^^^m.
 
 L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THL 
 
 U N IVER5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 IBQtE BOOK ROOM
 
 f^A^ 
 
 ^- 
 
 \
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN 
 
 m THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1864. 
 
 The Hiyht of Tiaii:<Lntwn ami Htfiroduction ix reiturred.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 B. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, 
 
 BREAD STREET HILL,
 
 / 1 . 
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAK 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I DO not mean to describe myself. Already I feel 
 that the personal pronoun will .appear too often in 
 these pages. Knowing the MMts of my character 
 almost as well as my best friends know them, I shall 
 attempt to hide them no more than would those be- 
 loved ones. Enough of this : the story I have to tell 
 is strange, and short as my own its preamble. 
 
 The day when I was ten years old began my serious 
 life. It was the 30th of December, 1842 ; and proud 
 was the kiss my loving father gave me for spelling, 
 writing, and pronouncing the date in English, French, 
 and Italian. ISTo very wonderful feat, it is true, for 
 a clever child well-taught; but I was by no means a 
 clever child; and no one except my father could teach 
 me a single letter. When, after several years of wed- 
 lock, my parents found new joy in me, their bUss was 
 soon overhung with care. They feared, but durst not 
 own the fear, lest the wilful, passionate, loving creature, 
 
 B 2
 
 4 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 on whom tlieir hearts were wholly set, should be torn 
 from their love to a distance greater than the void of 
 death ; in a word, should prove insane. At length they 
 could no longer hide this terror from each other. One 
 look told it all; and I vaguely remember my hazy 
 wonder at the scene that followed. Like a thief, I 
 came from the corner behind the curtain-loops, and 
 trembled at my father's knee, for him to say something 
 to me. Then frightened at his silence — a thing un- 
 known to me — I pulled his hands from before his eyes, 
 and foimd hot tears upon them. I coaxed him then, 
 and petted him, and felt his sorrows through me ; then 
 made believe to scold him for being so naughty as to 
 cry. But I could not get his trouble from him, and he 
 seemed to watch me through his kisses. 
 
 Before I had ceased to ponder dreamily over this 
 great wonder, a vast event (for a child of seven) 
 diverted me. Father, mother, and Tooty — for so I 
 then was called — were drawn a long way by horses 
 with yellow men upon them : from enlarged experience 
 I infer that we must have posted to London. Here, 
 among many marvels, I remember especially a long and 
 mysterious interview with a kind, white-haired old
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 5 
 
 gentleman, who wore most remarkable shoes. He took 
 me upon his lap, which seemed to me rather a liberty ; 
 then he smoothed down my hair, and felt my head so 
 much that I asked if he wanted to comb it, ha\dng 
 made up my mind to kick if he dared to try such a 
 thing. Then he put all sorts of baby questions to me 
 which I was disposed to resent, having long discarded 
 Cock Eobin and Little Eed-riding-hood. Unconsciously 
 too, I was moved by Nature's strong hate of examina- 
 tion. But my father came up, and with tears in his 
 eyes begged me to answer everything. Meanwhile my 
 mother sat in a dark corner, as if her best doll was 
 dying. With its innate pugnacity, my hazy intellect 
 rose to the situation, and I narrowly heeded everything. 
 
 " Now go, my dear," the old gentleman said at last ; 
 " you are a very good little girl indeed." 
 
 "That's a great lie," I cried; for I had learned bad 
 words from a flighty girl, taken raslily as under-nurse. 
 
 Tlie old gentleman seemed suqorised, and my mother 
 was dreadfully shocked. My father laughed first, then 
 looked at me sadly; and I did what he expected, I 
 jumped into his arms. At one word from him, I ran to 
 the great physician, and humbly begged his pardon, and
 
 6 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 offered him my very dearest toy. He came up warmly, 
 and shook my father's hand, and smiled from his heart 
 at my mother. 
 
 " Allow me, Mrs. Vaughan — allow me, my dear sir — 
 to congratulate yon cordially. The head is a noble and 
 honest one. It is the growth of the brain that causes 
 these little commotions ; but the congestion will not be 
 permanent. The fits, that have so alarmed you, are at 
 this age a good symptom; in fact, they are Nature's 
 remedy. They may last for seven years, or even for 
 ten ; of course they will not depart at once. But the 
 attacks will be milder, and the intervals longer, when 
 she has turned fourteen. For the intellect you need 
 have no fear whatever. Only keep her quiet, and never 
 force her to learn. She must only learn when it comes 
 as it were with the wind. She Vvdll never forget what 
 she does learn." 
 
 Hereupon, unless I am much mistaken, my father 
 and mother fell to and kissed and hugged one another, 
 and I heard a sound like sobbing ; then they caught me 
 up, and devoured me, as if I were born anew; and 
 staring round wdth great childish eyes, I could not 
 catch the old gentleman's glance at all.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 7 
 
 Henceforth I learned very little, the wind, perliaps, 
 being unfavourable ; and all the little I did learn came 
 from my father's lips. His patience with me was 
 wonderful; we spent most of the day together, and 
 when he was forced to leave me, I took no food until 
 he returned. Whenever his horse was ordered. Miss 
 Clara's little grey pony began to neigh and to fidget, 
 and Miss Clara was off in a moment to get her blue 
 riding-skirt. Even when father went shooting or fish- 
 ing, Tooty was sure to go too, except in the depth of 
 winter ; and then she was up at the top of the house, 
 watching all round for the gun-smoke. 
 
 Ah, why do I linger so over these happy times — is 
 it the pleasure of thinking how fondly we loved one 
 another, or is it the pain of knowing that we can do so 
 no more ? 
 
 Now, the 30th of December was my parents' wedding- 
 day, for I had been born six years exact after their affec- 
 tionate union. And now that I was ten years old — a 
 notable hinge on the door of life — how mucli tliey 
 made, to be sure, of each other and of me ! At dinner 
 I sat in glory between them, upsetting all ceremony, 
 pleasing my father, and teasing my mother, by many
 
 8 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 a childish sally. So genial a man my father was that 
 he Avould talk to the servants, even on state occa- 
 sions, quite as if they were human beings. Yet none 
 of them ever took the smallest liberty with him, unless 
 it were one to love him. Before dessert, I interred 
 my queen doll, with much respect and some heart- 
 ache, under a marble flag by the door, which had been 
 prepared for the purpose. My father was chief-mourner, 
 but did not cry to my liking, until I had pinched him 
 well After this typical good-bye to childhood, I rode 
 him back to the dining-table, and helped him and 
 my mother to the last of the West's St. Peter grapes, 
 giving him all the fattest ones. Then we all drank 
 health and love to one another, and I fell to in earnest 
 at a child's delight. Dearest father kept supplying me 
 with things much nicer than are now to be got, while 
 my mother in vain pretended to guard the frontier. It 
 was the first time I tasted Guava jelly ; and now, even 
 at the name, that scene is bright before me. The long 
 liigh room oak-panelled, the lights and shadows flicker- 
 ing as on a dark bay horse, the crimson velvet curtains 
 where the windows were gone to bed, the great black 
 chairs with damask cushions, but hard and sharp at the
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 9 
 
 edge, the mantel-piece all carved in stone which I was 
 forbidden to kick, the massive lamp that never would 
 let me eat without loose clouds of hair dancing all over 
 my plate, and then the great fire, its rival, shuddering 
 in blue flames at the thought of the frost outside ; all 
 these things, and even the ticking of the timepiece, are 
 more palpable to me now than the desk on which I 
 write. My father sat in his easy chair, laugliing and 
 joking, full of life and comfort, with his glass of old 
 port beside him, his wife in front, and me, his " Clari- 
 crops," at his knee. More happy than a hundred kings, 
 he wished for nothing better. At one time, perhaps, he 
 had longed for a son to keep the ancient name, but now 
 he was quite ashamed of the wish, as mutiny against me. 
 After many an interchange, a drink for father, a sip for 
 Tooty, he began to tell wondrous stories of the shots he 
 had made that day; especially how he had killed a 
 woodcock through a magpie's nest. My mother listened 
 with playful admiration ; I with breathless interest, and 
 most profound belief. 
 
 Then we played at draughts, and fox and goose, and 
 pretended even to play at chess, until it was nine 
 o'clock, and my hour of grace expired. Three times
 
 10 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 Ann ]\raples came to fetch me, but I would not go. At 
 last I went submissively at one kind word from my 
 father. My mother obtained but a pouting kiss, for I 
 wanted to ^vTeak some vengeance; but my father I 
 never kissed Avith less than all my heart and soul. I 
 •flung both arms around his neck, laid my little cheek to 
 his, and whispered in his ear that I loved him more 
 than all the world. Tenderly he clasped and kissed 
 me, and now I am sure that through his smile he 
 looked at me with sadness. Turning round at the 
 doorway, I stretched my hands towards him, and met 
 once more his loving, laughing eyes. Once more and 
 only once. Next I saw him in his coffin, white 
 and stark with death. By-and-by I will tell what I 
 know; at present I can only feel. The emotions — 
 away with long words — the passions which swept my 
 little heart, with equal power rend it now. Long I lay 
 dumb and stunned at the horror I could not grasp. 
 Tlien with a scream, as in my fits, I flung upon his 
 body. Wliat to me were shroud and shell, the rigid 
 look and the world of awe? Such things let step- 
 children fear. Not T, when it was my father.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 11 
 
 CHAPTEE TI. 
 
 How that deed was done, I learned at once, and will 
 tell. By whom and why it was done, I have given my 
 life to learn. Tlie evidence laid before the coroner was 
 a cloud and fog of mystery. For days and days my 
 mother lay insensible. Then, for weeks and weeks, she 
 would leap from her bed in fits of terror, stare, and 
 shriek and faint. As for the servants, they knew very 
 little, but imagined a great deal. The only other wit- 
 nesses were a medical man, a shoemaker, and two London 
 policemen. The servants said that, between one and 
 two in the morning, a clear, wild shriek rang through 
 the house. Large as the building was, this shriek unre- 
 peated awoke nearly all but me. Eushing anyhow forth, 
 they hurried and huddled together at the head of the 
 great staircase, doubting vv hat to do. Some said the cry 
 came one way, some another. ^Meanwhile Ann Maples, 
 who slept with me in an inner room at tlie end of a
 
 12 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 little passage, in the courage of terror went straight to 
 her master and mistress. There, by the light of a dim 
 night-lamp, used to visit me, she saw my mother 
 upright in the bed, and pointing towards my father's 
 breast. My father lay quite still ; the bed-clothes were 
 smooth upon him. My mother did not speak. Ann 
 Maples took the lamp, and looked in her master's face. 
 His eyes were open, wide open as in amazement, but 
 the surprise was death. One arm was stiff around 
 his wife, the other lax upon the pillow. As she 
 described it in West-country phrase, "he looked all 
 frore." The woman rushed from the room, and screamed 
 along the passage. The servants ran to her, flurried 
 and haggard, each afraid to be left beliind. None 
 except the butler dared to enter. Whispering and 
 trembling they peered in after him, all ready to run 
 away. Thomas Henwood loved his master dearly, 
 being his foster-brother. He at once removed the bed- 
 clothes, and found the fatal wound. So strongly and 
 truly was it dealt, that it pierced the centre of my dear 
 father's heart. One spot of blood and a small three- 
 cornered hole was all that could be seen. The sm^geon, 
 who came soon after, said that the weapon must have
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAX. 13 
 
 been a very keen and finely-tempered dagger, probably 
 of foreign make. The murderer must have been quite 
 cool, and well acquainted with the human frame. 
 Death followed the blow on the instant, without a 
 motion or a groan. In my mother's left hand strongly 
 clutched was a lock of long, black, shining hair. A curl 
 very like it, but rather finer, lay on my father's bosom. 
 In the room were no signs of disorder, no marks of 
 forcible entrance. 
 
 One of the maids, a timid young thing, declared that 
 soon after the stable-clock struck twelve, she had heard 
 the front balusters creak; but as she was known to 
 hear this every night, little importance was attached to 
 it. Tlie coroner paid more attention to the page (a 
 sharp youth from London), who, being first in the main 
 corridor, after the cry, saw, or thought he saw, a mo\T.ng 
 figure, where the faint starlight came in at the oriel 
 window. He was the more beHeved, because he owned 
 that he durst not follow it. But no way of escape 
 could be discovered there, and the eastern window was 
 strongly barred betwixt the nmUions. No door, no 
 Tvdndow was anjrvvhere found open. 
 
