out like that at the sight of the 
 much better dressed and more elegant person whose 
 hand he was clearly trying to wring off. And then 
 they went on their way. 
 
 If there was one man on earth whom Arthur 
 would have avoided at that moment, it was the man
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 291 
 
 who was welcoming him so cordially. Without time 
 to consider what course to adopt, without a shadow 
 of preparation for inevitable questions, the answers 
 to which might determine the events of a life, here 
 he was in the irresistible grasp of his friend, tlie 
 husband of the woman whose history Lygon had so 
 lately learned, of the woman who had enabled Laura 
 to escape from a husband vulgarly deceived by her 
 shameless sister. 
 
 But, unless the bridge could have suddenly given 
 way, speaking became a necessity, and Lygon 
 struggled to answer Urquhart, and make inquiries 
 as to the railway accident about which the latter was 
 supposed to be away from Paris. 
 
 "O, ay, yon fools? It served them just right, 
 and I wish that a mile had gone down instead of a 
 hundred yards. I was as pleased as Punch, and I 
 just told them so to their faces, before I set the 
 fellows at work. But now then, Arthur, where are 
 you, and how long have you been in this decent 
 city, and is Laura with you — but of course I needu^t 
 ask that of the model husband ? " 
 
 "No, Laura is not with me," said Arthur, 
 hastening to deal with this merciless catechism, and 
 almost wishing that the kind good fellow before liira 
 would go mad and spring into the river, or be some- 
 how got out of the way before another word could be 
 said. 
 
 '' No ? That's shabby, and I don't envy you the 
 scolding you'll get from Bertha. But perhaps you 
 have seen her, and had your chastising ? " 
 
 J D 2
 
 292 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 " Yes, I have been to your house — indeed, I left 
 it only last night. I am on my way to England 
 directly." 
 
 " Not exactly, my man, seeing that the way to 
 England is out there," laughed Robert Urquhart, 
 stretching forth his great arm, and pointing in the 
 given direction. " But that^s purely a low and topo- 
 graphical view of the case. In the moral and social 
 aspect of the question, I am likewise d — d if you are 
 going to England, because we are going to have a 
 long walk and a long crack, and a trifle of creature 
 comfort, and then we're going to order a jolly 
 dinner at the Traw Frare, of which we will partake 
 in the evening, with befitting thanks to Providence 
 before and after meat. Do you see that, my man V* 
 
 " Utterly impossible, my dear Robert. I must 
 get away." 
 
 " You^ll just do nothing of the kind, so it's no 
 use being an obstinate brute. I hate obstinacy." 
 
 " It is matter of business of extreme importance." 
 
 " Matter of bosh. Hearken unto me. You can't 
 get to England until night, when it's too late to be 
 doing any business which decorous Christian men 
 like you, and another who shall be nameless, are 
 likely to undertake, and therefore you may as well 
 leave by the night train, and be at your business 
 early in the morning. Now that is so clear that I'll 
 not hear another word on it ; and now we'll go and 
 get some lunch, for I will not insult the good break- 
 fast I had three hours ago by pretending I want 
 another. Come alonjr.'^
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 293 
 
 At another time no one would have extricated 
 himself more pleasantly and yet more satisfactorily 
 from an engagement he wished to get rid of than 
 Arthur Lygon. But at this moment he seemed 
 powerless. The commonplace excuses of life did 
 not seem to come to his tongue, and his imagination 
 was far too much exhausted to supply him with any 
 better plea. His condition may be judged when it 
 is added that he actually had an impulse to make a 
 sudden start, and flee away from his unconscious 
 tormentor, who would assuredly have been after him 
 with the speed of an Achilles. 
 
 " I am not very well," said Arthur, " and I had 
 rather not walk.^' 
 
 " Then we'll ride, which is more dignified and 
 also more retired,-" said Urquhart. "But I don't 
 like to hear you talk of being ill. I thought that, 
 like myself, you left such follies to the women, Avho 
 are the final cause of those abominable doctors. 
 What's the matter, ray man ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. I have been working too 
 hard." 
 
 " That's a wicked tiling to do, and clean contrary 
 to the will of Providence. I am ashamed of you, 
 and likewise of Laura for permitting it. Indeed I 
 believe it must just be her fault, for a more obedient 
 husband, excepting myself, I do not know, and it is 
 her prerogative and privilege to take care of you. 
 Give her a lecture for me." 
 
 "■' Yes, over- work won't do." 
 
 " I should think not. But let us go over to
 
 294 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 yon caffy, and see what the beggars can give 
 us/' 
 
 The repast occupied some time, during -which 
 Arthur Lygon contrived to parry many home ques- 
 tions, and, by his manner, to impress Urquhart with 
 an idea that Lygon was really much more ill than he 
 owned himself to be. The good-natured talk of the 
 engineer incessantly wounded Arthur to the heart's 
 core ; but Robert Urquhart not only could not per- 
 ceive this, but with the affectionate instinct of a 
 kindly Scot, who always finds happiness in speaking 
 of those dear to him, thought that he was ren- 
 dering Lygon the very best service in attempting to 
 cheer him up by incessant questions about Laura, 
 and her looks, and habits, and remembrances of some 
 of her old bits of playfulness, or naivete, and other 
 trifles, the like of which, when addressed to the 
 happy, make them happier. But what were they to 
 the unfortunate husband ? Then Robert would speak 
 of the children in succession, and know how old each 
 was, and what he or she could do, and whether they 
 resembled Arthur or Laura, and what were their 
 views for the future ; and by the time the lunch was 
 over, Lygon was worked to ^ state which even Adair 
 might have pitied. 
 
 Urquhart watched Arthur swallow at a draught 
 a large quantity of a not very weak wine, and the 
 Scotchman shook his head, and said no more until 
 they were seated in an open carriage, whose driver 
 was ordered to take them a long round, and not to 
 fatigue his horse.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 295 
 
 "Parley voo Anglay?" was Mr. Urquhart's de- 
 mand of the driver. The latter proudly disclaimed 
 the slightest knowledge of the insular tongue. 
 
 " So much the better," said Mr. Urquhart, light- 
 ing a cigar about the size of a small umbrella, and 
 tendering a similar club of tobacco to Lygon, who 
 took it rather eagerly. It was a good excuse for much 
 silence, that mighty weed. Again the keen Scotch- 
 man watched him, as they drove away towards the 
 Arch of Triumph. 
 
 After some minutes, Robert Urquhart, who was 
 as straightforward in his dealings as man should be, 
 said, laying a great hand on Lygon's, 
 
 " Now, my man, there should be no secrets be- 
 tween us." 
 
 No secrets between us, thought Lygon. 
 
 And what a secret he, if he chose, could tell the 
 man who was thus addressing him ! 
 
 " No secrets, I tell you, Arthur. We are a couple 
 of honest men, who have married a couple of honest 
 women, and as they are sisters, we should be brothers. 
 Is that true, Mr. Arthur V 
 
 " I hope so," said Arthur. 
 
 "Very well, that^s confessed. Now, what is your 
 trouble? Because that you o?'<? in trouble a man 
 that has both his eyes sharpened by liking, which I 
 take to be the best eye-ointment in the world, can 
 see with half of one of them." 
 
 " I told you I was ill, my dear Robert." 
 
 " You told me, begging your pardon, that which 
 was only true in a sense, as the devil said when the
 
 296 THE SILVER CVKV. 
 
 monkey called him cousin, and I know better. You 
 are a plucky fellow, as well as a clever one, and if 
 anything was the matter you would go to one of 
 those d — d doctors, and be cured, and meantime you 
 would hold up your head and look like a man. Now 
 you are all down in the mouth, you don^t eat, you 
 do drink, and instead of smoking that prime weed 
 like a Christian man, you are sucking it to death 
 as if for a wager. There's something on your 
 mind." 
 
 " You are determined to have it so," said Arthur, 
 with a faint smile. 
 
 " I'm determined to know all about it, my man. 
 And as I know that some men don't like to break 
 the ice, and I do, I shall just take the liberty of 
 breaking it myself. And if I make a good guess, 
 you'll answer truthfully." 
 
 "Yes,'^ said Arthur, with his lips. His heart's 
 answer need not be set down. 
 
 '•^Done. And you'll not be offended ? " 
 
 " What, with yoM?" 
 
 " That's the first decent word youVe spoken to- 
 day. But I'll have some more out of you before 
 you've done. Now then, how much will see you out 
 of the mess, and ready to snap your fingers at the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil ? " 
 
 "How much?" repeated Arthur. 
 
 "Come, come, walk uprightly, and according to 
 your lights, or you'll be in for something bad. You 
 know what I mean, my man. We've been having a 
 bit of a race with the constable, and being young
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 297 
 
 and active, we've licked the old fellow, as was 
 natural." 
 
 "What — you think that I ara in debt. My dear 
 Robert ?'' 
 
 " I know you are, and there's an end of that. 
 I suppose you have come over here to be out of the 
 way, while things are being put right, and that Laura 
 is mana^ng that for you. Very sensible, too, and 
 all I ask is to be allowed to put on some more 
 coal, and get the journey done at a wee bit better 
 pace." 
 
 " You have the kindest heart in the world, Robert,' ' 
 said Lygon, touched. 
 
 " I've just got nothing of the sort, I am proud 
 to say," said his brother-in-law. '*I would be very 
 sorry to be the biggest fool of ray acquaintance. 
 But that's not the question. Do you mean to let 
 me have the pleasure of helping you ? " 
 
 "If I wanted such help, I would come to you 
 before any man I know in the world," said Arthur. 
 