 Outside the house, the only trace was at one remark-
 
 14 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 able spot. Tlie time had been chosen well. It was a 
 hard black frost, without, as yet, any snow. The ground 
 was like iron, and an Indian could have spied no trail. 
 But at this one spot, twenty-five yards from the east 
 end of the house, and on the verge of a dense shrubber}% 
 a small spring, scarcely visible, oozed among the moss. 
 Around its very head, it cleared, and kept, a narrow 
 space quite free from green, and here its margin was a 
 tliin coat of black mineral mud, which never froze. 
 This space, at the broadest, was but two feet and ten 
 inches across from gravel to turf, yet now it held two 
 distinct footprints, not of some one crossing and re- 
 crossing, but of two successive steps leading from the 
 house into the shrubbery. These footprints were re- 
 markable; the one nearest the house was of the left 
 foot, the other of the right. Each was the impression 
 of a long, light, and pointed boot, very hollow at the 
 instep. But they differed in this — the left footprint 
 was plain and smooth, without mark of nail, or cue, or 
 any other roughness ; while the right one was clearly 
 stamped in the centre of the sole with a small rectan- 
 gular cross. Tliis mark seemed to have been made by 
 a cruciform piece of metal, or some other hard substance.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 15 
 
 inlaid into the sole. At least, so said a shoemaker, who 
 was employed to examine it ; and he added that the 
 boots were not those of the present fashion, what he 
 called " duck's bills " being then in vogue. This man 
 being asked to account for the fact of the footprints 
 being so close together, did so very easily, and with 
 much simplicity. It was evident, he said, that a man 
 of average stature, walking rapidly, would take nearly 
 twice that distance in every stride ; but here the verge 
 of the shrubbery, and the branches striking him in the 
 face, had suddenly curtailed the step. And to this, 
 most likely, and not to any hurry or triumph, was to be 
 ascribed the fact that one so wily and steadfast did not 
 turn back and erase the dangerous tokens. Most 
 likely, he did not feel what was beneath his feet, while 
 he was battling with the tangle above. 
 
 Be that as it may, there the marks remained, like the 
 blotting-paper of his crime. Casts of them were taken 
 at once, and carefully have they been stored by me. 
 
 The shoemaker, a shrewd but talkative man, said 
 unasked that he had never seen such boots as had left 
 tliose marks, since the " Young Squire " (he meant ^Mr. 
 Edgar Vaughan) went upon his travels. For tliis
 
 16 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 
 
 gratuitous statement, he was strongly rebuked by the 
 coroner. 
 
 For the rest, all that could be found out, after close 
 inquiry, was, that a stranger darkly clad had been seen 
 by the gamekeepers, in a copse some half-mile from the 
 house, wliile the men were beating for woodcocks on the 
 previous day. He did not seem to be following my 
 father, and they thought he had wandered out of the 
 forest road. He glided quickly away, before they could 
 see his features, but they knew that he was tall and 
 swarthy. I^o footprints were found in that ride like 
 those by the shrubbery spring. 
 
 I need not say what verdict the coroner's jury found.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 17 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Tires far, I have written in sore haste, to tell, as plainly 
 and as briefly as possible, that which has darkened all 
 my life. Though it never leaves my waking thoughts, 
 to dwell upon it before others is agony to me. Hence- 
 forth my tale will flow perhaps more easily, until I fall 
 again into a grief almost as dark, and am struck by 
 storms of passion which childhood's stature does not 
 reach. 
 
 "When the shock of the household, and the wonder of 
 the county, and the hopes of constables (raised by a 
 thousand pounds' reward) had subsided gradually, my 
 mother continued to live in the old mansion, perhaps 
 because none of her friends came for\vard to remove 
 her. Under my father's will she was the sole executrix ; 
 but all the estates (including house and park) were left 
 to my father's nearest relative, as trustee for myself, 
 with a large annuity to my mother charged upon them. 
 
 VOL. L C
 
 18 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 There were many other provisions and powers in the 
 will, which are of no consequence to my story. The 
 chief estate was large and rich, extending three or four 
 miles from the house, which stood in a beautiful part of 
 Gloucestershire. The entire rental was about 12,000^. 
 a year. My father (whose name was Henry Valentine 
 Vaughan), being a very active man in the prime of life, 
 had employed no steward, but managed everything 
 himself The park, and two or three hundred acres 
 round it, had always been kept in hand ; the rest was 
 let to thriving tenants, who loved (as they expressed it) 
 " every hair on the head of a Vaughan." There was 
 also a small farm near the sea, in a lonely part of 
 Devonshire ; but this w^as my mother's, having been left 
 to her by her father, a clergyman in that neighbourhood. 
 My father's nearest relative was his half-brother, 
 Edgar Vaughan, Avho had been educated for the Bar, 
 and at one time seemed likely to become eminent ; then 
 suddenly he gave up his practice, and resided (or rather 
 roved) abroad, during several years. Sinister rumours 
 about him reached our neighbourhood, not long before 
 my father's death. To these, however, the latter paid 
 no attention, but always treated his brother Edgar with
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 19 
 
 mucli cordiality and affection. But all admitted that 
 Edgar Vanghan had far outrun his income as a younger 
 son, which amounted to about QOOL a year. Of course, 
 therefore, my father had often helped liim. 
 
 On the tliird day after that night, my guardian came 
 to Vau^han Park. He was said to have hurried from 
 London, upon learning there what had happened. 
 
 The servants and others had vainly and foolishly 
 tried to keep from me the nature of my loss. Soon I 
 found out all they knew, and when the first fit and 
 horror left me, I passed my whole time, light or dark, 
 in roving from passage to passage, from room to room, 
 from closet to closet, searching every chink and cranny 
 for the murderer of my father. Though heretofore a 
 timid child, while so engaged I knew not such a thing 
 as fear; but peered, and groped, and listened, feeling 
 every inch of wall and wainscot, crawling lest I should 
 alarm my prey, spying through the slit of every door, 
 and shaking every empty garment. Certain boards there 
 were near the east window which sounded hollow ; at 
 these I scooped -until I broke my nails. In vain nurse 
 Maples locked me in her room, held me at her side, or 
 even bound me to the bed. My ravings forced her 
 
 c2
 
 20 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 soon to yield, and I would not allow lier, or any one 
 else, to follow me. The Gloucester physician said that 
 since the disease of my mind had taken that shape, it 
 would be more dangerous to thwart than to indulge it. 
 It was the evening of the third day, and weary with 
 but never of my search, I was groping down the great 
 oak-staircase in the dusk, hand after hand, and foot by 
 foot, when suddenly the main door-bell rang. The 
 snow was falling heavily, and had deadened the sound 
 of wheels. At once I slid (as my father had taught me 
 to do) down the broad balustrade, ran across the 
 entrance-hall, and with my whole strength drew back 
 the bolt of the lock. There I stood in the porch, un- 
 frightened, but with a new kind of excitement on me. 
 A tall dark man came up the steps, and shook the snow 
 from his boots. The carriage-lamp shone in my face. 
 I would not let him cross the threshold, but stood there 
 and confronted him. He pretented to take me for some 
 servant's child, and handed me a parcel covered wdth 
 snow. I flung it down, and said, looking him full in 
 the face, " I am Clara Vaughan, and you are the man 
 who killed my father." " Carry her in, John," he said 
 to the servant — " carry her in, or the poor little thing
 
 CLARA VAUGEAN. 21 
 
 will die. What eyes !" and he used some foreign oath — 
 " what wonderful eyes she has ! " 
 
 That burst of passion was the last conscious act of 
 the young and over-laboured brain. For three months 
 I wandered outside the gates of sorrow. My guardian, 
 as they told me, was most attentive throughout the 
 whole course of the fever, and even in the press of busi- 
 ness visited me three times every day. Meanwhile, 
 my mother was slowly shaking off the stupor which lay 
 upon her, and the new fear of losing me came through 
 that thick heaviness, like the wind through a fog. 
 Doubtless it helped to restore her senses, and awoke 
 her to the work of life. Then, as time went on, her 
 former beauty and gentleness came back, and her reason 
 too, as regarded other subjects. But as to that which 
 aU so longed to know, not a spark of e\ddence could be 
 had from her. The faintest allusion to that crime, the 
 name of her loved husband, the mere word "murder" 
 uttered in her presence — and the consciousness would 
 leave her eyes, like a loan withdrawn. Upright she sat 
 and rigid as when she was found that night, with the 
 lines of her face as calm and cold as moonlight. Only 
 two means there were by which her senses could be
 
 22 CLAKA VAUGHA^r. 
 
 restored : one was low sweet music, the other profound 
 sleep. She was never thrown into this cataleptic state 
 by her own thoughts or words, nor even by those of 
 others when in strict sequence upon her own. But any 
 attempt to lead her to that one subject, no matter how 
 craftily veiled, was sure to end in this. The skilful 
 physician, who had known her many years, judged, after 
 special study of this disease, in which he felt deep 
 interest, that it was always present in her brain, but 
 waited for external aid to master her. I need not say 
 that she was now unfit for any stranger's converse, and 
 even her most careful friends must touch sometimes the 
 motive string. 
 
 As I recovered slowly from long illness, the loss of my 
 best friend and the search for my worst enemy revived 
 and reigned within me. Sometimes my guardian would 
 deign to reason with me upon what he called "my 
 monomania." When he did so, I would fix my eyes 
 upon him, but never tried to answer. Now and then, 
 those eyes seemed to cause him some uneasiness ; at 
 other times he would laugh and compare them pleasantly 
 to the blue fire-damp in a coal-mine. His dislike of 
 their scrutiny was well known to me, and incited me
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 23 
 
 the more to urge it. But in spite of all, he was ever 
 kind and gentle to me, and even tried some grimly 
 playful overtures to my love, which fled from him ^Wtli 
 loathing, albeit a slow conviction formed that I had 
 wronged him by suspicion. 
 
 Edgar Malins Yaughan, then about thirty-seven years 
 old, w^as (I suppose) a very handsome man, and per- 
 haps of a more striking presence than my dearest father. 
 His face, when he was pleased, reminded me strongly of 
 the glance and smile I had lost, but never could it 
 convey that soft sweet look, which still came through 
 the clouds to me, now and then in dreams. The out- 
 lines of my guardian's face were keener too and stronger, 
 and his complexion far more swarthy. His eyes were 
 of a hard steel-blue, and never seemed to change. A 
 slight lameness, perceptible only at times, did not 
 impair his activity, but served him as a pretext for 
 declining all field-sports, for which (unlike ray father) 
 he had no real taste. 
 
 His enjoyments, if he had any — and I suppose all 
 men have some — seemed to consist in the management 
 of the estate (which he took entirely upon liimself), in 
 satiric literature and the news of tlie day, or in lonely
 
 24 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 rides and sails upon the lake. It was hinted too, by 
 Thomas Henwood, who disliked and feared him strangely, 
 that he drank spirits or foreign cordials in his own room, 
 late at night. Tliere was nothing to confirm this charge ; 
 he was always up betimes, his hand was never tremulous, 
 nor did his colour change.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 25 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 My life — childliood I can scarcely call it — went 
 quietly for several years. The eastern wing of the 
 house was left nnnsed, and rarely traversed by any but 
 myself. Foolish tales, of course, were told about it ; 
 but my frequent visits found nothing to confirm them. 
 At night, whenever I could slip from the care of good 
 but matter-of-fact Ann Maples, I used to wander down 
 the long corridor, and squeeze through the iron gate now 
 set there, half in hope and half in fear of meeting my 
 father's spirit. For such an occasion all my questions 
 were prepared, and all the answers canvassed. My 
 infant mind was struggling ever to pierce the mystery 
 which so vaguely led its life. Years only quickened 
 my resolve to be the due avenger, and hardened the set 
 resolve into a fatalist's conviction. My mother, always 
 full of religious feeling, taught me daily in the Scriptures, 
 and tried to make me pray. But I could not take the
 
 26 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 mild teacliings of the Gospel as a little child. To me 
 the Psalms of David, and those books of the Old 
 Testament which recount and seem to applaud revenge, 
 were sweeter than all the balm of Gilead ; they supplied 
 a terse and vigorous form to my perpetual yearnings. 
 With a child's impiety, I claimed for myself the mission 
 of the Jews aojainst the enemies of the Lord. The forms 
 of prayer, which my mother taught me, I mumbled 
 through, while looking in her gentle face, with anything 
 but a prayerful gaze. For my own bedside I kept a 
 widely different form, which even now I shudder to 
 repeat. And yet I loved dear mother truly, and pitied 
 her sometimes with tears ; but the shadow-love was far 
 the deeper. 
 
 My father's grave was in the churchyard of the little 
 village which clustered and nestled beyond our lodge. 
 It was a real grave. The thought of lying in a vault 
 had always been loathsome to him, and he said that it 
 struck him cold. So fond was he of air and light and 
 freedom, the change of seasons and weather, and the 
 shifting of the sun and stars, that he used to pray that 
 they still might pass over his buried head ; that he might 
 lie, not in the dark lockers of death, but in the open
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 27 
 
 hand of time. His friends used to think it strange that 
 a man of so light and festive nature should ever talk 
 of death ; yet so he often did, not morbidly, but with 
 good cheer. In pursuance, therefore, of his well-known 
 wish, the vaults wherein there lay five centuries of 
 Vaughan dust were not opened for him; neither was 
 his grave built over with a hideous ash-bin; but lay 
 narrow, fair, and humble, with a plain, low headstone of 
 the whitest marble, bearing his initials deeply carved in 
 grey. Through our warm love and pity, and that of all 
 the village, and not in mere compliance with an old 
 usage of the western counties, his simple bed was ever 
 green and white with the fairest of low flowers. Though 
 otherwise too moody and reckless to be a gardener, I 
 loved to rear from seed his favourite plants, and keep 
 them in my room until they blossomed ; then I would 
 set them carefully along his grave, and lie down beside 
 it, and wonder whether his spirit took pleasure in them. 
 But more often, it must be owned, I laid a darker 
 tribute there. The gloomy channel into which my 
 young mind had been forced was overhung, as might 
 be expected, by a sombre growth. The legends of 
 midnight spirits, and the tales of blackest crime, shed
 
 28 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 their poison on me. From the dust of the library I 
 exhumed all records of the most famous atrocities, and 
 devoured them at my father's grave. As yet I was too 
 young to know what grief it would cause to him who 
 slejDt there, could he but learn what his only child was 
 doing. Tliat knowledge would at once have checked 
 me, for his presence was ever with me, and his memory 
 cast my thoughts, as moonlight shapes the shadows. 
 
 The view from the churchyard was a lovely English 
 
 scene. AVhat higher praise can I give than this ? Long 
 
 time a wanderer in foreign parts, nothing have I seen 
 
 .that comes from nature to the heart like a true Ens^lish 
 
 landscape. 
 
 The little church stood back on a quiet hill, which 
 bent its wings in a gentle curve to shelter it from the 
 north and east. These bending wings were feathered, 
 soft as down, with larches, ha^vthorn, and the lightly- 
 pencilled birch, between which, here and there, the 
 bluff rocks stood their ground. Southward, and beyond 
 the glen, how fair a spread of waving country we could 
 see ! To the left, our pretty lake, all clear and calm, 
 gave back the suiTey of the trees, until a bold gnoll, 
 fringed with alders, led it out of sight. Far away upon
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAX. 29 
 
 the riglit, the Severn stole along its silver road, lea\ing 
 many a reach and bend, which caught towards eventide 
 the notice of the travelled sun. Upon the horizon might 
 be seen at times, the blue distance of the Brecon hills. 
 
 Often when I sat here all alone, and the evening 
 dusk came on, although I held those volumes on my 
 lap, I could not but forget the mmxlers and the revenge 
 of men, the motives, form, and evidence of crime, and 
 nurse a vague desire to dream my life away. 
 
 Sometimes also my mother would come here, to read 
 her favourite Gospel of St. John. Then I would lay the 
 dark records on the turf, and sit with my injury hot 
 upon me, wondering at her peaceful face. 'V\Tiile, for 
 her sake, I rejoiced to see the tears of comfort and con- 
 tentment dawning in her eyes, I never grieved that the 
 soft chastenment was not shed on me. For her I loved 
 and admired it ; for myseK I scorned it utterly. 
 
 The same clear sunshine was. upon us both : we both 
 were looking on the same fair scene — the gold of ripen- 
 ing corn, the emerald of woods and pastures, the 
 crystal of the lake and stream; above us both the 
 peaceful heaven was shed, and the late distress was but 
 a night gone by — wherefore had it left to one the dew
 
 30 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 of life, to the other a thunderbolt ? I knew not the 
 reason then, but now I know it well. 
 
 Although my favourite style of literature was not 
 likely to improve the mind, or yield that honeyed melan- 
 choly which some young ladies woo, to me it did but 
 little harm. My will was so bent upon one object, and 
 the whole substance and shape of my thoughts so stanch 
 in their sole ductility thereto, that other things went 
 idly by me, if they showed no power to promote my 
 end. But upon palpable life, and the doings of nature 
 I became observant beyond my age. Things in growth 
 or motion round me impressed themselves on my senses, 
 as if a nerve were touched. The imcoiling of a fern- 
 frond, the shrinking of a bind-weed blossom, the escape 
 of a cap-pinched bud, the projection of a seed, or the 
 sparks from a fading tuberose, in short, the lighter 
 prints of Nature's sandalled foot, were traced and 
 counted by me. Not that I derived a maiden pleasure 
 from them, as happy persons do, but that it seemed my 
 business narrowly to heed them. 
 
 As for the proud phenomena of imperial man, so far 
 as they yet survive the crucible of convention — the 
 lines where cunning crouches, the smile that is but a
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 31 
 
 brain-flash, the veil let down across the wide mouth of 
 greed, the guilt they try to make volatile in charity, — 
 all these I was not old and poor enough to learn. Yet 
 I marked unconsciously the traits of individuals, the 
 mannerism, the gesture, and the mode of speech, the 
 complex motive, and the underflow of thought. So all 
 I did, and all I dreamed, had one colour and one aim. 
 
 My education, it is just to say, was neglected by no 
 one but myself. My father's love of air and heaven 
 had descended to me, and nothing but my mother's 
 prayers or my own dark quest could keep me in the 
 house. Abstract principles and skeleton dogmas I 
 could never grasp ; but whatever was vivid and shrewd 
 and native, whatever had point and purpose, was seized 
 by me and made my own. My faculties were not 
 large, but steadfast now, and concentrated. 
 
 Though several masters tried their best, and my 
 governess did all she could, I chose to learn but little. 
 Drawing and music (to soothe my mother) were my 
 principal studies. Of poetry I took no heed, except in 
 the fierce old drama. 
 
 Enough of this. I have said so much, not for my 
 sake, but for my story.
 
 32 CLAKA VAUGHAN/ 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 On the fifth anniversary of my father's death, when 
 I was fifteen years of age, I went to visit (as I always 
 did upon that day) the fatal room. Although this 
 chamber had been so long unused, the furniture was 
 allowed to remain ; and I insisted passionately that it 
 should be my charge. What had seemed the petulance 
 of a child was now the strong will of a thoughtful girl. 
 
 I took the key from my bosom, where I always kept 
 it, and turned it in the lock. No mortal had entered 
 that door since I passed it in my last paroxysm, three 
 weeks and a day before. I saw a cobweb reaching from 
 the black finger-plate to the third mould of the beading. 
 The weather had been damp, and the door stuck fast to 
 the jamb, then yielded with a crack. Though I was 
 bold that day, and in a mood of triumph, some awe 
 fell on me as I entered." There hung the hesivy curtain, 
 last drawn by the murderer's hand; there lay the bed-
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 83 
 
 clothes, raised for the blow, and replaced on death ; and 
 there was the pillow where sleep had been so pro- 
 longed. All these I saw with a forced and fearful 
 glance, and my breath stood still as the wind in a 
 grave. 
 
 Presently a light cloud floated off the sun, and a 
 white glare from the snow of the morning burst across 
 the room. My sight was not so dimmed with tears as 
 it generally was when I stood there, for I had just read 
 the history of a long-hidden crime detected, and my 
 eyes were full of fierce hope. But stricken soon to the 
 wonted depth of sadness, with the throbs of my heart 
 falling like the avenger's step, I went minutely through 
 my death-inspection. I felt all round the dusty wains- 
 cot, opened the wardrobes and cupboards, raised the 
 lids of the deep-bayed window-seats, peered shuddering 
 down the dark closet, where I believed the assassin had 
 lurked, started and stared at myself in the mirror, to 
 see how lone and wan I looked, and then approached 
 the bed, to finish my search in the usual place, by 
 lying and sobbing where my father died. I had glanced 
 beneath it and round the pillars, and clutched the cur- 
 tain as if to squeeze out the truth, and was just about to 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 84 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 throw myself on the coverlet and indulge the fit so 
 bitterly held at bay, when something on the hangings 
 above the head-board stopped me suddenly. There I 
 saw a narrow line of deep and glowing red. It grew so 
 vivid on the faded damask, and in the white glare of the 
 level sun, that I thought it was on fire. Hastily setting 
 a chair by the pillar, for I would not tread on that bed, 
 I leaped up, and closely examined the crimson vein. 
 
 Without thinking, I knew what it was — the heart- 
 blood of my father. There were three distinct and 
 several marks, traced by the reeking dagger. The first 
 on the left, which had caught my glance, was the broadest 
 and clearest to read. Two lines, meeting at a right 
 angle, rudely formed a Eoman L. Eudely I say, for 
 the poniard had been too rich in red ink, which had 
 clotted where the two strokes met. The second letter 
 was a Eoman D, formed also by two bold strokes, the 
 upright very distinct, the curve less easily traced at the 
 top, but the lower part deep and clear. The third letter 
 was not so plain. It looked like C at first, but upon 
 further examination I felt convinced that it was meant 
 for an 0, left incomplete through the want of more 
 writinf? fluid ; or was it then that my mother had seized
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 35. 
 
 the dark author by the hair, as he stooped to incline his 
 pen that the last drop might trickle down ? 
 
 Deciphering thus with fingers and eyes, I traced these 
 letters of blood, one by one, over and over again, till 
 they danced in my gaze like the northern lights. I 
 stood upon tiptoe and kissed them ; I cared not what I 
 was doing : it was my own father's blood, and I thought 
 of the heart it came from, not of the hand which shed it. 
 When I turned away, the surprise, for which till then I 
 had found no time, broke full upon me. How could 
 these letters, in spite of all my vigilance, so long have 
 remained unseen ? Why did the murderer peril his life 
 yet more by staying to write the record, and seal per- 
 haps the conviction of his deed ? And what did these 
 characters mean ? Of these three questions, the first was 
 readily solved. The other two remained to me as new 
 shadows of wonder. Several causes had conspired to 
 defer so long this discovery. In the first place, the 
 damask had been of rich lilac, shot with a pile of car- 
 mine, which, in the waving play of light, glossed at once 
 and obscured the crimson stain, until the fading hues of 
 art left in strong contrast nature's abiding paint. 
 Secondly, my rapid growth and the clearness of my eyes 
 
 d2
 
 36 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 that day lessened the distance and favoured perception. 
 Again — and this was perhaps the paramount cause — the 
 winter sun, with rays unabsorbed by the snow, threw 
 his sheer dint upon that very spot, keen, level, and un- 
 coloured — a thing which could happen on few days in the 
 year, and for few minutes each day, and which never 
 had happened during my previous search. Perhaps 
 there was also some chemical action of the rays of light 
 which evoked as well as showed the colour ; but of this 
 I do not know enough to speak. Suffice it that the 
 letters were there, at first a great shock and terror, but 
 soon a strong encouragement to me. 
 
 My course w\as at once to perpetuate the marks and 
 speculate upon them at leisure, for I knew not how 
 fleeting they might be. I hurried downstairs, and 
 speaking to no one procured some clear tissue paper. 
 Applying this to the damask, and holding a card behind, 
 I carefully traced with a pencil so much of the letters 
 as could be perceived through the medium, and com- 
 pleted the sketch by copying most carefully the rest: 
 It was, however, beyond my power to keep my hand 
 from trembling. A shade flitted over my drawing — oh, 
 how my heart leaped !
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 37 
 
 Wlien I had finished the pencil-sketch, and before it 
 was inked over (for I could not bring myself to paint it 
 red), I knelt where my father died and thanked God for 
 this guidance to me. By the time I had dried my eyes 
 the sun was passed and the lines of blood were gone, 
 even though I knew where to seek them, having left a 
 pin in the damask. By measuring I found that the 
 letters were just three feet and a quarter a])ove the spot 
 where my father's head had been. The largest of them, 
 the L, was three inches long and an eighth of an inch in 
 width ; the others were nearly as long, but nothing like 
 so wide. 
 
 Trembling now, for the rush of passion which stills 
 the body was past, and stepping silently on the long 
 silent floor, I went to the deep dark-muilioned window 
 and tried to look forth. After all my lone tumult, peir 
 haps I wanted to see the world. But my jaded eyes 
 and brain showed only the same three letters burning 
 on the snow and sky. Evening, a winter evening, was 
 fluttering down. The sun was spent and stopped by a 
 grey mist, and the landscape full of dreariness and cold- 
 For miles, the earth lay white and wan, with nothing to 
 part life from death. No step was on the snow, no wind
 
 38 GLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 among the trees ; fences, shrubs,, and hillocks were as 
 wrinkles in a winding-sheet, and every stark branch had 
 like nie its own cold load to carry. 
 . But on the left, just in sight from the gable-window, 
 was a spot, black as midnight, in the billoT\y snow. It 
 was the spring which had stored for me the footprints. 
 Perhaps I was superstitious then ; the omen was 
 accepted. Suddenly a last gleam from the dauntless 
 sun came through the ancient glass, and flung a crimson 
 spot upon my breast. It was the red heart, centre of 
 our shield, won with Coeur de Lion. 
 
 Oh scutcheons, blazonments, and other gewgaws, by 
 ■which men think to ennoble daylight murders, how long 
 shall fools account it honour to be tattooed with you ? 
 Mercy, fellow-feeling, truth, humility, virtues that never 
 flap their wings, but shrink lest they should know they 
 stoop, what have these won ? Gaze sinister, and their 
 crest a pillory. 
 
 With that red pride upon my breast, and that black 
 heart within, and my young form stately mth revenge, 
 I was a true descendant of Crusaders.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 39 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 To no one, not even to Thomas Henwood (in whom I 
 confided most), did I impart the discovery just described. 
 Again and again I went to examiae those letters, jealous 
 at once of my secret, and fearful lest they should vanish. 
 But though they remained perhaps unaltered, they never 
 appeared so vivid as on that day. 
 
 With keener interest I began once more to track, 
 from page to page, from volume to volume, the chro- 
 nicled steps of limping but sure-footed justice. 
 
 Not long after this I was provided with a companion. 
 " Clara," said my guardian one day at breakfast, " you 
 live too much alone. Have you any friends in the 
 neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " None in the world, except my mother." 
 
 " Well, I must try to survive the exclusion. I have 
 done my best. But your mother has succeeded in find- 
 ing a colleague. There's a cousin of yours coming here 
 very soon."
 
 40 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 '' Mother dear," I cried in some surprise, " you never 
 told me that you had any nieces." 
 
 " Neither have I, my darling," she replied, " nor any 
 nephews either ; but your uncle has ; and I hope you 
 will like your visitor." 
 
 "Now remember, Clara," resumed my guardian, "it 
 is no wish of mine that you should do so. To me it is 
 a matter of perfect indifference ; but your mother and 
 myself agreed that a little society would do you 
 good." 
 