 " And you do. For your wife's sake, Arthur, I 
 think that you are bound to avail yourself of any 
 lawful means of putting matters right. It is not 
 well for a young wife to be left without her husband, 
 and it's bad for the bairns to be accustomed to see 
 their father away, let alone the cackle of the fools 
 outside, who are sure to have something to say if you 
 give them a chance. You must take a bit of paper, 
 and write an I.O.U. for the amount you need, and 
 before we get to our dinner — which, please God ! 
 we'll make a bit cheerfuller than our lunch — I'll
 
 298 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 have got the money for you in English notes. Then 
 we'll talk about paying back, or else your proud 
 English prelatical stomach will have no digestion. 
 Do you see all that, m)' man ? " 
 
 To Lygon, this kindly speech, in which his home, 
 his comfort, his honour, his pride were all cared for 
 by the Scot, suggested a refuge from the immediate 
 pressure upon him — a mode in which he cox|ld escape 
 from the slow torture to which he was being exposed. 
 It could do no harm to let Urquhart think that he 
 was right, and to return the money, with an explana- 
 tory letter, would be an easier course than talking 
 down the impression which Robert had formed. At 
 all events, in Lygon's state of mind it seemed a 
 most desirable loophole. 
 
 " I feel all your kindness, Robert." 
 
 "And accept my proposals. Of course you 
 do. That is the only course for a man and a 
 Christian." 
 
 " I don't feel like either just now." 
 
 " No, but you will by and by. Now I tell you 
 what. Turn over in your own mind, while we drive 
 about in this beast of a carriage, which bumps like 
 the very devil, how much will answer our purpose, 
 and mind you leave a margin for something hand- 
 some, which you are bound to buy for Laura for 
 not bringing her to Paris. Turn it over, I say, and 
 while you are doing it, I'll get through a bit of 
 calculation of my own, which I can do in my head if 
 I am not talked to, and which is for the benefit of 
 my friends those beggars that let my railway down.
 
 THE SIL\TSR CORD. 299 
 
 and be hanged to them. So here goes for a think, 
 my man.^' 
 
 And with this last touch of consideration the 
 ■warm-hearted Robert Urquhart ceased to speak, 
 nor did the brothers-in-law exchange another word 
 until they alighted, hours after, at the Palais 
 Royal. 
 
 But when Urquhart, at the table of the Trois 
 Freres, pushed a piece of paper across to Lygon, and 
 said " Write,^' Arthur felt it impossible to perform 
 that piece of deception. Anything of the kind had 
 always been foreign to his frank nature, and though 
 in the state of wretchedness in which he found 
 himself he might have permitted his friend to insist 
 on deceiving himself, Lygon could not put his hand 
 even to Avhat might have almost been called a pious 
 fraud. 
 
 " Robert," he said, " you are the best fellow in the 
 ^orld " 
 
 " That's not writing," said Urquhart, impatiently. 
 
 " Listen to me. I have been thinking very deeply 
 over a great number of things, and have finally made 
 up my mind what to do. The advancing this money 
 would not remove the weight that is on my mind. 
 But I think it possible that your advice might 
 do so." 
 
 " Try, my man ; that can't harm you." 
 
 "I will. But I assure you, Robert, that I am 
 physically incapable of laying my case before you 
 to-night. I must have some rest. Let everything 
 stand over until to-morrow."
 
 800 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "I hate that way of going on, because it's not 
 going on." 
 
 " So do I, but it must be so." 
 
 " Your hand on one thing. You don't go back to 
 England without giving me your confidence ? " 
 
 " I promise that." 
 
 " Done. Then we'll dine ad interim. Garsong. 
 Eecy."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 After her visit to her father at Canonbury, Mrs. 
 Hawkesley returned to Maida Hill, anxious to com- 
 municate to her husband the scanty information 
 which Mr. Vernon had added to the contents of his 
 letter. Charles Hawkesley had not arrived, and long 
 indeed seemed the delay. Beatrice was all but 
 on the point of hastening over to Brompton, in the 
 idea that some painful disclosure had detained her 
 husband, when he entered with the two boys. In 
 their coming that day, instead of the next, as pro- 
 posed, she naturally detected fresh cause for alarm ; 
 but a word from her husband sufficed to reassure 
 lier sufficiently to give Walter and Fred her usual 
 kindly welcome. 
 
 " Neither of our parents has chosen to come back 
 yet," said Hawkesley, " so we have deserted the 
 house, and come over to live with our cruel uncle 
 and aunt, and when we are wanted, we are to be 
 sent for." 
 
 But when the boys had been cared for by Aunt 
 Beatrice, and had been sent into the garden with 
 letter of licence to deal at will with the fruit, a con- 
 cession not lightly made at other times, and Hawkes- 
 ley and his wife were alone, his first words were — 
 
 " Something wrong, dearest."
 
 302 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "I knew it/^ said Beatrice, hastily. "I had a 
 presentiment that it was so, and though you laugh at 
 such things, I felt that when we met again we should 
 have bad news. Tell me quickly — you know I want 
 no preparation." 
 
 "Nay, there is no news. That is, in fact, the 
 worst I have to tell, except some small matters, 
 which may in themselves be nothing.^' 
 
 And the husband and wife told each other the 
 results of their respective errands. 
 
 " And what do you make of it, dearest ? " said 
 Beatrice, after a long pause. 
 
 " I would rather hear your idea — you are her 
 sister." 
 
 " Charles," said his wife, " that means that you 
 suspect something very painful, and would not wound 
 me by being the first to impute such a thing." 
 
 " Dearest girl, what is one to think, when a wife 
 suddenly leaves her home with an unknown gentle- 
 man, and the husband, without a word to any friend, 
 takes away his daughter, and is heard of no more ? " 
 " You know how fond he is of Clara. I do not 
 see anything in his taking her rather than either of 
 the boys." 
 
 " Well, pass that for the moment. What is your 
 key to the mystery ? " 
 
 " I cannot arrange my thoughts in the least. I 
 am simply at a loss to comprehend the affair. But, 
 Charles, it is not an inexplicable story that shall 
 make me think ill of darling Laura." 
 
 " Nor me, and you do not want tO' be told my
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 303 
 
 affection for Laura. We were joking over it only 
 the other morning." 
 
 " So we were, and little thinking Charles, I 
 
 am perfectly terrified at a thought that flashes upon 
 me. The idea is almost too dreadful. Help me to 
 crush it at once, before it begins to haunt me." 
 
 " My dearest wife ! " 
 
 " Is it — is it possible — but it is not," she said, 
 drawing closely to her husband, and speaking with 
 agitation — " is it conceivable that the strange man 
 whom nobody knew, and who instantly removed 
 Laura from her house, could have been a — a doctor? 
 Say no." 
 
 "I understand you," said Hawkesley, turning 
 pale. " But no, no, a thousand times no, my own 
 one." 
 
 " The idea came like lightning as you spoke this 
 moment, and impressions which come like that are 
 often true " 
 
 " Banish it — dispel it — there is not the shadow of 
 reason in it. My dear Beatrice, you have known 
 Laura from babyhood, and can say for yourself 
 whether there was ever the faintest defect in her 
 beautifully ordered mind." 
 
 "But is it not the most delicate minds that are 
 most easily injured ? " 
 
 " Assuredly not. That is one of the mistakes of 
 ignorance — don't be angry with the word, dearest ; 
 I use the strongest purposely. It is the machine 
 in which there are flaws and damages that flies, 
 the perfect one is true and safe to the last. Pray
 
 304 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 drive away the thought — reject it as absolutely 
 as I do." 
 
 " You do, entirely ? " 
 
 " Utterly." 
 
 " Then I will. And yet how the story would 
 agree with such a misery. Laura is taken away in 
 her husband's absence : he could not bear to see her 
 removed : a single stranger, in black " 
 
 " Never heed the black. Unless you can suppose 
 that she had been previously seen by two medical 
 men, who must have been together in judgment in 
 her case, the thing is impossible. It is impossible. 
 In Heaven's name, my dearest wife, do not let us 
 pursue that terrible course of thought." 
 
 " Then," persisted Beatrice, " he cannot bear to 
 be in the deserted house, and flies away with Clara, 
 who reminds him of her mother " 
 
 " Would a man who loved his wife take her image 
 with him ? " 
 
 " Yes, Charles, I think he would if she had been 
 removed from him by death or misfortune — not if 
 she had been wrong, perhaps. But who dares accuse 
 Laura of that ? " 
 
 " I would not hear it, but " 
 
 " No, Charles, no. If there is truth and good- 
 ness and purity in woman, it is in my sister 
 Laura. The other thought is dreadful, but not so 
 
 dreadful as the idea that ; but that you will 
 
 never believe," she said, clasping both her husband's 
 hands. 
 
 " It would be almost the saddest hour I could live,
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 305 
 
 if an hour should come to make me think, ill of her, 
 Beatrice. But do not let this abominable haze of 
 anonymous letters and shopmen^s slanders blind us 
 to other ways of accounting for the affair." 
 
 " O, do you see any other ways ? Anything to 
 drive away the fearful thought of her possible 
 insanity." 
 
 *' I beg you, darling, to reject that, whether we see 
 at once any other solution or do not. There is one 
 idea comes to me already ; it seems a wild one, but 
 the incidents of real life are so much wilder than 
 anything one dares invent •" 
 
 " Yes, yes." 
 
 " This man in black — by the way, who told us he 
 was in black — are we beginning with a mistake?" 
 
 " You said it was Freddy." 
 
 " Yes, but does a boy notice dress ? " 
 
 " He said it before Walter." 
 
 " "Who had not seen him, I think," said Hawkes- 
 ley. " I must ascertain as casually as I can." 
 
 He went out to speak to the boys, and returned in 
 a few minutes. 
 
 " Freddy speaks positively to the black dress, and 
 he had a good look at the stranger, who it seems 
 interposed between the children and a visit to the 
 Zoological Gardens. AVe may take the black for 
 granted. Beatrice, dear, had Laura ever any 
 Catholic leanings ? " 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Hawkesley, promptly, " certainly 
 not, that I ever heard of. Poor Bertha used to be 
 rather inclined to go to Catholic chapels, not from 
 
 TOL. I. X
 
 306 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 any particular convictions, for she liad not many of 
 them, but tlie music, and the incense, and novels 
 about mysterious Jesuits, "worked upon her at one 
 time. But not Laura. What is your idea ? " 
 
 " I hardly know, but stay a moment. Do you 
 mean that Bertha at any time became a Catholic, or 
 had any connection with the Catholics beyond 
 attending their services ? " 
 
 " I don^t think so. To tell you the truth, she did 
 not get much mercy from me when she spoke of such 
 things, for I knew that religion had nothing to do 
 with her likings, and that they were the merest 
 sentimentality." 
 
 " Laura would be more tolerant ? " 
 
 " Why, Laura was the youngest, and would 
 scarcely dare to speak to Bertha as I did, and they 
 were more confidential with one another than "with 
 me, though now that Laura is a woman, I know 
 that she has learned to love me the best." 
 
 " Laura was her confidant." 
 
 " At one time very much so. Partly it was my 
 fault — perhaps I made too few allowances for 
 Bertha's nature, and partly, dear, it was your own, 
 for I was thinking a great deal more about your 
 letters, and your making your way upwards in life, 
 to care for the girls' chatter about the heroes of 
 novels, and the divinely handsome men they had 
 seen riding through the village." 
 
 " Come, I am leading you into cheerfulness, dear, 
 and now be prepared to laugh at what I am going 
 to ask."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 307 
 
 " Will I laugli if it is anything that shows me 
 daylight ? " 
 
 " It seems to me possible that Bertha, in some 
 of those sentimental moods, as you very properly 
 call them, may have got entangled in some of the 
 meshes which are constantly spread for the young, 
 by Catholic missionaries, some of whom, I dare say, 
 believe that they are doing good work, and that 
 she may have drawn in Laura with her. What 
 particular form of entanglement it may have been 
 I don't just now try to guess, but such things are." 
 
 " Those Jesuits, perhaps, who are so clever." 
 
 " Well, they tell us that they are. I have met a 
 good many, and thought them much too clever to do 
 harm, seeing that 'Beware of Mantraps'" was as 
 plainly to be read in the down look, in the imper- 
 tinent curiosity, and in the unfrank conversation, 
 as ever one read it in the preserves of the squire- 
 arch3^ But they manage to lay hold on the minds 
 of the yoimg, I fanc}'', and especially of girls of a 
 mopish turn, 'and it is only when the young lady 
 gets married that she recognises the absolute fitness 
 of the Jesuit's being kicked down stairs. Before 
 that time he may have wound his way into some of 
 lier secrets, and may afterwards use them iu his 
 own fashion. Were there any Jesuits at Lip- 
 thwaite ? — if so, they have not done you much 
 harm." 
 
 " AVell, there was a dear old Catholic priest who 
 was never out of the houses of the poor, and who 
 died at last of typhus caught by a sick bed."
 
 308 THE SILVEP. COED. 
 
 " All ! but lie was a gentleman as well as a priest. 
 I remember his white hands and courtly manner, 
 though I saw him but once. But you had no real 
 Jesuit at Lipthwaite.^^ 
 
 "No. There was a writing-master at jMrs. 
 Spagley's, a man whom I detested, though he was 
 a clever man, too, and some of us elder girls had a 
 notion that he was a Jesuit, but I suppose, now, 
 that it was all nonsense, and that we thought him 
 one only because he dressed in black, and made 
 silky kinds of answers to questions, never telling 
 you what you wanted to know.'' 
 
 " That is a little in their line, too. Did Bertha 
 know him ? " 
 
 " Yes, I tell you, he was our writing-master.'' 
 
 " What was his name ? " 
 
 " Hardwick — Mr. Ernest Hardwick — I remember 
 it well by a girl's joke that he was never in earnest." 
 
 " He dressed in black," repeated Charles Hawkes- 
 ley, "but, pooh, that is nothing — a good many 
 thousands of honest men do that — IJlit I feel it is 
 nonsense, and yet, while one is holding an imagi- 
 nary thread, tell me — was he intimate with you 
 beyond the relations of teacher and pupil ? " 
 
 "He used to call sometimes at the Hut, but 
 papa's talk was too much in earnest for him, and 
 he had a scoffing kind of manner with men, which 
 papa did not like, so there was not much intimacy. 
 But, my dearest Charles, how on earth can you 
 connect a country writing-master with Laura's dis- 
 appearance ? "
 
 THE SILVER conn. 809 
 
 " Perhaps not at all, and yet I liave an odd per- 
 sistence in following up a trace of a story. Beatrice, 
 what was Laura's reason, when she sat for that 
 portrait, for being painted with a rosary ? " 
 
 "Is she? To be sure she is, I have seen it a 
 thousand times. It never occurred to me to think 
 why. I supposed that it was a fancy of the painter." 
 
 *'Very likely it was. I dare say that it was. 
 But suppose that it was not, and that something 
 was symbolised.^' 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you think Laura is a 
 concealed Catholic, and that some one has come to 
 claim her and take her away to a convent ? Good 
 Heavens, Charles, can such things be done ? " 
 
 "My dearest, you hasten to fill up a very imper- 
 fect outline of mine, and not exactly in the way I 
 intended. We have not the least real basis upon 
 which to build our conjectures, but having nothing 
 to do but conjecture — except one thing, which I will 
 tell you presently — a sort of idea, hardly worth 
 calling one, presents itself. My dear Beatrice, 
 Laura is too good to be suspected of wrong, Laura 
 is too wise to be suspected of aberration, but it is on 
 the cards that Bertha — " 
 
 " Bertha ! " 
 
 " Stop. That Bertha, who does not love her hus- 
 band," said Hawkesley, speaking slowlyand distinctly, 
 as if he wished her to scan every idea as he pi'c- 
 sented it, — " that Bertha, Avho, at all events, appears 
 not to love her husband, which, the husband con- 
 sidered, is a very singular fact — should have united
 
 310 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 herself, in other clays, to the Catholic church, and 
 should have induced Laura to do the same ? " 
 
 " Impossible." 
 
 " I may think so too, but hear me out. Bertha 
 has long been residing in a Catholic countrj^, and 
 old feelings may have revived, to say nothing of 
 the system of proselytism, Avhich is always on the 
 look out for its prey, and "which would not be long 
 in discovering an impressionable woman who had 
 once believed." 
 
 " When you put such an idea into words it seems 
 reasonable," said Beatrice, " but I feel it is the 
 vaguest guessing." 
 
 " So it is, and let us guess on. Bertha has been 
 re-converted, and I need not tell you that the first 
 result of such a process Avould be to alienate her 
 from her heretic husband, and to withdraw her 
 confidences from him. Hence, we may get at that 
 estrangement which we were deploring the other 
 morning, and acquit Bertha of the horrible stu- 
 pidity of not appreciating such a man as E-obert 
 Urquhart." 
 
 " But you charge her with folh^, and with deceit, 
 which is worse than anything in the world." 
 
 '' Let us suppose that her butterfly mind, such 
 as it is, has risen above dress and the opera, and 
 settled on a sort of perfumed religion, which tells 
 her, through the mouth of her confessor, that 
 the deceit is pardonable, or even laudable, if 
 truth-speaking would render her less useful to the 
 Church."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 311 
 
 " Butterfly, indeed. That would be far too mild 
 a name for her." 
 
 " Nay, nay, she is not wise. You l<now that. 
 But, then, for Laura." 
 
 " She is no butterfly, dear." 
 
 "No, indeed. But Laura has been a very young 
 girl, Avho was left very much to herself, without a 
 mother^s guidance, and who made this silly Bertha 
 her friend and confidant.^' 
 
 " If I saw things as you suggest them, how I 
 ought to reproach myself, Charles, for not having 
 been more of a mother to her, poor child." 
 
 " And who had been a mother to you, dearest, 
 and where should you have learned the value of 
 such counsel? Besides, you must share the guilt, 
 if there is any, with mc, who deprived your sister of 
 your companionship." 
 
 "You always try to make mc believe I am right, 
 Charles." 
 
 " When I find you wrong, I will tell you so — rely 
 on me," said Hawkesley, pressing her hand. " But 
 just let me finish my chapter of possibilities. 
 Bertha, now entirely in the hands of her priest, 
 has been worked upon to send him, or one of his 
 brethren, over here, and has prevailed on Laura, 
 by what arguments we have yet to learn, to visit 
 her sister in a haste which has, of course, to be 
 accounted for, but which is quite reconcileable with 
 the exacting demands of the Church — when you are 
 in its power." 
 
 " You make out a story before my eyes," said
 
 312 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 Beatrice^ " and I hardly know wliether to ■\visli to 
 believe it or not." 
 
 '^ Do neither, until we know more." 
 
 " What was the other thing you said we had to 
 do?" 
 
 " To ascertain for ourselves whether Laura has 
 gone to her sister." 
 
 " Do you mean by writing ? " 
 
 '' I am afraid to write." 
 
 " Ah ! then you do not believe a word of your 
 own story." 
 
 '* Why do you say so ? " 
 
 '^Because, Charles, if she should not be there, 
 and your letter should miscarry^ — that is what you 
 are thinking of. You are suspecting something far 
 worse than even the folly you think may have been 
 committed." 
 