 " When is she to come ? " I asked, in high displeasure 
 that no one had consulted me. 
 
 " He is likely to be here to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh," I exclaimed, " the plot is to humanize me 
 through a young gentleman, is it ? And how long is he 
 to stay in my house ? " 
 
 " In your house I I suppose that will depend upon 
 your mother's wishes." 
 
 " More likely upon yours," I cried ; " but it matters 
 little to me." 
 
 He said notliing, but looked displeased ; my mother 
 doing the same, I was silent, and the subject dropped. 
 But of course I saw that he wished me to like his new
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAX. 41 
 
 importation, while he dissembled the wish from know- 
 ledge of my character. 
 
 Two years after my father's birth, his father had 
 married again. Of the second wedlock the only offspring 
 was my guardian, Edgar Yaughan. He was a posthu- 
 mous son, and his mother in turn contracted a second 
 marriage. Her new husband was one Stephen Daldy, 
 a merchant of some wealth. By him she left one son, 
 named Lawrence, and several daughters. This La\\Tence 
 Daldy, my guardian's half-brother, proved a spendthrift, 
 and, while scattering the old merchant's treasure married 
 a fashionable adventuress. As might be expected, no 
 retrenchment ensued, and he died in poverty, leaving an 
 only child. 
 
 This boy, Clement Daldy, was of my own age, or 
 thereabout, and, in pursuance of my guardian's plan, 
 was to live henceforth with us. 
 
 He arrived under the wing of his mother, and his 
 character consisted in the absence of any. If he had any 
 quality at all by which one could know him from a doll, 
 it was perhaps vanity ; and if his vanity was singular 
 enough to have any foundation, it could be only in his 
 good looks. He was, I believe, as pretty a youth as ever
 
 42 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 talked witlioiit mind, or smiled without meaning. 
 Need it be said that I despised him at once im- 
 fathomably ? 
 
 His mother was of a very different order. Long- 
 enduring, astute, and plausible, with truth no more 
 than the pith of a straw, she added thereto an impe- 
 rious spirit, embodied just now^ in an odious meekness. 
 Whatever she said or did, in her large contempt of the 
 world, her lady-abbess walk, and the chastened droop 
 of her brilliant eyes, she conveyed through it all the 
 impression of her humble superiority. Though pro- 
 foundly convinced that all is vanity, she was reluctant 
 to force this conviction on minds of a narrower scope, 
 and dissembled with conscious grace her knowledge of 
 human nature. 
 
 To a blunt, outspoken child, what could be more 
 disgusting? But when upon this was assumed an air 
 of deep pity for my ignorance, and interest in my 
 littleness, it became no longer bearable. 
 
 This Christian Jezebel nearly succeeded in estranging 
 my mother from me. The latter felt all that kindness 
 towards her which people of true religion, wdien over- 
 charitable, conceive tow^ards all who hoist and salute
 
 GLAEA VAUGHAN. 43 
 
 the holy flag. Our sweet pirate knew well how to 
 make the most of this. 
 
 For myself, though I felt that a hypocrite is below 
 the level of hate, I could not keep my composure when 
 with affectionate blandness our visitor dared to "dis- 
 charge her sacred duty of impressing on me the guilt of 
 harbouring thoughts of revenge." Of course, she did not 
 attempt it in the presence of my mother ; but my 
 guardian was there, and doubtless knew her intention. 
 
 It was on a Sunday after the service, and she had 
 stayed for the sacrament. 
 
 " My sweet cliild " she began, " you will excuse what 
 I am about to say, as I only speak for your good, and 
 from a humble sense that it is the path of duty. It 
 has pleased God, in His infinite wisdom, to afflict your 
 dear mother with a melancholy so sensitive, that she 
 cannot bear any allusion to your deeply-lamented 
 father. You have therefore no female guidance upon 
 a subject which justly occupies so much of your 
 thoughts. Your uncle Edgar, in his true affection for 
 you, has thought it right that you should associate 
 more with persons calculated to develop your 
 mind."
 
 44 CLARA VAUGHAN, 
 
 Xow I hate that word " develop ; " and I felt my 
 IDassion rising, but let her go on : — 
 
 " Under these circumstances, it grieves me deeply, my 
 poor dear child, to find you still display a perversity, 
 and a wilful neglect of the blessed means of grace, 
 which must (humanly speaking) draw down a judg- 
 ment upon you. Now, open your heart to me, the 
 whole of your little unregenerate heart, you mysterious 
 but (I firmly believe) not ill-disposed lambkin. Tell me 
 all your thoughts, your broodings, your dreams — in fact, 
 your entire experiences. Uncle Edgar will leave the 
 room, if you wish it." 
 
 '' Certainly not," I said. 
 
 " Quite right, my dear ; have no secrets from one who 
 has been your second father. Now tell me all your 
 little troubles. Make me your mother-confessor. I 
 take the deepest interest in you. True, I am only a 
 weak and sinful woman, but my chastisements have 
 worked together for my edification, and God has been 
 graciously pleased to grant me peace of mind." 
 
 " You don't look as if you had much," I cried. 
 
 Her large eyes flashed a quick start from their depths, 
 like the stir of a newly-fathomed sea. My guardian's
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 45 
 
 face gleamed with a smile of sly amusement. Eecovering 
 at once her calm objective superiority, she proceeded : 
 
 "I have been troubled and chastened severely, but 
 now I perceive that it was all for the best. But perhaps 
 it is not very graceful to remind me of that. Yet, since 
 all my trials have worked together for my good, on that 
 account I am, under Providence, better qualified to 
 advise you, in your dark and perilous state. I have 
 seen much of what thoughtless people call ' life.' But 
 in helping you, I wish to proceed on higher principles 
 than those of the world. You possess, beyond question, 
 a strong and resolute will, but in your present benighted 
 course it can lead only to misery. Now, what is the 
 principal aim of your life, my love ? " 
 
 " The death of my father's murderer." 
 
 " Exactly so. My unhappy child, I knew it too well. 
 Though a dark sin is your leading star, I feel too 
 painfully my own shortcomings, and old unregenerate 
 tendencies, to refuse you my carnal sympathy. You 
 know my feelings, Edgar." 
 
 " Indeed, Eleanor," replied my guardian, with an im- 
 penetrable smile, " how should I ? You have always 
 been such a model of every virtue."
 
 46 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 She gave him a glance, and again addressed me. 
 " Now suppose, Clara Vaughan, that, after years of 
 brooding and lonely anguish, you obtain your revenge 
 at last, who will be any the better for it ? " 
 
 " My father and I." 
 
 " Your father indeed I How you wrong his sweet and 
 most forgiving nature ! " 
 
 This was the first thing she had said that touched 
 me ; and that because I had often thought of it before. 
 But I would not let her see it. 
 
 '' Though his nature were an angel's," I cried, " as I 
 believe it was, never could he forgive that being who 
 tore him from me and my mother, I know that he 
 watches me now, and must be cold and a wanderer, 
 until I have done my duty to him and myself." 
 
 " You awful child. Why, you'll frighten us alL But 
 you make it the more my duty. Come with me now, 
 and let me inculcate the doctrines of a higlier and 
 holier style." 
 
 " Thank you, Mrs. Daldy, I want no teaching, except 
 my mother's." 
 
 " You are too wilful and headstrong for her. Come to 
 me, my poor stray lamb."
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 47 
 
 " I would sooner go to a butcher, Mrs. Daldy." 
 
 " Is it possible ? Are you so lost to all sense of 
 right?" 
 
 " Yes, if you are right/' I replied ; and left the room. 
 
 Thenceforth she pursued tactics of another kind. She 
 tried me with flattery and fictitious confidence, likely 
 from a woman of her maturity to win a young girl, by 
 inflating self-esteem : she even feigned a warm interest 
 in my search, and wished to partake in my readings 
 and secret musings. Indeed, I could seldom escape her. 
 I am ready to own that, by her suggestions and quick 
 apprehension, she gained some ascendancy over me, but 
 not a tenth part of what she thought she had won ; and 
 I still continued to long for her departure. Of this, 
 however, no symptom appeared : she made herself quite 
 at home, and did her best to become indispensable to 
 my mother. 
 
 Clement Daldy had full opportunity to commend 
 himself to my favour. We were constantly thrown 
 together, in the presence of his mother, and the absence 
 of mine. For a long time, I was too young, and too 
 much engrossed by the object for which I lived, to 
 have any inkling of their scheme ; but suddenly a
 
 48 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 suspicion broke upon me. My guardian and his sister- 
 in-law had formed, as I thought, a deliberate plot for 
 marrying me, when old enough, to that tailor's block. 
 The one had been so long accustomed to the lordship of 
 the property, to some county influence, and great 
 command of money, that it was not likely he would 
 forego the whole without a struggle. But he knew 
 quite well that the moment I should be of age I would 
 dispense with his wardship, and even with his residence 
 there, and devote all I had to the pursuit of my 
 "monomania." All his endeavours to make me his 
 thrall had failed, partly from my suspicions, partly from 
 a repugnance wliich could not be conquered. Of course, 
 I intended to give him an ample return for his 
 stewardship, which • had been wise and unwearying. 
 But this was not what he wanted. The motives of his 
 accomplice require no explanation. If once this neat 
 little scheme should succeed, I must remain in their 
 hands, Clement being nobody, until they should happen 
 to quarrel for me. 
 
 To show what Clement Daldy was, a brief anecdote 
 is enough. When we were about sixteen years old, we 
 sat in the park one morniug, at the corner of the lake ;
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 49 
 
 Clement's little curled spaniel, which he loved as much 
 as he could love anything, was gambolling round us. 
 As the boy lounged along, half asleep, on the rustic 
 chair, with his silky face shaded by a broad hat, and 
 his bright curls glistening like daffodils playing, I 
 thought what a pretty peep-show he made, and won- 
 dered whether he could anyhow be the owner of a soul. 
 
 " Oh, Clara," he lisped, as he chanced to look up — 
 " Couthin Clara, I wish you wouldn't look at me tho." 
 
 " And did it look fierce at its dolly ? " I said ; for I 
 was always good-natured to him". " Dolly knows I 
 wouldn't hurt it, for it's house full of sugar-plums." 
 
 " Then do let me go to thleep ; you are such a howwid 
 girl." 
 
 So I hushed him off with a cradle song. But before 
 the long lashes sunk flat on his cheeks, like the ermine 
 tips on my muff, and while his red lips yet trembled 
 like cherries in the wind, my attention was suddenly 
 drawn to the lake. There was a plashing, and barking, 
 and hissing, and flapping of snow-white wings — poor 
 Juan engaged in unequal combat with two fierce swans 
 who had a nest on the island. The poor little dog, 
 though he fought most gallantly, was soon driven into 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 CLARA VAUGHAK 
 
 deep water, and the swans kept knocking him under 
 with rapid and powerful strokes. Seeing him almost 
 drowned, I called Clement to save him at once. 
 
 " I can't," said the brave youth ; " you go if you like. 
 They'll kill me, and I can't bear it ; and the water ith 
 tho cold." 
 
 In a moment I pushed off the boat which was near, 
 jumped into it, and, seizing an oar, contrived to beat 
 back the swans, and lifted the poor little dog on board, 
 gasping, half-drowned, and woefully beaten. Mean- 
 while my lord elect had leaped on the seat for safety, 
 and was wringing his white little hands, and dancing 
 and crying, " Oh, Clara'll be throwned, and they'll say 
 it was me. Oh, what thall I do ! what thall I do ! " 
 
 Even when I brought Mm his little pet safe, he 
 would not touch him, because he was wet ; so I laid 
 him full on his lap. 
 
 «• 
 f^<
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 51 
 
 CHAPTEE VIl. 
 
 The spring of tlie year 1849 was remarkable, through- 
 out the western counties, for long drought. I know 
 not how it may be in the east of England, but I have 
 observed that in the west long droughts occur only in 
 the spring and early summer. In the autumn we have 
 sometimes as much as six weeks without rain, and in 
 the summer a month at most, but all the real droudits 
 (so far as my experience goes) commence in February 
 or March ; these are, however, so rare, and April has 
 won such poetic fame for showers, and July for heat 
 and dryness, that what I state is at varianoe with the 
 popular impression. 
 
 Be that as it may, about Valentine's-day, IS-iO, and 
 after a length of very changeable weather, the wind 
 fixed its home in the east, and the sky for a week 
 was grey and monotonous. Brilliant weather ensued ; 
 white frost at night, and strong sun by day. The frost
 
 62 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 became less biting as the year went on, and the sun 
 more powerful ; there were two or three overcast days, 
 and people hoped for rain. But no rain fell, except 
 one poor drizzle, more like dew than rain. 
 
 With habits now so ingrained as to become true 
 pleasures, I marked the effects of the drought on all the 
 scene around me. The meadows took the colour of 
 Russian leather, the cornlands that of a knife-board. The 
 young leaves of the wood hung pinched and crisp, unable 
 to shake off their tunics, and more like catldns than 
 leaves. The pools went low and dark and thick with 
 a coppery scum (in autumn it would have been green), 
 and little bubbles came up and popped where the 
 earth cracked round the sides. The tap-rooted plants 
 looked comely and brave in the morning, after 
 their drink of dew, but flagged and flopped in the 
 afternoon, .as a clubbed cabbage does. As for those 
 which had only the surface to suck, they dried by 
 the acre, and powdered away like the base of a 
 bonfire. 
 