 "You shall have all my thoughts. I should be 
 inclined, Beatrice, to accept this wild theory of 
 mine, while we waited for news, but for one con- 
 sideration.-*^ 
 
 " Laura's strong sense ? " 
 
 " Laura's strong love." 
 
 "Yes, there would be the chain to bind her to her 
 home." 
 
 "Why, Beatrice, do you think that if a score 
 of sisters were to summon you, through the mouths 
 of a whole college of Jesuits, to leave my house in 
 mv absence, they would have power to move you 
 from this hearthstone." 
 
 " Not all the sisters and priests in the world."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 313- 
 
 " Not if, when a girl, you liad taken all the vows 
 of the Church?" 
 
 " I know one vow only, Chai-les." 
 
 *' I know it, wife. And I thought that Laura had 
 no other."'"' 
 
 " Say, for my sake, that you think so still. Let 
 us helieve anything, no matter how improbable — 
 that the story of the lady who was dying, and which 
 that servant dared to tell Walter not to believe — if 
 I were Price, I would have turned her into the street 
 in five minutes — "" 
 
 " Price had no authority."''' 
 
 " Don't tell me — I would have given her to the 
 police, I daresay that she will turn out to have 
 been a thief."" 
 
 " Your anger against her is just, but do not blame 
 Price, who had really no more right to put Eliza into 
 the street than I have."'"' 
 
 "No, dear, no. But it puts one in a rage to think 
 that she should dare tell a child not to believe his 
 own father, when he is speaking about the child's 
 own mother. I wonder Walter did not strike her."" 
 
 "He can strike at the proper time, as I ought to 
 tell you." And Hawkesley told of Walter's ven- 
 geance on the calumniator. 
 
 " A darling, noble boy ! " exclaimed his aunt. 
 "That was the Yernon blood." 
 
 " Possibly," said Hawkesley, smiling. " And 
 there is some of that article on his hand, and 
 perhaps you may as well see to it." 
 
 " Is he hurt ? Why didn't you tell me ? "
 
 314 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 "Were we not speaking on a graver subject till 
 this moment ? " 
 
 " Yes^ yes/' said Beatrice, " but you made the 
 tears come into my eyes by telling me of his courage 
 in the cause of his mother. Let us, who knoAV her 
 even better than the poor child does, Charles dear, 
 let us be as courageous, and utterly refuse to listen 
 to the least thing against her. Believe me, we shall 
 be right." 
 
 " I am only too rejoiced to see you take that 
 view," said Hawkesley. 
 
 " Did you expect me to comdemn her because I do 
 not know Avhere she is, and because some wretches 
 spread scandals against her ? Do you think that Laura 
 would judge me so, Charles ? " 
 
 *' I love you for standing by her. And as we are 
 thoroughly agreed about this, you can bear to hear, 
 and to recollect, that appearances are most fatally 
 against her." 
 
 " Indeed they are. But all will be explained, 
 and we shall have the happiness of telling her, on 
 this very hearthstone you spoke of, that Ave knew 
 from the first all would be well." 
 
 " Is that one of your presentiments ? "" 
 
 He asked it quietly enough, and Beatrice's lips 
 were parting, in the act of reply, when she turned 
 pale, and looked round at him with eyes that 
 suddenly brimmed with tears. 
 
 " I dare not say yes," she whispered, and broke 
 into a convulsive fit of crying. 
 
 "Come, come," said her husband, "you must be
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 315 
 
 calm, dear, aud remember Low many things good 
 and bad have happened to ns -without any presenti- 
 ments. Perhaps they do not come when they are 
 asked for." 
 
 " I was just going to say yes/^ sobbed his wife, 
 " for I was taking the wish for the thing, when I 
 felt that I was going to utter a falsehood. I only 
 pray that all may be Avell." 
 
 " God grant it. But on one thing I am resolved. 
 I will test that story which has framed itself to nie 
 out of a parcel of trifles which one is ashamed to 
 call facts." 
 
 " I felt that you were saying it all to draw me 
 away from darker views, and I took it as kindness, 
 though I could not believe in it,^^ said Beatrice, on 
 her husband^s bosom. 
 
 " But as I spoke it grew upon me," said he ; 
 " and I will send through Aventayle, who has agents 
 in Paris. jNIeantime, dear, try and make those 
 children as happy as you can. It is a comfort that 
 they love you as if you were their mother." 
 
 " I understand you, Charles," said Beatrice, '' but 
 darling, do not talk so — at least now.^'
 
 316 THE SILVER COKD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Op course/' said Mr. Aventayle^ " always sliovr 
 liira up. Stay, clear a seat of some kind for him, 
 can't you ? " 
 
 The inquiry did not seem altogether beside the 
 mark. For though the manager's room at the 
 theatre was a tolerably large one, it -was so com- 
 pletely choked up with his Varieties, as he called 
 them, that any disarrangement of that chaos threat- 
 ened a general confluence of matter. It would be 
 almost easier to say what was not in the room than 
 what was, or at all events the latter feat could only 
 be accomplished by the pen of an imtiring inventory- 
 maker, who should not be deterred from his work 
 by any surprises, or for a moment drawn into the 
 feeble belief that classification was a possibility. 
 Upon the dusty crimson cushion of a white and 
 elegantly gilded chair, in which some theatrical 
 nobleman of the Regency date^had sat, and uttered 
 exceedingly improper sentiments during the pro- 
 gress of a melodrama, reposed a handsome Skye 
 terrier, and it naturally seemed Ms place to move in 
 favour of a visitor. But Mop was of an opposite 
 opinion, and signified it by so resolute a growl when 
 the manager's servant touched the chair, that he 
 abandoned the idea, and looked hopelessly round
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 317 
 
 for some other quarter in -which !Mr. Hawkesley 
 might be planted. But chaos was obdurate. To 
 remove from an old couch near the fire-place a vast 
 heap of manuscripts and newspapers^ was more than 
 Beeton^s place was worth, jNIr. Aventayle always 
 declaring that he had placed everything there in 
 exact order, and knew where to lay his hand upon 
 it. Any of the big wooden boxes, some piled on 
 others, would have made a good seat, but then on 
 one was a great chandelier, and another held a 
 pyramid of books that Aventayle had bought, as 
 curiosities, at a sale, and would never have time to 
 look into while he had eyes to read them. A model 
 of his stage, with the scenery, in miniature, of a 
 celebrated " eflFect," was mounted on another box, 
 and Yister, the wonderful painter, had, in reply to 
 the objurgations of his manager, taken a solemn 
 oath, every evening for some months, to remove it 
 the next morning, but meantime it was there. A 
 window seat seemed more promising, but to utilise 
 that for social purposes involved the moving a 
 lamp which stood in a little pool of oil, about eight 
 hats of various shapes and ages, and a plaster cari- 
 cature statue of M. Alexandre Dumas, the rege- 
 nerator of Italy. So, with a helpless look that 
 comprised his employer's whole room, the portraits 
 of the ladies and gentlemen of the company in 
 characters in which they had been painted, the 
 suspended list of pieces, with the number of nights 
 each had run, the manager's table, loaded with 
 letters that overflowed the small island he sousrht to
 
 318 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 keep for his writing-place, tlie water-bottle and 
 tumbler flanking the splendid French clock that 
 was never right, but now and then, b}' franti- 
 cally striking nineteen, claimed the privilege of 
 genius to do as it pleased, and the grand array 
 of bandboxes, music -books, swords, boots, and 
 images, with which it pleased JNIr. Aventa^le to 
 surround himself, Beeton withdrew to bring up 
 Mr. Hawkesley. 
 
 He did not leave the manager solitary, for by his 
 side stood a fiend. That is to say, one of the most 
 accomplished members of the company, dressed for 
 some IMephistophilean part, but with rather more 
 diabolic adjuncts than are usually given to the 
 friend of Faust, was in counsel with his manager, 
 and in the dim light of the shaded lamp, looked, as 
 he stood by the liuge black chair of his chief, as if 
 he were tempting the latter to sign some unhallowed 
 compact. The thought, however, would not have 
 occurred to any person likely to enter that room ; a 
 few years of practical stage life wear out any fancies 
 arising from theatrical accidents, and it is perhaps 
 difficult to bore an actor more completely than by 
 what you deem facetiousness, based on topics from 
 his own profession. 
 
 " You know Hawkesley, Grayling, don't you ? " 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. A capital fellow, and a deci- 
 dedly clever one. Has he got anything for us ? " 
 
 " I hope so.^' 
 
 Mr. Aventayle, still a handsome man, though 
 considerably past middle life, and retaining the play
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 819 
 
 of features — fine ones — which had in earlier days 
 materially aided him to eminence, placed his douhle- 
 glass to his eyes, as he heard Hawkesley's step, and 
 when the latter entered affected to survey him 
 with intense curiosity. Then, without speaking, he 
 dropped the glasses, as if hopelessly. 
 
 " No ! I do not see three acts in that face. Do 
 you, Grayling?" he asked of the fiend. 
 
 "Well, I am not much of a physiognomist, but I 
 think I see tAvo, and perhaps a prologue," said the 
 actor, shaking hands with Hawkesley. 
 
 " Ah, you were always of a cheerful nature. Mop, 
 you old fool, will you come down ? " said the 
 manager, spilling out the reluctant animal to the 
 ground, and inducting Hawkesley into the noble- 
 man"'s seat. " I am very glad to see you, on any 
 terms," he continued, " as it shows that you have a 
 hankering after the place. "What will you have to 
 drink ? " 
 
 " What have j^ou got that is good on a warm 
 night?" 
 