 The ground was hard as horn, and fissured in stars, 
 and angles, and jagged gaping cracks, like a dissecting 
 map or a badly-plastered wall. It amused me some-
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 53 
 
 times to see a beetle suddenly cut off from liis home 
 by that which to him was an earthquake. How he 
 would run to and fro, look doubtfully into the dark 
 abyss, then, rising to the occasion, bridge his road with 
 a straw. The snails shrunk close in their shells, and 
 resigned themselves to a spongy distance of slime. 
 The birds might be seen in the morning, hopping over 
 the hollows of the shrunken ponds, prying for worms, 
 which had shut themselves up like caddises deep in 
 the thirsty ground. Our lake, which was very deep 
 at the lower end, became a refuge for all the widgeons 
 and coots and moorhens of the neighbourhood, and 
 the quick-diving grebe, and even the summer snipe, 
 with his wild and lonely "cheep." The brink of the 
 water was feathered, and dabbled with countless im- 
 pressions of feet of all sorts — dibbers, and waders, and 
 wagtails, and weasels, and otters, and foxes, and the 
 bores of a thousand bills, and muscles laid high and 
 dry. 
 
 !For my own pet robins I used to fill pans ^vith water 
 along the edge of the grass, for I knew their dislike 
 of the mineral spring (which never went dry), and to 
 these they would fly down and drink, and perk up their
 
 54 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 impudent heads, and sluice their poor little dusty 
 wings; and then, as they could not sing now, they 
 would give me a chirp of gratitude. 
 
 When the drought had lasted about three months, the 
 east wind, which till then had been cold and creeping, 
 became suddenly parching hot. Arid and heavy, and 
 choking, it panted along the glades, like a dog on 
 a dusty road. It came down the water-meadows, where 
 the crowsfoot grew, and wild celery, and it licked up 
 the dregs of the stream, and powdered the flood-gates, 
 all skeletons now, with grey dust. It came through 
 the copse, and the young leaves shrunk before it, like 
 a child from the hiss of a snake. The blast j)ushed 
 the doors of our house, and its dry wrinkled hand was 
 laid on the walls and the staircase and woodwork ; a 
 hot grime tracked its steps, and a taint fell on all that 
 was fresh. As it folded its baleful wings, and lay 
 down like a desert dragon, vegetation, so long a time 
 sick, gave way at last to despair, and flagged off flabbed 
 and dead. The clammy grey dust, like hot sand 
 thrown from ramparts, ate to the core of every- 
 thing, choking the shrivelled pores and stifling the 
 languid breath. Old gaffers were talking of murrain
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 55 
 
 in cattle, and famine and plague among men, and 
 farmers were too badly off to grumble. 
 
 But the change even now was at hand. The sky 
 which had long presented a hard and cloudless blue, 
 but trailing a light haze round its rim in the morning, 
 was bedimmed more every day with a whit« scudding 
 vapour across it. The sun grew larger and paler, 
 and leaned more on the heavens, which soon became 
 ribbed with white skeleton-clouds ; and these in 
 their turn grew softer and deeper, then furry and 
 ravelled and wisped. One night the hot east wind 
 dropped, and, next morning (though the vane liad not 
 changed), the clouds drove heavily from the south-west. 
 But these signs of rain grew for several days before 
 a single drop fell ; as is always the case after discon- 
 tinuance, it was hard to begin again. Indeed, the sky 
 was amassed with black clouds, and the dust went 
 swirling like a mat beaten over the trees, and the air 
 became cold, and the wind moaned three days and three 
 nights, and yet no rain fell. As old Whitehead, the 
 man at the lodge, well observed, it had " forgotten the 
 way to rain." Then it suddenly cleared one morning 
 (the 28th of May), and the west was streaked with red
 
 56 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 clouds, that came up to crow at the sun, and the wind 
 for the time was lulled, and the hills looked close to my 
 hand. So I went to my father's grave without the 
 little green watering-pot or a trowel to fill the chinks, 
 for I knew it would rain that very day. 
 
 In the eastern shrubbery there was a pond, which 
 my father had taken much trouble to make and adorn ; 
 it was not fed by the mineral spring, for that was 
 thought likely to injure the fish, but by a larger and 
 purer stream, called the '' Witches' brook," which, how- 
 ever, was now quite dry. This pond had been planted 
 around and through with silver-weed, thrumwort and 
 sun-dew, water-lilies, arrow-head, and the rare double 
 frog-bit, and other aquatic plants, some of them brought 
 from a long distance. At one end there was a grotto, 
 cased with fantastic porous stone, and inside it a 
 small fountain played. But now the fountain was 
 silent, and the pond shrunk almost to its centre. The 
 silver eels which once had abounded here, finding their 
 element likely to fail, made a migration, one dewy 
 night, overland to the lake below. The fisli, in vain 
 envy of that great enterprise, huddled together in the 
 small wet space which remained, with their back-fins
 
 CLARA YAUGHAN. 57 
 
 here and there above water. When any one came near, 
 they dashed away, as I have seen grey mullet do in 
 the shallow sea-side pools. Several times I had water 
 poured in for their benefit, but it was gone again 
 directly. The mud round the edge of the remnant 
 puddle was baked and cracked, and foul with an oozy 
 green sludge, the relic of water-weeds. 
 
 This little lake, once so clear and pretty, and full 
 of bright dimples and crystal shadows, now looked so 
 forlorn and wasted and old, like a bright eye worn dim 
 with years, and the trees stood round it so faded and 
 wan, the poplar unkempt of its silver and green, the 
 willow without wherewithal to weep, and the sprays 
 of the birch laid dead at its feet ; altogether it looked 
 so empty and sad and piteous, that I had been deeply 
 grieved for the sake of him who had loved it. 
 
 So, when the sky clouded up again, in the afternoon 
 of that day, I hastened thither to mark the first effects 
 of the rain. 
 
 As I reached the white shell-walk, which loosely 
 girt the pond, the lead-coloured sky took a greyer [and 
 wooUier cast, and overhead became blurred and pulpy ; 
 while round the horizon it lifted in frayed festoons.
 
 58 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 As I took my seat in the grotto, the big drops begau 
 to patter among the dry leaves, and the globules rolled 
 in the dust, like parched peas. A long hissing sound 
 ensued, and a cloud of powder went up, and the trees 
 moved their boughs with a heavy dull sway. Then 
 broke from the laurels the song of the long-silent 
 thrush, and reptiles, and insects, and all that could 
 move, darted forth to rejoice in the freshness. The 
 earth sent forth that smell of sweet newness, the breath 
 of young nature awaking, which reminds us of milk, 
 and of clover, of balm, and the smile of a child. 
 
 But, most of all, it was in and around the pool that 
 the signs of new life were stirring. As the circles be- 
 gan to jostle, and the bubbles sailed closer together, the 
 water, the slime, and the banks, danced, flickered, and 
 darkened, with a whirl of living creatures. The surface 
 was brushed, as green corn is flawed by the wind, with 
 the quivering dip of swallows' wings ; and the ripples 
 that raced to the land splashed over the feet of the 
 wagtails. 
 
 Here, as I marked all narrowly, and seemed to rejoice 
 in their gladness, a sudden new wonder befell me. I 
 was watching a monster frog emerge from his pent-
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 59 
 
 house of ooze, and lift with some pride his brown spots 
 and his bright golden throat from the matted green 
 cake of dry weed, when a quick gleam shot through 
 the fibres. With a listless curiosity, wondering whether 
 the frog, like his cousin the toad, \vere a jew^eller, 
 f advanced to the brim of the pool. The poor frog 
 looked timidly at me with his large starting eyes ; then, 
 shouldering off the green coil, made one rapid spring, 
 and was safe in the water. But his movement had 
 further disclosed some glittering object below\ Deter- 
 mined to know what it was, despite the rain, I placed 
 some large pebbles for steps, ran lightly, and lifted the 
 weed. Before me lay, as bright as if polished that 
 day, with the jewelled hilt towards me, a long narrow 
 dagger. With a haste too rapid for thought to keep up, 
 I snatched it, and rushed to the grotto. 
 
 There, in the drought of my long revenge, wdth eyes 
 on fire, and teeth set hard and dry, and every root of 
 my heart cleaving and crying to heaven for blood, I 
 pored on that weapon, wdiose last sheath had been — 
 how well I knew what. I did not lift it towards God, 
 nor fall on my knees and make a theatrical vow ; 
 for that there was no necessity. But for the moment
 
 60 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 my life and my soul seemed to pass along that cold 
 blade, just as my father's had done. A treacherous, 
 blue, three-cornered blade, with a point as keen as a 
 viper's fang, sublustrous like ice in the moonlight, 
 sleuth as hate, and tenacious as death. To my curdled 
 and fury-struck vision it seemed to writhe in the gleam 
 of the storm which played along it like a corpse-candle. 
 I fancied how it had quivered and rung to find itself 
 deep in that heart. 
 
 My passions at length overpowered me, and I lay, 
 how long I know not, utterly insensible. Wlien I 
 came to myself again, the storm had passed over, the 
 calm pool covered my stepping stones, the shrubs and 
 trees wept joy in the moonlight, the nightingales sang 
 in the elms, healing and beauty were in the air, peace 
 and content walked abroad on the eartL The May 
 moon slept on the water before me, and streamed 
 through the grotto arch ; but there it fell cold and 
 ghost-like upon the tool of murder. Over this I 
 hastily flung my scarf; coward, perhaps I was, for I 
 could not handle it then, but fled to the house and 
 dreamed in my lonely bed. 
 
 When I examined the dagger next day, I found it
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN". 61 
 
 to be of foreign fabric. " Ferrati, Bologna," the name 
 and abode of the maker, as I supposed, was damascened 
 on the hilt. A cross, like that on the footprint, but 
 smaller, and made of gold, was inlaid on the blade, 
 just above the handle. Tlie hilt itself was wTeathed 
 with a snake of green enamel, ha\ijig garnet eyes. 
 From the fine temper of the metal, or some annealing 
 process, it showed not a stain of rust, and the blood 
 which remained after writing the letters before de- 
 scribed had probably been washed off by the water. 
 I laid it most carefully by, along with my other relics, 
 in a box which I always kept locked. 
 
 So God, as I thought, by His sun, and His seasons, 
 and weather, and the mind He had so prepared, was 
 holding the clue for me, and shaking it clear from time 
 to time, along my dark and many-winding path.
 
 62 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Soon after this, a ridiculous thing occurred, the con- 
 sequences of which were grave enough. The summer 
 and autumn after that weary drought were rather wet 
 and stormy. One night towards the end of Octoher, it 
 blew a heavy gale after torrents of rain. Going to the 
 churchyard next day, I found, as I had expected, that 
 the flowers so carefully kept through the summer were 
 shattered and strewn by the tempest ; and so I returned 
 to the garden for others to plant in their stead. My 
 cousin Clement (as he was told to call himself) came 
 sauntering towards me among the beds. His usual 
 look of shallow brightness and empty self-esteem had 
 failed him for the moment, and he looked like a fan- 
 tailed pigeon who has tumbled down the horse-rack. 
 He followed me to and fro, with a sort of stuttering 
 walk, as I chose the plants I liked best ; but I took
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAI^. 63 
 
 little notice of him, for such had been my course since 
 I first discovered their scheme. 
 
 At last, as I stooped to dig up a white verbena, he came 
 behind me, and began his errand with more than his usual 
 Hsp. This I shall not copy, as it is not worth the trouble. 
 
 " Oh, Clara," he said, " I want to tell you something, 
 if you'll only be good-natured ! " 
 
 "Don't you see I am busy now ?" I replied, without 
 turning to look. " Won't it do when you have taken 
 your curl-papers off?" 
 
 " Now, Clara, you know that I never use curl-papers. 
 My hair doesn't want it. You know it's much prettier 
 than your long waving black stuff, and it curls of its 
 own accord, if mamma only brushes it. But I want to 
 tel] you something particular." 
 
 " Well, then, be quick, for I am going away." And 
 with that I stood up and confronted him. He was 
 scarcely so tall as myseK, and his light showy dress 
 and pink rose of a face, which seemed made to be worn 
 in the hair, were thrown into brighter relief by my 
 sombre apparel and earnest twilight look. Some 
 lurking sense of this contrast seemed to add to his 
 hesitation. At last he began again :
 
 64 CLARA VAUGHAN, 
 
 "You know, Cousin Clara, you must not "be angiy 
 with me, because it isn't my fault." 
 
 " Wliat is not your fault ? " 
 
 "Why, that I should fall— what do they call it?— 
 fall in love, I suppose," 
 
 " You fall in love, you dissolute doll ! How dare you 
 fall in love, sir, without my leave ? " 
 
 "Well, I was afraid to ask you, Clara. I couldn't 
 tell what you would say." 
 
 " Oh, that must depend, of course, on who Mrs. Doll 
 is to be ! If it's a good little thing with blue satin 
 arms, and a sash and a slip, and pretty blue eyes that 
 go Tvith a string, perhaps I'll forgive you, x^oor child, 
 and set you up with a house, and a tea-set, and a 
 mother-of-pearl perambulator. " 
 
 " Now, don't talk nonsense," he answered. " Before 
 long I shall be a man, and then you'll be afraid of me, 
 and put up your hands, and shriek, and want me to 
 kiss you." 
 
 I had indulged him too much, and his tongue was 
 taking liberties. I soon stopped him. 
 
 "How dare you bark at me, you wretched little 
 white-woolled nursery dog ? "
 
 CLARA VAUGI^AX. 65 
 
 I left liim, and went witli my basket of flowers along 
 the path to the churchyard. For a while he stood 
 there frightened, till his mother looked forth from the 
 drawing-room window. Between the two fears he chose 
 the less, and followed me to my father's grave. I stood 
 there and angrily waved him back, but he still persisted, 
 though trembling. 
 
 " Cousin Clara," he said — and his lisp was quite gone, 
 and he tried to be in a passion — " Cousin Clara, you shall 
 hear what I have got to say. You have lived with me now 
 a long time, and I'm sure we have agreed very well, and 
 I — I — no, I don't see why we should not be married." 
 
 " Don't you indeed, sir ? " 
 
 " Perhaps," he continued, " you are afraid that I don't 
 care about you. Eeally now, I often think that you 
 would be very good-looking, if you would only laugh 
 now and then, and leave off those nasty black gowns ; 
 and then if you would only leave off being so grand, 
 and mysterious, and stately, and getting up so early, I 
 would let you do as you liked, and you might paint me 
 and have a lock of my hair." 
 
 " Clement Daldy," I asked, " do you see that lake ? " 
 
 " Yes," he replied, turning pale, and inclined to fly. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 CLAEA YAUGHAN. 
 
 " There's water enough there now. If yon ever dare 
 again to say one word like this to me, or even to show 
 by your looks that yon think it, I'll take you and drowTi 
 you there, as sure as my father lies here." 
 
 He slunk away quickly without a word, and could 
 eat no lunch that day. In the afternoon, as I sat in my 
 favourite bow-window seat, Mrs. Daldy glided in. She 
 had put on with care her clinging smile, as she would 
 an Indian shawl. I thought how much better her face 
 would have looked with its natural, bold, haughty gaze. 
 
 " My dear Clara," began this pious tidewaiter, " what 
 have you done to vex so your poor cousin Clement ? " 
 
 " Only this, ^Irs. Daldy : he was foolish or mad, and 
 I gave him advice in a truly Christian spirit, entirely 
 for his own good." 
 
 " I hope, my dear, that some day it may be his duty 
 as well as his privilege to advise you. But, of course, 
 you need not take his advice. My Clara loves her own 
 way as much as any girl I ever knew ; and with poor 
 Clement she will be safe to have it." 
 
 " ^0 doubt of that," I replied. 
 
 "And then, my pet, you will be in a far better 
 position than you could attain as an unmarried girl to
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 67" 
 
 pursue the great aim of your life ; so far, I mean, as is 
 not inconsistent with the spirit of Christian forgiveness. 
 Your guardian has thought of that, in effecting this 
 arrangement ; and I trust that I was not wrong in 
 allowing so fair a prospect, under Providence, of your 
 ultimate peace of mind to influence me considerably 
 when he sought my consent." 
 
 " I am sure I am much obliged to you." 
 
 " I cannot conceal from you, so clear-sighted as you 
 are — and if I could, I object to concealment of any 
 kind, on principle — that there are also certain worldly 
 advantages, which are not without weight, however the 
 heart be weaned by trials and chastened from transient 
 things. And your guardian has this arrangement so very 
 much at heart. My own dear child, I have felt for you 
 so long that I love you as a daughter. How thankful I 
 ought to be to the Giver of all good things to have you 
 really my own dear child." 
 
 "Be thankful, madam, when you have got it. Tliis 
 is a good tiling which under Providence you must learn 
 to do without. 
 
 It was coarse of me to hint at my riches. But what 
 could I do with her ? 
 
 f2
 
 68 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Why, Clara," she asked, in great amazement, " you 
 cannot be so foolish and wilful as to throw away this 
 chance of revenge ? If only for your dear mother's sake, 
 as well as your father's, it is the path of duty. Let me 
 tell you, both she and yourself are very much more 
 in your guardian's power than you have any idea. 
 And what would be your poor father's wish, who 
 has left you so entirely to his brother's care and 
 discretion ? Will you put off for ever the discovery 
 of his murderer ?" 
 
 " My father," I said, proudly, " would scorn me for 
 doing a thing below him and myself. The last of the 
 Vaughans to be plotted away to a grocer's doll !" 
 
 It had been a trial of temper ; and contempt was too 
 much for hypocrisy. Through the rouge of the world, 
 and the pearl-powder of rehgion, nature flushed forth on 
 her cheek ; for she really loved her son. She knew 
 where to wound me the deepest. 
 ' " Is it no condescension in us that my beautiful boy 
 should stoop to the maniac-child of a man who was 
 stabbed — stabbed in his midnight bed — to atone, no 
 doubt, for some low act of his own ?" 
 
 I sprang up, and rang the bell. Thomas Henwood,
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 69 
 
 who made a point of attending me, came at once. I 
 said to him, calmly and slowly : 
 
 " Allow this person one hour to pack her things. 
 Get a fly from the Walnut Tree Inn, and see her 
 heyond the Lodge." 
 
 If I had told him to drag her away by the hair, I 
 believe that man would have done it. She shrunk away 
 from me ; for the moment her spirit was quelled, and 
 she trembled into a chair. 
 
 " I assure you, Clara, I did not mean what I said. 
 You provoked me so." 
 
 " Not one word more. Leave the room and the house." 
 
 "Miss Yaughan, I will not leave this house until 
 your guardian returns." 
 
 " Thomas," I said, mthout looking towards her, " if 
 Mrs. Daldy is not gone in an hour, you quit my service." 
 
 How Thomas Henwood managed it, I never asked. 
 He was a resolute man, and all the servants obeyed him. 
 She turned round once, as she crossed the threshold, and 
 gave me a look which I shall never forget. AVas such 
 the look that had glared on my father before the blow ? 
 She lifted the white arm of which she was proud, and 
 threw back her head, like the Fecial hurling his dart.
 
 70 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 "Clara Vauglian, you shall bitterly grieve for this. 
 It shall throw you and your mother at the feet of your 
 father's murderer, and you shall crave meat worse than 
 your enemy's blood." 
 
 Until she had quitted the house, I could not sit 
 down ; but went to my father's bedroom, where I often 
 took refuge when strongly excited and unable to fly to 
 his grave. The thoughts and the memories hovering 
 and sighing around that fatal chamber were enough to 
 calm and allay the sensations of trivial wrong. 
 
 But now this was not the case. The outrage offered 
 had been, not to me, but to him who seemed present 
 there. The suggestion, too, of an injury done by my 
 father, though scorned at first, was working and ruffling 
 within me, as children put bearded corn-ears in another's 
 sleeve, which by-and-by work their own way to the 
 breast. Till now, I had always believed that some 
 worldly advantage or gain had impelled my foe to the 
 deed which left me an orphan. But that woman's dark 
 words had started a new train of reasoning, whose very 
 first motion was doubt of the man I worshipped. 
 Among all I had ever met, there existed but one opinion 
 as to what he had been — a true gentleman, who had
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 71 
 
 injured not one of God's creatures, whose life had been 
 guided mainly by the wishes and welfare of others. 
 Moreover, I had my own clear recollections — his voice, 
 his eyes, and his smile, his manner and whole expres- 
 sion ; these, it is true, were but outward things, yet a 
 child's intuition is strong and hard to refute. 
 
 Again, during my remembrance, he had never been 
 absent from us, except for a day or two, now and 
 then, among his county neighbours ; and any ill will 
 which he might have incurred from them must, from 
 his position, have become notorious. 
 
 And yet, in the teeth of tliis reasoning, and in spite 
 of my own warm feeling, that horrible suspicion clave 
 to my heart and chilled it like the black spot of mildew. 
 And what if the charge were true ? In that case, how 
 w^as I better than he who had always been to my mind 
 a fiend in special commission? His was vengeance, 
 and mine revenge ; he had suffered perhaps a w^anton 
 wrong, as deep to his honour as mine to my love. 
 
 AVhile I was brooding thus miserably, my eyes fell 
 upon the bed. There were the red streaks, grained and 
 fibred like the cross-cut of a fern-stallv ; framed and 
 looking down on me, the sampler of my life. Drawing
 
 72 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 near, I trembled with an unknown awe, to find myself 
 in that lonely presence, not indeed thinking, but inkling 
 such things of my father, my own darling father, whose 
 blood was looking at me. In a storm of self-loathing 
 and sorrow, I knelt there and sobbed my atonement ; 
 but never thenceforth could I wholly bar out the idea. 
 Foul ideas when once admitted will ever return on their 
 track, as the cholera walks in the trail of its former 
 pall. 
 
 But instead of abating my dogged pursuit, I now had 
 a new incentive — to dispel the aspersions cast on my 
 father's shadow.
 
 CLAEA VAUCIHAN. 73 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 At this particular time of my life, many things "began 
 to puzzle me, but nothing was a greater puzzle than the 
 character of my guardian. Morose or moody he was not, 
 though a stranger might have thought him so ; nor 
 could I end with the conviction that his heart was cold. 
 It rather seemed to me as if he felt that it ousjht to be 
 so, and tried his best to settle down as the inmate of an 
 icehouse. But any casual flush of love, any glow of 
 native warmth from the hearts around him, and taken 
 by surprise he wavered for one traitor moment, and in 
 his eyes gleamed some remembrance, like firelight upon 
 frozen windows. But let any one attempt to approach 
 him then with softness, to stir kind interest and feeling 
 into benevolent expression, and Mr. Vaughan would 
 promptly shut himself in again, with a bar of irony, or 
 a bolt of sarcasm. Only to my mother was his be- 
 haviour different ; towards her his manner was so gentle.
 
 74 CLARA VAUGH.\^. 
 
 and his tone so kind, that but for my conviction that 
 remorse lay under it, I must have come to like him. 
 True, they did not often meet, for dear mother confined 
 herself (in spite of Mrs. Daldy) more and more closely 
 to her own part of the house, and rarely had the spirits 
 now to share in the meals of the family. Therefore, I 
 began at once to take her place, and would not listen to 
 Mrs. Daldy 's kind offer to relieve me. This had led 
 quite recently to a little outbreak. One day I had been 
 rather late for dinner, and, entering the room with a 
 proud apology, found to my amazement Mrs. Daldy at 
 the head of the table. For me a seat was placed, as for 
 a good little girl, by the side of Master Clement. At 
 first I had not the presence of mind to speak, but stood 
 by my rival's chair, waiting for her to rise. She affected 
 not to understand me, and began, with her hand on the 
 ladle, and looking me full in the face : " I fear, darling 
 Clara, the soup is cold ; but your uncle can give you a 
 very nice slice of salmon. Have you offered thanks 
 for these mercies ?" 
 
 "Thank you, I will take soup. Allow me to help 
 myself. I am sorry to have troubled you." 
 . And I placed my hand on the back of her chair, pre^
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 7? 
 
 suining that she would get up ; but she never stirred one 
 inch, and actually called for a plate to help me. My 
 guardian was looking at both of us, with a dry smile of 
 amusement, and Clement began to simper and play 
 with his fork. — Xow for it, or never, thought I. 
 " Mrs. Daldy, you quite mistake me, or pretend to do 
 so. Have the goodness to quit my chair." 
 
 She had presumed on my dread of an altercation 
 before the servants, but only Thomas Henwood happened 
 to be in the room. Had there been a dozen present, I 
 would still have asserted my right At last she rose in 
 her stateliest manner, but with an awkward smile, and 
 a still more awkward sneer. 
 
 " Your use, my poor child, of the possessive pronoun 
 is far more emphatic than your good breeding is." 
 
 "Who cares for your opinion?" Kot a hospitable 
 inquiry ; but then she was not my \'isitor. 
 
 In grand style she marched to the door, but soon 
 thought better of it, and came to her proper place with 
 the sigh of a contrite spirit. 
 
 " Poor creature ! It is a rebuke to me, for my want 
 of true faith in the efficacy of prayer." 
 
 And after all this, she made a most excellent dinner.
 
 76 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 About that woman there was something of a slimy- 
 pride, no more like to upright prickly self-respect than 
 macerated bird-lime is to the stiff bright holly. Yet no 
 one I ever knew possessed such wiry powers of irritation. 
 Whenever my mother and my guardian met, she took 
 care to be in the way, and watched them both, and 
 appealed to me with all her odious pantomime of sorrow, 
 sympathy, wonder, loving superiority, and spiritual 
 yearnings. And all the time her noisome smile, like 
 the smell of a snake, came over us. She knew, and 
 rejoiced in the knowledge, how hard set I was to endure 
 it, and every quick flash of my eyes only lit up her 
 unctuous glory. 
 
 For all I know, it was natural that my antipathy to 
 that woman should, by reaction, thaw sometimes my 
 coldness towards my uncle. Though self-respect had at 
 length compelled him to abandon his overtures to my 
 friendship, now and then I detected him looking at me 
 with a pitying regard. In self-defence, I began to pity 
 him, and ceased to make faces or sneer when the maids 
 — those romantic beings — declared that he must have 
 been crossed in love. At this conclusion, long ago, all 
 the servants' hall had arrived ; and even little Tilly
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 77 
 
 Jenkins, not admitted as yet to that high conclave, 
 remarkable only for living in dust-bins, and too dirty to 
 cause uneasiness to the under-shoeboy's mother — even 
 that Tilly, I say, ran up to me one morning (when I 
 went to see my dear pony) and beat out her dust, and 
 then whispered : 
 
 " Oh, please. Miss Clara, to give my Yery best wishes 
 to Master. What a terrible blight to the heart be 
 unrequited love 1 " And Tilly sighed a great cloud of 
 brick-dust. 
 