 " Everything in the world ; everything Avithout 
 exception. But if you will take my advice you will 
 try our highly superior cold brandy-and-water at 
 nothing per glass, waiters included." 
 
 " I. understand. As thou sayest, so let it be." 
 
 And the manager, the devil, and the author Averc 
 soon pi'ovided with their beverage. 
 
 " Now of course you won't talk before me," said 
 the fiend, " so I shall finish this, and go." 
 
 " Unless Hawkesley has any secrets, I have none,"
 
 320 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 said Aventayle, " and you should always try. Gray- 
 ling, to remain in the society of the good and 
 virtuous, because you may improve yourself by their 
 conversation and example : and you should also. 
 Grayling, pass the brandy when you have helped 
 yourself/^ 
 
 " I have been dining at the club," said Hawkes- 
 ley, " and thought I would walk round and tell you 
 that I have read that piece you gave me/^ 
 
 "Ah! well?" 
 
 " In its present form, it is out of the question/' 
 
 '' Rough and crude. I told you so." 
 
 " The story won't do. They wouldn't stand it." 
 
 " They'll stand a good deal, too." 
 
 " Yes, but this is too cynically offensive to be 
 endured. They will sit and cry over a Traviata who 
 whines because her lungs are going, but they would 
 hiss her if she Avere in health, and prosperous and 
 defiant, like one of the women in this thing. It 
 won't do, Aventayle." 
 
 "If you say so on consideration, there is an end 
 of the matter ; but the play seeme,d to me to have 
 some very strong stuff in it." 
 
 " Strong as hartshorn," said Hawkesley. "But it 
 will not do for you. I wish it would." 
 
 " Which means that you don't want to work." 
 
 " No, it does not, my dear fellow. I have a good 
 notion for you. But I would rather not have taken 
 it up until after Christmas ; and if you could bring 
 out this thing, I should have been glad of the 
 interval. But I shall be ready for you soon."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 321 
 
 " That's -well. Anything for this boy ? " said the 
 manager, indicating the fiend. 
 
 " Plenty." 
 
 "That's well again, and we'll ask you no more 
 questions." 
 
 "I want to ask you one or two. You said you 
 knew nothing of the man who sends you this piece, 
 except that his name is Adair." 
 
 "Nothing," said Aveutayle, "but he writes me a 
 long letter, after the manner and fashion of young 
 dramatists, explaining his play at great length, as if 
 it was not strong enough to explain itself." 
 
 " Would you mind showing me his letter ? " 
 
 "Not a bit," said Aventayle. "But I should 
 very much mind looking fgr it." And he pointed, 
 with a piteous look, at the mass of correspondence 
 before him. 
 
 "But I should particularly like to see it." 
 
 " Il'm. In that case you shall, but it is a cruel 
 thing to ask me to go through all that heap." 
 
 " Why don't you keep your papers in order ? " 
 
 " Manage a theatre for a fortnight, and you'll see, 
 my boy," said Mr. Aventayle, beginning a search 
 among his letters. 
 
 " I will come and sort them and docket them 
 for you." 
 
 "You'll go and mind your own business, which 
 is the finishing my piece. Have you got a good 
 title ? " 
 
 " Yes, excellent." 
 
 "Then the piece will be good. I have noticed 
 
 VOL. I. y
 
 323 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 that if a man fumbles over a title, he has generally 
 written without purpose. Confound the letter ! " 
 the manager growled, or may have said worse. 
 
 " I couldn't sit in such a room as this/' said Mr. 
 Grayling. 
 
 " Who said you could ? You are not sitting. 
 Nobody asked you to sit/' grumbled Aventayle, 
 with pretended petulance, as he turned over his 
 heaps, and was reminded at every turn of something 
 he had neglected to attend to, or somebody who 
 ought to have been obliged or abused. At the 
 recurrence of each of these suggestions the manager 
 fired off a fresh growl. 
 
 " I'm afraid I am bringing your sins to your 
 mind/' said Hawkesley. , " Your good health." 
 
 " People have no right to write letters, I'll be 
 hanged if they have," said Aventayle. " Here it is 
 — no it isn't — that's from a woman I never saw, 
 giving me five sides of note-paper to prove why I 
 ought to give her a box, and she's as rich as 
 creases, as old Poulter used to say; her husband's 
 a banker." 
 
 " Send her the box, if she will bring him," said 
 Grayling. " I'm told bankers' morals are queer, 
 and the piece may do him good." 
 
 " Let him pay for improvements," said the 
 manager. "I kno^v I have to do so. I can't see 
 the letter." 
 
 " Shall I look ? " said Grayling, " or are you 
 afraid of my seeing letters poisoning your mind 
 against me."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 323 
 
 " I had rather you did, it might make you more 
 ■careful and painstaking," said Aventayle. " Do 
 look, there's a dear boy, while I refresh myself. A 
 large sheet, a very neat hand, and the signature 
 something Adair." 
 
 And he turned away with a sigh, and nodded 
 across his tumbler at Hawkesley. 
 
 " What do you want to see the letter for ? " he 
 said. " Childish curiosity? " 
 
 "No, but for a reason." 
 
 " We must keep him in good humour just now," 
 said Aventayle, in a stage whisper, behind his hand, 
 to Grayling. " Find it for him." 
 
 " I am proceeding systematically," said the actor. 
 ^' Mind your brandy-and-water." 
 
 The manager and the author chatted on for some 
 minutes, and the actor went on with his search. 
 Hawkesley, in answer to a renewed demand by his 
 friend, assured him that the new play was really in 
 hand, and that he liked it as it came on, whereat 
 Aventayle professed himself consoled for his life and 
 ■other misfortunes, and begged that the ladies' cha- 
 racters might be made as strong as possible. This 
 again Hawkesley promised, and was enlarging upon 
 the extreme importance of keeping the women con- 
 stantly upon the stage, when the fiend uttered a 
 melodramatic 
 
 "Ha!" 
 
 " Got it ? " asked Aventayle. 
 
 Without a word, the fiend strode to Hawkesley, 
 and laid the letter in his hand. It was long, and as
 
 324 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 the author began, with some eagerness, to read it, 
 Aventayle said, 
 
 " Bother reading, and spoiling talk. Put it into 
 your pocket." 
 
 Many a day afterwards, Hawkesley recalled the 
 circumstances to his mind, and remembered that the 
 letter had been put into his hand by the devil.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " Do not spur a willing horse," is a rule of mas- 
 culine invention, and one which only the higher 
 minds among the gentler sex are very apt to adopt 
 and obey. It was • scarcely to be expected that 
 Mary Henderson, with her soul on fire for the 
 attainment of a revenge of her own, should have 
 sufficient self-command to follow the wise counsel of 
 the saw. Chiefly in order to ensure the unhesitating 
 obedience of her lover, but a little, it may be, with a 
 view of atoning to herself for having somewhat com- 
 promised her hitherto unbending dignity by her 
 display of interest and affection at the moment of 
 alarm, Henderson, when alone with M, Silvain, hesi- 
 tated not to let him perceive her comprehension of 
 his signal defeat at the hand of Adair. Assured of 
 Silvaiu's safety, she relapsed into her ordinary cold 
 manner, and infused some slight touch of the most 
 irritating compassion for the man who had sought to 
 avenge a woman's wrongs without being able to do 
 so effectively. She alluded to Adair as one who was 
 so evidently Silvain's superior, both in intellect and 
 physical prowess, that the latter must avoid annoy- 
 ing him for the future, and must leave Alary (or 
 Matilde, as she would still be to Silvain) to pro- 
 tect herself in the best way a helpless girl might.
 
 326 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 All this was utterly needless^ and the horse wanted 
 no spur. The stream of insults he had received from 
 Ernest, and the complete overthrow which the French- 
 man had sustained, in the presence of his mistress, 
 were quite enough to saturate bis very being with the 
 deadliest hatred of the scornful conqueror. There was 
 something approaching to dignity in the silence with 
 which he listened to Henderson's galling talk, and 
 in the almost mournful smile with w^hich he repaid 
 her. His compressed lip and dangei'ous eye might 
 have given her full assurance that his vindictiveness 
 was not to be increased b}" anything she could urge, 
 and when Mary had uttered as many demi-sarcasms 
 as occurred to her uncomfortable spirit, Silvain 
 quietly took her hand, pressed it with affection, and 
 intimated that she had said enough, unless she had 
 any distinct course to propose, in which case it was 
 his duty to postpone any plan he might have formed. 
 
 "You will do nothing whatever without asking my 
 leave,'' said Mary. '' It is not for you to presume 
 to take other people's affairs into your hands." 
 
 M. Silvain must be the guardian of his own 
 honour, but was ready to obey to the letter any 
 order of Mademoiselle. 
 
 " I have no order to give at pi'csent, but we never 
 speak again if you see that man any more Avithout 
 my permission." 
 
 M. Silvain signified his assent by a grave bow, and 
 another touch of Mademoiselle's hand. 
 
 "Don't bow at me," said she, impatientl}''. 
 " Swear it."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 327 
 
 "My word is as binding as an bath, Mademoiselle. 
 Is it an English custom to require oaths from those 
 we trust ? " 
 
 " I do not know that I trust you," said Hender- 
 son. " Well, yes, I do," she added, observing his 
 reproachful look, " but it is a satisfaction to have a 
 solemn promise." 
 
 " In homage to an English feeling, then. Made- 
 moiselle, I swear to what you demand, but my heart, 
 already your slave, needs no new sacrament," 
 
 " Don^t talk in that profane manner," said Mary, 
 totally ignorant of her lover's meaning. " But you 
 have sworn, and that is enougli. Now, I suppose 
 you'll go back to your shop ? " 
 
 "For the moment, yes, unless Mademoiselle has 
 commands." 
 
 " Stay there until I come, or send to you." 
 
 " I am at your orders. Mademoiselle." 
 
 She gave him her hand, kindly enough, as they 
 parted, and his look of intense gratitude and admira- 
 tion touched her heart. 
 
 "After all," she said, on her way to the avenue, 
 " he is a brave and a true fellow ; and as for his not 
 fighting so well as that wretch, who, I dare say, has 
 often got his living by teaching the trade, that is 
 nothing. If Silvain had time and money to be 
 always practising, he would be a splendid fencer, 
 and even without his sword, and with his eyes 
 sparkling, he looked much more noble than the 
 white-faced creature opposite to him. Silvain's 
 figure is perfection, and if he only dressed — "
 
 328 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 But we need not delay over the affectionate medi- 
 tations of tlie femme-de-cJiambre. 
 
 At the farther end of the ground- floor of the house 
 of Mr. Urquhart, and opening into the large room of 
 miscellaneous scientific matter which has been de- 
 scribed, was a small apartment, nearly empty, and 
 with a ground-glass French window looking upon the 
 garden. This room could be approached by a small 
 narrow staircase, from the first-floor, but this ap- 
 proach was never used, and the door above was con- 
 stantly locked. It had been Henderson^s suggestion 
 that a little furniture should be taken into the room, 
 and that while Mrs. Lygon should be in the house, 
 it should be her place of refuge, one not likely to be 
 thought of, and one which afforded a ready escape 
 to the garden. Scarcely waiting for the assent of 
 either of the ladies, Henderson, with stealthy 
 rapidity; had discovered, oiled, and used the key of 
 the stair, and without the knowledge of the other 
 domestics had conveyed into the apartment enough 
 to render it tenantable. 
 
 " The other girls are very ignorant, Madame," 
 said Henderson to Mrs. Urquhart, as the latter 
 descended into the room, " and they believe in 
 ghosts. I shall tell them, by accident, a ghost- story 
 before bed-time, that will make them afraid even to 
 look at the door of the big room as they go out 
 and in." 
 
 The sisters were alone in the secluded chamber, 
 when a letter was thrown down the stair by the 
 vigilant Henderson.
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 329 
 
 It was for Mrs. Urquhart^ and was iu the bold 
 free hand of her husband. 
 
 Bertha trembled too much to open and read it, 
 but Laura did both, and found that it contained a 
 few lines from Robert Urquhart, in which he con- 
 gratulated himself on having met with Lygon, and 
 scolded Bertha for not having kept him. " As a 
 punishment for such a violation of all the sacred 
 duties of hospitality," the writer went on, " we two 
 gay young dogs intend to disport ourselves in the 
 pleasures of Paris for a while, but if our hearts 
 should relent, or rich Countesses should make very 
 desperate eftbrts to carry us off, we shall just drop 
 down to Versailles at any hour that may seem good 
 unto us, and it may promote peace and forgiveness 
 should there be an adequate supply of creature- 
 comforts at the shortest notice." Bertha was also 
 ordered to revolve in her mind what would be fittest 
 for a united present for Laura, which her husband 
 should take over in the hope of appeasing her wrath 
 at being abandoned, of which he seemed to be in 
 wonderful terror. 
 
 " They have met," gasped Bertha. 
 
 " It is always so," said Laura, wiping tears from 
 her eyes, as she again read the playful letter, just 
 one which might have been looked for from cither 
 Lygon or Urquhart, had circumstances been as the 
 latter supposed them. 
 
 "Arthur has said nothing to him." 
 
 " And what could you dream that Arthur would 
 say ! " asked Laura, indignantly, a wife's pride flush-
 
 330 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 ing Iier fair brow at the shadow of a suspicion that 
 Lygon would wilHngly say aught to compromise 
 herself or her sister. 
 
 "He left me in a fever of rage," said Bertha. 
 " He spoke quietly enough, but I know that he was 
 in a rage." 
 
 " And had he not a right to be ? A right ! 
 There is nothing that he could do that could not be 
 justified, but Arthur will never do anything to need 
 justification," said Laura, proudly. " O, if I could 
 say the same," she added. " But I will trust that 
 he will trust me yet.^' 
 
 " They may come at any time," said Bertha, feebly. 
 
 " Arthur will not return here," replied Mrs. 
 Lygon. " They have met by accident. He could 
 not escape from your husband, but will shake him 
 off at the first moment. Perhaps he is now on his 
 way to London — to his home," she said, burying her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 " I hope so," said Bertha, whose nature saw some- 
 thing less of danger in the absence of one of those 
 whom she dreaded. 
 
 "Do you?" replied Laura, slowly and reproach- 
 fully. " There ! I must not think of it, and I 
 must not expect you to be stronger than you 
 are. Robert will come here without Arthur," she 
 added in a calm voice, " and you have nothing to 
 fear from what may pass between them. It is I 
 only who am in danger — comfort yourself with that 
 thought." 
 
 " Do not speak so unkindly."
 
 THE SILVER COED. 331 
 
 "I did not mean unkindness, dear. I only mean 
 to reassure you. Now, we have no time to lose/^ 
 
 " If one of the servants should say that you have 
 been here," said Bertha, tremulously, " and Kobert 
 should know." 
 
 "Angelique only has seen and knows me. We 
 must trust to Henderson to silence her. That is a 
 small risk among great ones." 
 
 " But if Arthur should have told Robert V 
 
 " My life and soul on Arthur's silence where I 
 am concerned," replied Laura, almost fiercely. " Do 
 not hint at such a thing again, Bertha, or I will 
 leave you to yourself, and go off to England. It 
 is only my intense confidence in Arthur, my deep 
 conviction of his overmastering love for me, that 
 sustains me in this trial. You do not understand 
 me, but understand that you will ruin j^ourself if 
 yoli shake the belief that holds me up. Not one 
 more word about that." 
 
 " What next are Ave to do ?" said Bertha, liumbh''. 
 
 " We have done little or nothing, and yet I seem 
 to see a way opening. Pardon me. Bertha dear, 
 but it is useless to talk to you. I must see Hen- 
 derson. It is shocking to be driven to such counsels, 
 but things have gone too far for hesitation, and I 
 must avail myself of every means in my power to 
 help you and save you. Please to send Henderson 
 to me." 
 
 " I wish I was dead," said Bertha, slowly depart- 
 ing. 
 
 "Would dving save vour honour in the eves of
 
 333 THE SILVER COED. 
 
 your husband V asked Laura, laying a firm hand on 
 her sister's arfe. 
 
 " I should be out of the way of all fear/' sobbed 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Send Henderson to me/' replied Mrs. Lygon, 
 calmly. And she gazed wistfully at the retreating 
 form of her sister. 
 
 " If the saving her were all/^ she murmured, 
 "would I have incurred this peril? But I will go 
 through with it now, to the very end. O, x\rthur ! 
 my darling Arthur ! My own, my noble, loving 
 one V 
 
 Henderson stood before her, ere the wife's eyes 
 could discern her through the mist that dimmed 
 them. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon recovered herself with a strong effort. 
 
 " If I might speak, Madame, before you had any- 
 thing to say to me?" 
 
 " Yes, Mary." 
 
 " I did not think I should hav& any news so soon, 
 Madame, but you may wish to hear of something 
 which has happened." 
 
 " Quick, tell me." 
 
 " It does not concern anybody you know, Madame, 
 except through me. But I told you that I believed 
 I knew a person that I could trust to shed his life 
 for me, if wanted/' 
 
 " Strong words, Mary." 
 
 " They are that, Madame, but not too strong, if 
 I may say so." 
 
 And she briefly told the story of the duel at the
 
 THE SILVER COPwD. 333 
 
 inn, .and did not fail to lay the utmost stress upon 
 M. Silvain's having become the deadliest and the 
 most resolved enemy that Adair could have. 
 
 Mrs. Lygon listened with intense interest. If, 
 when the story was done, she felt a pang of regret 
 that the speaker had not to tell of a difiereut ending 
 to the fray, it need hardly be said that she gave 
 utterance to no such vengeful thought. 
 
 " You should be a good girl, Mary, to have in- 
 spired such a love in a brave and honourable man.^' 
 
 And Henderson''s lips quivered proudly at the 
 double praise. 
 
 " I did not think that anybody's words could make 
 me so happy, Madame,^' said the girl, keeping down 
 tears of pleasure. " You make me bold to ask one 
 favour." 
 
 " You will ask nothing improper, Mary, I am 
 sure." 
 
 "I would cut off my hand first, Madame. But if 
 you would have the goodness only to see him." 
 
 "Him?" said Mrs. Lygon, startled. "You 
 mean " 
 
 " M. Silvain, Madame. Only for one moment. 
 If you would only let him see you. I would not 
 think of your speaking to him, or condescending to 
 talk to him about anything. That is my business, 
 But to see him for a minute, and let him say one 
 word." 
 
 "The fewer persons I see the better." 
 
 " Not another soul in the world, Madame. I 
 shall take care of all that, and proud to be trusted.
 
 334 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 But if you would see poor Silvain for just one 
 minute." 
 
 " If you desire it^ then, I will." 
 
 "Thank you, Madame, for him and for me. There 
 is no one in the house just now, except Madame and 
 yourself — Angelique and Suzanne are gone to mass 
 — and if you would come into the next room, only 
 for a moment as I say. O, not even Silvain knows 
 of this place, no soul but me." 
 