 " Terrible, Tilly : I hope you have not fallen in love 
 with the weeding boy ! " — a smart young lad, ten stairs 
 at least above her. 
 
 " Me, miss ? Do you think I would so demean 
 myself?" And Tilly caught up her dust-pan arro- 
 gantly. 
 
 This little anecdote proves a fact which I never could 
 explain, viz. that none of the servants were ever 
 afraid of me. 
 
 To return to the straight line of history. ^ly guardian 
 came home rather late that evening, and some hours 
 after the hasty exit of Mrs. and Master Daldy. AVliile 
 I was w^aiting in some uneasiness, it struck me that he
 
 78 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 had kept out of tlie way on purpose, lest he should seem 
 too anxious about the plot. Mrs. Daldy, as I found 
 afterwards, had written to him from the inn, describing 
 my "frenzied violence, and foaming Satanic fury" — 
 perhaps I turned pale, no more — and announcing her 
 intention to remain at Malvern, until she should be 
 apprised whether uncle or niece were the master. In 
 the latter case she demanded — not that she cared for 
 mammon, but as a humble means for the advancement 
 of the Kingdom — the sum of 300/. ; that being the lowest 
 salary conscience allowed her to specify for treading 
 the furnace of affliction, to save the lost sheep of 
 the house of Israel. I forgot to say that, before 
 she left the house, she had tried to obtain an in- 
 terview with my mother, hoping, no doubt, to leave 
 her in the cataleptic state. But this had been sternly 
 prevented by Thomas Henwood, who performed quite 
 a labour of love in ministering the expulsion. All 
 the servants hated her as a canting sneak and a 
 
 spy. 
 
 That night when I received Mr. Edgar Vaughan's 
 short missive — " Clara, I wish to see you immediately 
 in my study," my heart began to flutter provokingly,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 79 
 
 and the long speech I had prepared flew away in shreds 
 of rhetoric. Kot that I meant for an instant to bate 
 one tittle of what I had done and would do : but I 
 had never asserted my rights as yet in direct opposition 
 to him, nor taken upon my own shoulders the guar- 
 dianship of myself. But the dreary years of dark 
 preparation and silent welding of character had 
 braced a sensitive, nervous nature with some little 
 self-reliance. 
 
 With all the indifference I could muster, I entered 
 the gloomy room, and found him leaning upon the high 
 desk where he kept the accounts of his stewardship. 
 The position was chosen well. It served at once to 
 remind me of his official relation, and to appeal to 
 the feelings as betokening an onerous wardship. Of 
 late his health had been failing him, and after every 
 long absence from home, he returned more jaded and 
 melancholy. Now a few silver hairs — no more than a 
 wife would have quickly pulled out — were glistening 
 among his black locks ; but though he was weary 
 and lonesome, he seemed to want none to love him, 
 and his face wore the wonted sarcastic and travelled 
 look.
 
 80 CLARA VAUGHAiT. 
 
 As our glances met, we both saw that the issue was 
 joined which should settle for life the mastery. He 
 began in a light and jocund manner, as if I were quite 
 a small thing. 
 
 " Well done. Miss Clara, you are asserting yourself. 
 Why, you have dismissed our visitors with very scant 
 ceremony." 
 
 " To be sure I have ; and will again, if they dare 
 to come back." 
 
 " And don't you think that you might have consulted 
 your mother or me ? " 
 
 " Most likely I should have done so, in an ordinary 
 case." 
 
 " Then your guardian was meant for small matters ! 
 But what was the wonder to-day ? " 
 
 " No wonder at all. Mrs. Dakly insulted my father, 
 and I sent her out of his house." 
 
 " What made her insult my brother ? " 
 
 " My refusal to marry her puppet and puppy." 
 
 " Clement Daldy ! Did she propose such a thing ? 
 She must think very highly of you ! " 
 
 " Then I think very lowly." 
 
 " And you declined, did you, Clara ? "
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 81 
 
 *'No. I refused." 
 
 " Very good. Xo one shall force you ; there is plenty 
 of time to consider the subject." 
 
 " One moment is too much." 
 
 " Clara, I have long noticed in you a rude, disre- 
 spectful, and I will say (in spite of your birth) a low and 
 vulgar manner towards me, your uncle and guardian. 
 Once for all, I will not permit it, child." 
 
 " Cliilcl you call me, do you ? Me, who am just 
 seventeen, and have lived seven such years as I have, 
 and no one else ! " 
 
 He answered quite calmly, and looking coldly at 
 me : 
 
 " I never argue with women. Much less with girls. 
 Mrs. Daldy comes back to-morrow. You will beg her 
 pardon, as becomes a young lady who has forgotten her- 
 self. The other question may wait." 
 
 " I thought, sir, that you had travelled far, and in 
 many countries." 
 
 The abrupt inquiry startled him, and his thoughts 
 seemed to follow the memory. 
 
 "Wliat if I have?" he asked, at length, and with 
 a painful effort. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Have you always found women do just what you 
 chose ? " 
 
 He seemed not to listen to me ; as if he were out 
 of hearing : then laughed because I was looking at him. 
 
 *' Clara/' he said, " you are an odd girl, and a Vaughan 
 all over. I would rather be your friend than your 
 enemy. If you cannot like me, at least forget your 
 dislike of me, and remember that I am your uncle, and 
 have tried to make you love me." 
 
 "And what if I do not?" 
 
 " Then I must keep you awhile from the management 
 of this property. My dear brother would have wished 
 it, until you recover your senses ; and not an acre of it 
 is legally yours." 
 
 This he said so slowly, and distinctly, and entirely 
 without menace, that, knowing liis manner, I saw it was 
 the truth, at least in his opinion. Strange as it may 
 seem, I began at once to revolve, not the results of 
 dispossession and poverty on myself, or even on my 
 mother, but the influence which the knowledge of this 
 new fact must have on my old suspicions, surmises, 
 and belief. 
 
 '' Will the property pass to you ? " I asked.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 83 
 
 " Yes, if I choose : or at any rate the bulk of it." 
 " What part will be yours ? Do you mean to say 
 the house?—" 
 
 " Never mind now. I would rather leave thinirs 
 
 o 
 
 as they are, if you will only be more sensible.'' 
 
 " I will not disguise my opinions for a hundred 
 Vaughan Parks, or a thousand • Vaughan Palaces ; no, 
 nor even to be near my father's bones." 
 
 " Yery well," he said, ''just as you like. But for your 
 mother's sake, I give you till Christmas to consider." 
 
 " If you bring back Mrs. Daldy, I shall leave the door 
 as she enters it." 
 
 " I have no wish to hurry you," he replied, 
 " and therefore she shall not return at present Now 
 take these papers with you. You may lay them 
 before any lawyer you please. They are only copies, 
 but may be compared with the originals, which I 
 have. They will quickly pix)ve how totally you are 
 at my discretion." 
 
 "The money and the land may be so, but not I. 
 Before I go, answer me one question. Did you know of 
 these things, whatever they may be, before my father's 
 death?" 
 
 g2
 
 84 CLARA VAUGHAX. 
 
 He looked at me clearly and calmly, with no with- 
 drawal, or conscious depth in his eyes, and answered : 
 
 '* No. As a gentleman, I did not." 
 
 I felt myself more at a loss than ever, and for the 
 moment could not think.
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 85 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Thus was I, and, what mattered much more, my 
 mother, reduced quite suddenly from a position of rank 
 and luxury, and a prospective income of ^15,000 a-year 
 (so much had tlie land increased in value) to a revenue 
 of nothing, and no home. Even to me it was a heavy 
 blow, but what could my poor mother do ? 
 
 We were assured by counsel that a legal struggle 
 could end in expense alone, and advised by the family 
 lawyers to throw ourselves on the good feeling and 
 appeal to the honour of Mr. Edgar Vaughan. ]Mr. 
 Vaughan he must henceforth be called. I cannot well 
 understand, still less can I explain, small and threadbare 
 technicalities (motes, which too often are the beam of 
 Justice), but the circumstances which robbed me of my 
 father's home were somewhat as follows : — 
 
 By the will of my father's grandfather, Hubert 
 Vaughan, who died in the year 1 782, the whole of the
 
 SQ CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 family property was devised to his son, Vauglian Powis 
 Vauglian, for life, and after his decease, to his sons 
 successively in tail male, failmg these to his right 
 heirs in general. This will was said to have been pre- 
 pared in haste: it was, in fact, drawn by a country 
 attorney, when the testator was rapidly sinking. It 
 was very brief, and by no means accurately worded ; 
 neither did it contain those powers to meet family 
 exigencies, which I am told a proper practitioner would 
 have inserted. 
 
 There was no reason to suppose that the testator had 
 contemplated anything more than a strict settlement of 
 the usual kind, i.e. a common estate entail, expectant 
 upon a life-interest; and under which I should have 
 succeeded my father, as his heiress, in the ordinary 
 course. But it is the chief fault of smatterers in the 
 law (and country attorneys at that time were no 
 better) that they will attempt to be too definite. The 
 country lawyer in this case, grossly ignorant of his 
 profession, and caught by the jangle of the words 
 tail male, had inserted them at hazard, possibly not 
 without some idea that they would insure a stricter 
 succession than a common entail would do.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 87 
 
 When my father became of age, measures were taken 
 for barring the entail created by the will of Hiibeii; 
 Vaughan ; and at the time it was believed that these 
 were quite effectual, and therefore that my father 
 was now entitled in fee-simple, and could dispose of 
 the property. 
 
 Upon his marriage with my mother, she, with worthy 
 pride, refused most firmly to accept a jointure charged 
 on his estates, allecjim? that as she broui^ht no fortune 
 into the family, she would not incumber the family 
 property, which had but recently been relieved of incum- 
 brances. More than this — she had even insisted upon 
 expressly abandoning, by her marriage settlement, all 
 claim to dower. This unusual course she had adopted, 
 because of some discontent expressed by relatives of my 
 father at his marriage with a portionless bride, whereby 
 her self-respect had been deeply wounded. So nothing 
 was settled upon her, except her own little estate in 
 Devonshire, which was secured to her separate use. 
 
 My father had never permitted this excess of gene- 
 rosity on her part, but that he was by nature careless 
 upon such subjects, and hoped to provide amply for 
 her interests by his will : moreover he was hot to
 
 88 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 remove all obstacles to tlieir marriaGje. But it was 
 now discovered that lie had no power to charge the 
 real estate for her benefit, in the manner his will 
 imported ; that he had never been more than a tenant 
 in tail, and that entail such that I could not inherit. 
 Keither, of course, could I take under his will, as he 
 possessed no power of disposition. One quarter of 
 all that has been written upon the subject I never 
 could understand ; and even as to the simplest points, 
 sometimes I seem to apprehend them clearly, and then 
 I feel that I do not. My account of the matter is 
 compressed from what I remember of the legal opinions. 
 
 The leading fact, at any rate, and the key to all the 
 mischief, was, that the entail had never been barred 
 at all : the legal process (called a " recovery ") which 
 was to have had that effect, being null and void 
 through some absurd informality. They told me some- 
 thing about a tenant to a precii^ice, but they must have 
 made a mistake, for there was no precipice on the 
 estate, unless some cliffs near the church could be 
 called so, and they were never let. 
 
 Be that as it may, my father's will was declared to 
 be waste paper, except as regarded what they called the
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN, 89 
 
 personalty, or, in good English, the money -he had to 
 bequeath. And of this there was ver}' little, for, 
 shortly before his death, he had spent large sums 
 in drainage, farm-buildings, and other improvements. 
 Furthermore, he had always maintained a profuse hos- 
 pitality, and his charity was most lavish. The lawyers 
 told us that, under the circumstances (a favourite ex- 
 pression of theirs when they mean some big robbery), 
 a court of equity would perhaps consider our applica- 
 tion to be "recupped," as they called it, out of the 
 estate, for the money laid out in improvements under 
 a false impression. But we had been cupped enough 
 already. Grossly plundered by legal jargon, robbed 
 by statute, and scourged by scriveners' traditions, we 
 flung away in disgust the lint the bandits offered, and 
 left them " all estate, right, title, interest, and claim, 
 whether at law or in equity, in to or out of '' the licking 
 of our blood. 
 
 But now my long suspicions, and never-discarded 
 conviction of my guardian's guilt, were, by summaiy 
 process, not only revived, but redoubled. This arose 
 partly from the discovery of the stake he had on my 
 father's life, and partly, perliaps, from a feeling of
 
 90 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 hatred towards our siipplanter. Tliat lie knew not till 
 now the flaw in our title, and his own superior claim, 
 was more than I could believe. I felt sure that he had 
 gained this knowledge while in needy circumstances 
 and sharp legal practice, brought, as he then most 
 probably was, into frequent contact with the London 
 agents who had the custody of the documents. 
 
 To be in the same room with him, was now more 
 than I could bear, and it became impossible that we 
 should live any longer in the same house. He, indeed, 
 wished, or feigned to wish, that we should remain there, 
 and even showed some reluctance to urge his un- 
 righteous rights. But neither my mother (who bore 
 the shock with strange resignation) nor myself would 
 hear of any compromise, or take a farthing afc liis 
 hands, and he was too proud and stern to press upon 
 us his compunctions. 
 