 Mrs. Lygon ascended the stairs, and, conducted 
 hy Henderson, whose vigilance was tiger-like, came 
 down into the chamber of science. Mary, with an 
 apology, departed for a moment, and returned, bring- 
 ing her lover. 
 
 M. Silvain's approach was most respectful, and 
 his bow, without being servile, expressed the deep 
 honour he felt. He either had not intended to 
 speak, or hesitated for words, when Mrs. Lygon, 
 addressing him in his own language, said, 
 
 " M. Silvain, this young person has told me that 
 you have been displaying your affection for her by 
 an act of unusual bravery. I know her friends in 
 England, and it will give me happiness to tell 
 them that she has secured the regard of a man of 
 honour." 
 
 That speech, delivered in a gracious voice, and 
 moreover in French, by a beautiful Avoman, van- 
 quished M. Silvain at once, and literally brought 
 him to the ground. For, remembering what his 
 mistress had said upon the subject of oaths, it flashed 
 upon him that such a homage would be but a worthy
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 335 
 
 reply to so much kiudness. Dropping ou one knee, 
 and holding his arm aloft, M. Silvain called upon 
 his Maker to listen to and attest the lover's vow to 
 perform, with the utmost fidelity of his soul, what- 
 ever wish Madame might honour him by signifying 
 through Mademoiselle. 
 
 Greatly scandalized, Mary made all speed to re- 
 move her demonstrative admirer from the chamber.
 
 8-3G THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The kind-hearted Scotsman had no idea of losing 
 sight of Lygon, and they took np their quarters for 
 the night at the same hotel. Arthur retired early, 
 though not to sleep; and ¥rquhart, who had dis- 
 posed of a few hours in the smoking pavilion in the 
 rear of the house, by getting through about a couple 
 of feet of tobacco, in company with a pleasant circle 
 of English and Americans, Avho loved to congregate 
 in that apartment and exchange experiences of 
 travel, proceeded to bed about the time that his 
 friend, outwearied with mental and physical fatigue, 
 fell into a disturbed and feverish slumber. At an 
 early hour in the morning they met again, Lygon 
 pale and nervous, Urquhart cheery and vigorous, but 
 with a dire grievance, at which he grumbled mightily, 
 in being deprived of a huge shower bath, wherewith 
 when at home he recruited his mighty limbs for tlie 
 work of the day. 
 
 " These French never will be civilised Christians,^* 
 he said, " until they get the high service all over 
 Paris, and they'll not have that for many a day, for 
 there is a whole army of rascally water-carriers who 
 would get up a revolution if their monopoly were 
 threatened. But perhaps our friend Looey " (it was 
 so that he affectionately described the Elected of
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 337 
 
 the jNIillions) " will have the pluck to cart them all 
 off to Cayenne one of these days, and let his sub- 
 jects wash themselves. It is as much a state neces- 
 sity as was the massacre of the Janizaries out in 
 Constantinople." 
 
 Arthur Lygon did not seem much interested in 
 the sanitary condition of the French metropolis, and 
 Urquhart went on : 
 
 "You look as if you would be none the worse 
 for a header into Loch Katrine, the which lake we 
 have turned into every dressing-room in Glasgow, 
 my man. You've nothing like that in London, which 
 proves where the superior nation is to be found." 
 
 Lygon smiled faintly, but was in no mood to give 
 the good-natured battle with which in other days he 
 had often met the Scot's assertions in favour of his 
 country. 
 
 " Well," said Urquhart, " we'll not be proud and 
 vaunt over you too much, because that's not the 
 right thing, and if you'll take off that cup of coffee, 
 we'll e'en go and sit on one of the benches in yon 
 garden, and have our crack out." 
 
 They went into the pleasant garden of the Tuile- 
 ries, and Urquhart, with an engineer's eye, selected 
 a seat which he judged capable of sustaining his 
 weight, and motioned to Arthur to take a place by 
 his side. 
 
 "And now, my man, for confession and absolu- 
 tion, as yon dirty-looking priest that's thumbing the 
 little mass book, and mumbling away there, would 
 «ay. What's on your mind?" 
 
 vol.. I, z
 
 338 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 "More than I can tell you, Eobert; but I will 
 tell you a good deal, nevertheless." 
 
 "But make a clean breast of it, Arthur. Even 
 those doctors have the sense to tell you that you 
 should hide nothing from your physician." 
 
 " I will hide nothing that I ought to tell." 
 
 " Well, well, we'll take what we can get quietly, 
 and then wrangle for the rest — that's a bonny rule 
 of life, my man." 
 
 " I have come to France, Eobert, upon an errand 
 of the most singular kind," said Arthur, who had 
 been reduced by the prolonged struggle with him- 
 self to feel the necessity of making a confidence, 
 and of receiving the support and counsel of a friend ; 
 but had resolved that, deeply tempted as he was to 
 cast the whole burden of his sorrow before Urquhart, 
 no word should convey to the latter a shadow of the 
 gloomy doubts that were darkening his own exist- 
 ence, and menacing him with a future of loneliness 
 and wretchedness. 
 
 " Political, perhaps, or official ?" asked Urquhart. 
 " That's the way business is managed now, instead 
 of leaving it to those diplomatic fellows who take 
 an acre of foolscap to tell their Government that 
 they have called on a man and he was out of 
 town." 
 
 "Neither — I wish it were — neither. It is solely, 
 painfully private," replied Lygon. 
 
 Robert Urquhart addressed himself to listen in- 
 tently. 
 
 " You took it for granted, yesterday, that Laura
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 339 
 
 must be with me/' said Arthur, bringing out the 
 name with an eflFort. ^' She is not with me, but I 
 have followed her here." 
 
 "Well/' returned Urquhart, cheerfully. "And 
 what brought her?" 
 
 " I do not know — that is, I know in part." 
 
 The Scotsman knitted his large brow, and his 
 countenance assumed a sudden sternness, utterly- 
 foreign to its usual character, and far from pleasant 
 to behold. 
 
 "I must hear more," he said, "but I do not Hke 
 the beginning." 
 
 In a few words Arthur related to him the story of 
 the sudden departure of Mrs. Lygon, suppressing 
 mention of the note that had been left on the table 
 of the bed-room, but proceeding to speak of his own 
 journey to consult Mr. Berry. 
 
 " And why did Berry send you to France ?" was 
 the expected and inevitable question. 
 
 For this demand Arthur Lygon had prepared him- 
 self, and seizing Bertha's hint of a political trouble 
 in which Mr. Vernon had been involved, he trans- 
 ferred that suggestion to the counsel of the solicitor 
 at Lipthwaite. Poor Bertha — could she but have 
 known the care which the man whom she had 
 deceived was taking to frame a reply that should 
 exclude her name from question. 
 
 " I never heard of this plot, or whatever it was," 
 said Robert Urquhart. 
 
 " Nor I," said Lygon, " but you arc as well aware 
 as I am that j\Ir. Vernon led a strange life before 
 
 z 2
 
 340 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 lie settled at Lipthwaite, and there is nothing un- 
 likely in the story." 
 
 " Which, Arthur, you believe as much as I do. 
 That is, you believe neither jot nor tittle of it." 
 
 " I wish to believe it." 
 
 "Wish to believe a lie. That is foolish talk, 
 Arthur Lygon." 
 
 " Believing it, I am here," said Lygon. 
 
 " Cut this sort of thing short," said Robert Urqu- 
 hart, almost sternly. "We are not to play with 
 words, when there is honour or shame in the matter 
 before us. You are either meaning to tell me nothing, 
 in which case the sooner we two part company the 
 better ; or, which is more likely, you are preparing 
 the way to tell me what you ought. You will take 
 your choice, of course, but you call me your 
 friend." 
 
 " You are impatient, Urquhart," said Lygon, with 
 a forced composure. "You have not heard me to 
 the end." 
 
 " I know that well," said Urquhart, quickly. 
 
 "I have told you why I came over to France. 
 Naturally, the first place I hastened to was your 
 house." 
 
 He expected an assent from his companion, but 
 the latter preserved a dead silence. 
 
 " I saw Bertha," he continued, " and learned that 
 my wife had been with her, but had returned to 
 Paris, and was on her way to England." 
 
 "Which you believe to be as great a lie as the 
 first story, or I could never have kept you in Paris
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 341 
 
 last night. You believe my wife to have told you a 
 deliberate falsehood." 
 
 " I have said nothing of the kind, and I have given 
 you no right to say anything of the kind/' said 
 Arthur, firmly. 
 
 " We shall see," said Urquhart. " I am waiting 
 for the end that you have promised me." 
 
 " Bertha told me what she supposed to be 
 true." 
 
 "And why do you suppose the contrary? " 
 
 " For reasons of my own, which in no way concern 
 any one but myself and Laura.^^ 
 
 " The first thing that we will do," said Urquhart, 
 rising, " is to take the first train to Versailles, and 
 hear from my wife's own lips all that she has to say 
 upon this business." 
 
 " I have no intention of returning to Versailles. 
 Robert, you profess yourself my friend, and as I 
 believe, most truly mean to serve me. If so, you 
 will do it in my way, or you will cause irreparable 
 injury." 
 
 " You have mixed up my wife's name and fame in 
 the affair," said Urquhart, " and therefore it becomes 
 mine as much as yours. But you are quite right, 
 Arthur, in believing that I would not move one 
 hair's breadth in a line that could injure you, and if 
 I spoke hastily, you must remember that I am a man 
 of action, and out of the habit of picking my words. 
 And now, Arthur, tell me the rest." 
 
 " The rest is that I do not believe Laura to be 
 returning to England, and that I do believe her to be
 
 342 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 in — France/^ lie said, liesitating for a moment at the 
 word. 
 
 " I said I never picked a word/' said Robert 
 Urquliart, '^but I do not know what word to 
 ■use now. Yet if we are to understand one another, 
 I must run all chances of hurting you to the soul. 
 You will not say why you think Bertha has been 
 deceived. If you will not, I must ask you a fright- 
 ful question." 
 
 " I foresee it," said Lygon, with a terrible calm- 
 ness. " You would ask me whether I have reason to 
 
 think ray God ! " he said, grinding his teeth, 
 
 " that the thought should have to be put into lan- 
 guage ! — well, — whether I have reason to think that 
 Laura is not worth a husband's pursuing." 
 
 " Answer that." 
 
 " Reason ? I thank God — I thank God from my 
 very heart. No. But — " 
 
 "Nay, hold your tongue there," said the Scot, 
 more kindly and gravely than he had spoken since 
 their first meeting. " Be silent there. We may do 
 wicked wrong, the wickedest, if we go a step further 
 in that direction, when you are able to say the words 
 you have just uttered. They mean that you know 
 nothing against your wife, and that if she stood before 
 you now, and 1 would to Heaven she did, you would 
 not dare to make any charge against her. She is 
 innocent, but there is a mystery to be cleared up. 
 For God's sake let us do no injustice in our rash 
 impatience that we cannot clear it." 
 
 Gravely he laid his hand upon the shoulder of his 
 
 1
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 343 
 
 friend^ -whose agitation visibly increased, and who 
 did not reply. 
 
 "Do not think, Arthur," continued Urquhart, 
 *' that I am saying this to delude you into false hopes, 
 or to beguile you with a temporary comfort. I would 
 not do so, if the speaking my own convictions were 
 to be followed by your falling down dead upon this 
 ground. If I believed that your wife had forgotten 
 her duty, I would be the first to urge you to drive 
 her from your home, and tear her from your heart, — 
 the first to scorn you if you forgot your duty to 
 yourself. But out of your heart came the words that 
 assured me of her innocence, and I now say to you, 
 in all the sincerity which man can show to his fellow- 
 man, hold your heart up, and keep the devil's thoughts 
 out of it, and look into her dear eyes and hear her 
 tell you why you have been thus tried. In the name 
 of the God who will judge us all, Arthur Lygon, I 
 call on you to do justice to the woman you chose 
 from the world." 
 
 This appeal was made in atone that was more than 
 grave, it was solemn, and as is not uncommon with 
 the educated Scotchman, when really and worthily 
 excited, the language of Urquhart took somewhat of 
 the manner of the preacher — a fact easily referable 
 to the earlier life of the natives of a country where 
 religious ordinances are so highly cherished as in 
 Scotland. The effect upon Arthur Lygon was strong, 
 but the habit of self-control, dear to the Englishman, 
 prevented his giving way to any vehement demonstra- 
 tion of what he felt. He wrung Urquhart's hand
 
 344 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 hardj and turned away to gain a more perfect victory 
 over his emotions. Urquhart perceived this, and 
 permitted Lygon to remain silent for some minutes. 
 Then passing his arm through that of his friend, 
 Robert Urquhart said, in the old pleasant voice, — 
 
 " We'll just take a turn. It quickens the brain to 
 quicken the circulation." 
 
 And Arthur, yielding to the kindly impulse, walked 
 by the side of Urquhart, and listened to his further 
 counsel. 
 
 " That is settled," said Robert, and there was no 
 need to explain the world of meaning in the simple 
 word. " Now I am one of those who do nothing by 
 halves. When I give my confidence, I give it wholly, 
 and when I am deceived, I punish with my full power. 
 If you will take my advice, Arthur, you will return 
 to your home. In all likelihood you will find your 
 wife there before you. But whether or not, it is 
 upon your own hearthstone that you should be 
 waiting her." 
 
 "It may be so," replied Lygon, sadly. 
 " It is so," replied Urquhart. " You have not told 
 me the reasons why you think poor Bertha was 
 deceived, nor do I care a rush to hear them, now 
 that you have declared the rest. But if Laura is 
 doing what is right, it matters little where she is. 
 If your presence were necessary to her she would not 
 have left you without a clue. Trust the wife of your 
 bosom, the mother of your children, and go home, 
 and wait for her where she has so often waited for 
 you."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 345 
 
 " I tliink," said Arthur, after a pause, '' that your 
 judgment is a safer guide to me than my own, in my 
 present state of mind." 
 
 " That means that you will go." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " That is well. It is the first time I ever tried to 
 send you away," said Urquhart, his hospitable in- 
 stinct refusing, even under such circumstances, to be 
 entirely silenced. ''But you'll not misjudge me for 
 that, my man." 
 
 " My dear Robert." 
 
 " Another word, though. I shall go home as soon 
 as I have seen you oft'." 
 
 " Yes," said Arthur, anxiously. 
 
 " I see what you are thinking about. But don't I 
 tell you that I never do things by halves ? I regard 
 all that you have said to me as mere idle talk, and 
 certainly I should not think it worthy to be repeated 
 to anybody, least of all to my own wife." 
 
 " But," said Arthur, " you will of course mention 
 that I told you of Laura's visit to her sister ? " 
 
 " If Laura has given Bertha her confidence, as I 
 make no doubt she has," said Urquhart, " Bertha 
 will tell me whatever it is meet and right I should 
 know. But I shall ask her no questions, and I shall 
 wait patiently for your letter to inform me of your 
 being satisfied on every point, and I know you'll not 
 let me wait for that any longer than is needful." 
 
 " Not an hour. 
 
 "There is one thing, Robert," said Arthur, who, 
 gladly chuging to the resolute assui'auce of the Scot
 
 346 THE SILVER CORD, 
 
 in regard to the innocence of Laura, had thoughts 
 for the weak and terrified woman at Versailles, whom 
 he had so recently beheld in her agony of fear. 
 What if Urquhart should, by some mistaken or half 
 understood words, drive her into a sudden revelation. 
 
 " What is that, my man ? " 
 
 ''Why," said Arthur, resolved on preventing dan- 
 ger even to one who had given him but little cause 
 to care for her welfare, " the fact is — and I ought to 
 tell you — I was rather rude — at least I was abrupt 
 in my manner to Bertha." 
 
 " We will make all allowance — nay, Arthur, you 
 don't think so ill of her or of me as to think that 
 when a man is half distracted about his wife, his 
 looks and words are to be counted up against him 
 by either of us as if he were a stage-player. For 
 shame ! " 
 
 " I own that expecting, hoping, to find Laura, and 
 learning that she was gone, I allowed my feelings to 
 manifest themselves — " 
 
 '^ If you say another word about it, I shall think 
 that Bertha was less kind and considerate than it 
 was her duty to be." 
 
 "No, you must not think that, but I fear she was 
 perhaps hurt at my impatience." 
 
 " I will make her an ample apology for you, then." 
 
 "Do so, then." 
 
 " Or if you like to make it for yourself, though I 
 am heartily angry with you for thinking it necessary, 
 we'll just step back to the hotel, and you may write 
 her a bit of a note."
 
 THE SILVER CORD. 34T 
 
 " And I will/^ said Arthur, catching at the pro- 
 posal, which he himself had been on the point of 
 hazarding. 
 
 They returned to the house, and Arthur wrote as 
 follows : 
 
 " My dear Bertha, 
 
 " I am leaving for England, but feel that I ought 
 to say half a dozen words to you in apology for my 
 hasty manner in leaving you. I have explained, 
 however, to Robert, that having traced Laura to 
 your house, and receiving from you the rough shock 
 given by your information that she had gone off to 
 England, I expressed myself somewhat unkindly, 
 but though he assures me that you will overlook it, 
 I cannot help making my personal request to you to 
 do so. He does not think that I can be of any use 
 in aiding anybody in the matter with which Mr. 
 Vernon was said to have been connected, and there- 
 fore my remaining in Paris would be idle. I trust 
 to find that Laura has not been over-fatigued by her 
 hurried journey. So with renewed apology and 
 adieux, 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 ''Paris" "Arthur Lygon. 
 
 "This is what I have written," said Lygon. 
 
 " You have written all that is right, I dare swear," 
 said Urquhart. " I have too many letters of my 
 own, and don't want to hear anybody else's. Seal it 
 up, my man, and I will be your faithful postman." 
 
 This will surely be hint enough to her, poor wretch.
 
 348 THE SILVER CORD. 
 
 thought Lygon, as he enveloped the letter. If not, 
 she must take her chance. I am in no mood for 
 further precaution. " Here it is, Robert." 
 
 " It shall go, even if I do not return at once," said 
 Urquhart. " And see, there is a train in an hour, 
 and I would have you depart by that. We have not 
 met for many a day, my dear Arthur; and I little 
 thought, when the time did come, that we would 
 have had such a conversation ; but who knows what 
 will happen to any of us ? But I hope that you will 
 look back, many a happy day to come, upon our 
 present trouble, and be thankful that we were 
 brought out of it so completely. Go home, my man, 
 and once more take the comfort with you that you 
 have a good and loving wife, and that all this will 
 pass away like a dream; and one day, when it's 
 nearly forgotten, and the story comes up again to 
 your mind, you'll just give Laura a kiss for her 
 brother-in-law, and say that he upheld her in the 
 hour when her good-for-nought husband permitted 
 the devil, which is Satan, to get the upper hand of 
 him. But you'll drive away the devil's thoughts 
 now, Arthur, I've your promise for that? " 
 
 " You have." 
 
 " Your hand on it. And I'll see you to the train, 
 my man. "We'll have no discontented bodies like 
 you upon this free and happy soil of France.'' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BRADBURY AND EVAKS, PRINTERS, WEITEFRIARS
 
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