 Statements of our case had been prepared and sub- 
 mitted to three most eminent conveyancers, and the 
 three opinions had been found to agree, except upon 
 some trivial points. More than two months had been 
 thus consumed, and it was now once more the anni- 
 versary of my father's death. I had spent the time in
 
 CLARA VAI7GHAN. 91 
 
 narrowly watcliing my ex-guardian's conduct, though 
 keejiing aloof, as much as possible, from any inter- 
 course with him. 
 
 One night, I stole into the room which he called his 
 study, and where (with a child's simplicity) I believed 
 him to keep his private documents. Through Thomas 
 Henwood, to whom I now confided almost everything, 
 and whose suspicions were even stronger than mine, 1 
 obtained clandestine possession of the keys of the large 
 bureau. As I stood before that massive repository in 
 the dead of night, the struggle within me vas intense 
 and long. What letters, what journals, documents, or 
 momentous relics of a thousand kinds, might be lurking 
 here, waiting only for a daughter's hand to turn the 
 lock, and cast the light she bore on the death-warrant 
 of her father ! How easy then to snatch away the proof, 
 clutching it, though it should burn the hand or bosom, 
 to wave it, with a triumph wilfully prolonged, before the 
 eyes of justice's dull-visioned ministers ; and then to see, 
 without a shudder or a thrill of joy, but with the whole 
 soul gazing, the slow, struggling, ghastly expiation. As 
 this thought came crawling through my heart, lighting 
 up its depth as woidd a snake of fire, the bulil before
 
 92 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 me grew streaks of blood, and the hea^y crossbars a 
 gallows. I lifted my band to open tbe outer lock. 
 Already tbe old cruciform key was trembling in tbe 
 silver scutcbeon. I raised tbe lamp in my left band 
 to sbow tbe lunette guard wbicb curved above tbe bole, 
 wben a beavy mass all cold and dark fell across my 
 eyes. I started, and tbougbt for tbe moment, in my 
 strong excitement, tbat it was my father's band. One 
 instant more, and, tbrougb tbe trembling of my senses, 
 I saw tbat it was only a tbick fold of my long black 
 hair, shaken down on tbe face by my bending and 
 quivering posture. But tbe check was enough. A 
 Vaugban, and tbat tbe last one of so proud and frank 
 a race, to be prowling meanly, with a stolen tool, to 
 violate confidence, and pry tbrougb letters I No sus- 
 picion, however strong, notliing short of certainty (if 
 even that) could warrant it. Driven away by shame 
 combined with superstition, I glided from the cold 
 silent room, and restored the keys to my faithful 
 friend, whom I bad left in tbe passage, ordering 
 him at once to replace them, and never touch tliem 
 again. 
 
 " Well, miss," he whispered, with a smile, " I knew
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 93 
 
 you couldn't do it, because I seemed, somehow, it wasn't 
 like a Vaughan." 
 
 We were already preparing to quit the house, no 
 longer ours, when our dismissal became abrupt, through 
 another act of mine. What drove me to such a wild 
 deed I can scarcely tell. Shame, perhaps, for the fur- 
 tive nature of my last attempt hurried me into the 
 other extreme ; and now I was so shaken by conflicting 
 impulse, that nothing was too mad for me. 
 
 On the seventh anniversary of my father's death, and 
 the last which I was likely ever to spend beneath that 
 roof, I passed the whole day in alternate sadness and 
 passion, in the bedroom w^here he died. All the relics 
 I possessed, both of his love and of his death, I brought 
 thither ; and spread them out, and wept upon the one, 
 and prayed upon the other. I also brought my choicest 
 histories of murder and revenge, and pored over them 
 by the waning daylight and the dull lamp, and so on 
 through the night, until my mind became the soul's 
 jetsam. 
 
 Then I procured four very large wax candles, and 
 lit them at the head of the bed, two on each side, and 
 spread a long white cloth between, as if my father were
 
 94 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 lying in state ; and Imng a row of shorter lights above, 
 to illuminate the letters of blood. Then I took a small 
 alarum clock, given me by dear father, that I might 
 rise for early wallas with him, and set it upon a chest 
 by the door, and fixed it so as to ring five minutes before 
 the hour at which the murder befell. A cold presenti- 
 ment crawled through me that, at the fatal time, I 
 should see the assassin. After all these arrangements 
 I took my volume again, and sat in the shade of the 
 curtain, with a strong light on the page. I was deep in 
 some horrible record, and creeping with terror and 
 hope, when the clear bell rang a long and startling 
 peal. I leaped up, like one shot through the heart, 
 and what I did was without design or purpose. My 
 glance fell on the dagger ; I caught it up, and snatched 
 the lamp, and hurried down corridor and staircase, 
 straight to my guardian's private room. 
 
 He was sitting at the table, for he never passed that 
 night in bed. At the sound of the lock he leaped up, 
 and pointed a pistol, then hid it. Straight up to him 
 I went, as swiftly and quietly as a spirit, and spoke : 
 
 "Seven years ago, at this very moment, my father 
 was killed. Do you know this dagger ? " He started
 
 CLAEA vaughan:, 95 
 
 back, as if I had stabbed liiin with it, then covered liis 
 eyes with both hands. 
 
 " You know it, then ? " I said, with a triumph chill 
 all over me. " It was your hand that used it." 
 
 Another moment, and I should have struck him with 
 it. I lifted it in my frenzy ; when he looked at me by 
 some wonderful effort, calmly, steadily, even coldly. 
 " Yes," he said, " I have seen that weapon before. Alas 
 my poor dear brother ! " 
 
 Whether it was true feeling that made his voice so 
 low and deep, or only fierce self-control, I knew not 
 then, nor tried to think. 
 
 " You know who o^Tied it ? " I asked, with my life 
 upon his answer. 
 
 " Yes. I know who owned it once ; but many years 
 ago. And I know not in the least what is become 
 of him now." 
 
 The baffled fury and prostrate hope — for at the 
 moment I fully believed him — were too much for my 
 reeling brain and fasting body. For one minute's com- 
 mand of my faculties, I would have sold them for ever ; 
 but I felt them ebbing from me, as the life does from 
 a wound. The hemispheres of my brain were parting
 
 96 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 one from the other, and a grey void spreading between 
 them. I tried to think, but could not. I strove to say 
 anytliing, but failed. Fainter and fainter grew the 
 room, the lamp, the ceiling, the face at which I tried 
 to look. Things went to and fro with a quicker 
 quiver, like flame in the wind, then, round and round 
 like whirling water ; my mouth grew stiff, and the 
 tongue between my teeth felt like a glove ; and with 
 a rush of sound in my brain and throat, and a scream 
 pent up, yet bursting, I fell, as I thought, through the 
 earth. I was only on the floor, in a fit. 
 
 When I came to myself, I was in my own bed, and 
 my own dear mother bending over me, pale, and 
 haggard, and full of tears. The broad daylight was 
 around us, and the faint sunshine on her face. She 
 had been with me ever since. In my weakness, I 
 looked up at her with a pang of self-reproach, to think 
 how little I had valued her love ; and I vowed to my- 
 self to make up for it by future care and devotion. 
 
 That violent convulsion, and the illness after it, 
 changed me not a little both in mind and body.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 97 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 It was indeed high time for me to cherish my mother 
 Her pain at leaving the place where she had known 
 her little all of happiness — for her childhood had been 
 overcast with trouble — her pain was so acute and over- 
 powering that all my deep impassioned feelings sunk 
 reproved before it. 
 
 My guardian now seemed much embittered against 
 me, and anxious for our departure. He came once or 
 twice, in my illness, to ask for and to see me ; and he 
 brought back, unperceived by any one, the weapon for 
 which I raved. But ere I was quite recovered, he 
 wrote, requesting to see me on business in his study. 
 I could not speak yet without pain, having bitten my 
 tongue severely. 
 
 " Your mother shall have a home here," he said, " as 
 long as ever she wants one ; but as for you, malignant 
 or mad, I wiU try no more to soften you. When first I 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 saw you in your early childhood, you flew at me as a 
 murderer. Soon after you ransacked my cupboards and 
 stole my boots, to compare them with some impressions 
 or casts you kept. Yes, you look astonished. I never 
 told you of it, but I knew it for all that. Of those 
 absurdities I thought little, for I regarded them as the 
 follies of a mad child, and I pitied you deeply, and even 
 liked you for your filial devotion. But now I find that 
 you have grown up in the same belief, and you dare 
 even now to avow it. You know that I have no fear of 
 you." 
 
 " Then why had you got that pistol ? " 
 
 I saw that he was vexed and surprised at my having 
 perceived it. 
 
 " In a house like this, where such deeds have been 
 done, I think it right to be armed. Do you think if I 
 had feared you, or your evidence, I would have restored 
 that dagger ? " 
 
 " Whose was it ? " 
 
 " I told you the other night that I once saw a weapon 
 like it, for which at first I mistook it, but closer examina- 
 tion convinced me of the difference." 
 
 "How does it differ?"
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 99 
 
 " In this. There was no snake on the handle of the 
 other, though there was the cross on the blade." 
 
 " And where did you see the other ? " 
 
 " Some day I will tell you. It is not right to do so now." 
 
 " 'Not convenient to you, I suppose you mean." 
 
 " I have also shown you that the lock of hair found in 
 your poor mother's hand is much finer and more silky 
 than mine ; and you know that I cannot draw on my 
 foot a boot so small as the one whose impression you 
 have. But I am ashamed of myself for having stooped 
 to such proofs as these. Dare you to look at me and 
 suppose that I with my own hand could have stabbed 
 my brother, a brother so kind and good to me, and for 
 whose sake alone I have borne so long with you ? " 
 
 He tried to look me down. I have met but one 
 whose gaze could master mine ; and he was not that one. 
 
 " So, you doubt me still ? Are your things packed ? ' 
 
 " Yes, and my mother's." 
 
 " Then if your mother is well enough, and will not let 
 you leave her, you had better go next week." 
 
 " No," I replied, " we will go to-morrow." 
 
 " Wilful to the last. So be it. Take this ; you can- 
 not refuse it in duty to your mother." 
 
 II 2
 
 100 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 He put in my hand an order for a large sum of money. 
 I threw it into the fire. 
 
 " There have been criminals," I exclaimed, " who have 
 suffered from a life-long fear, lest the widow and 
 orphans, starved through their crime, should compass 
 their dying bed. Though we starve in a garret, we 
 touch no bread of yours." 
 
 " Bravo, Miss Melodrame. You need never starve in 
 the present state of the stage." 
 
 " That I don't understand ; but this I do. It is per- 
 haps the last time I shall ever see you living. Whether 
 you did that deed or not is known to God, and you, and 
 possibly one other. But whether you did it or not, I 
 know it is on your soul. Your days are wretched, your 
 nights are troubled. You shall die as your brother died, 
 but not so prepared for death." 
 
 '' Good bye, Clara. My lunch is coming up." 
 
 God has much to forgive me, but nothing worse than 
 the dark thought of that speech. In my fury at weak- 
 ness in such a cause, I had dared sometimes to imagine 
 that my mother knew him to be the murderer, but con- 
 cealed it for the sake of the family honour !
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 No need to recount my bitter farewell to all the 
 scenes and objects I had loved so long, to all which pos- 
 sessed a dark yet tender interest, and most of all to my 
 father's grave. That some attention might still be paid 
 to this, I entrusted it to the care of an old housekeeper 
 of ours, who was liviug in the village. My last visit 
 was in the moonlight, and dear mother was there. I 
 carried rather than led her away. Slight as my know- 
 ledge has been of lightsome and happy love, I am sure 
 that a sombre affection is far the stronger and sweeter. , 
 
 As we began our journey, a crowd of the villagers met 
 us beyond the lodge, and lined the Gloucester road as 
 far as the old oak-tree. While our hired conveyance 
 passed between them, the men stood mute with their 
 hats in their hands, the women sobbed and curtseyed, 
 and blessed us, and held up their children to look at us. 
 
 Our refuge was the small estate or farm in Devon- 
 shire, which I have mentioned as my mother's property.
 
 102 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 This, which produced £45 a-year, was all that now re- 
 mained to us, except a sum of £1,000 left to me by a 
 godfather, and of which I could not touch the principal. 
 The residue of the personalty, and the balance at the 
 banker's, we had refused to take, being assured that legally 
 we were responsible to Mr. Vaughan, even for the back 
 rents of the Gloucestershire estate. Of course we had 
 plenty of jewellery, some of it rather valuable, but the 
 part most precious was heirloom, and that we had left 
 behind. Most of our own had been my father's gift, and 
 therefore we could not bear to sell it. 
 
 As regarded myself, this comparative poverty was not 
 of very great moment, except as impairing my means of 
 search ; but for my mother's sake I was cut to the heart, 
 and lost in perplexity. She had so long been accustomed 
 to much attention and many luxuries, which her weak 
 health had made indispensable to her. Thomas Hen- 
 wood and poor Ann Maples insisted on following our 
 fortunes, at one third of their previous wages. My 
 mother thought it beyond our means to keep them even 
 so ; but for her sake I resolved to try. I need not say 
 that I carried all my relics, difficult as it was to liide 
 them from my mother.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 103 
 
 When we reached, our new home, late in the evening 
 of the second day, a full sense of our privation for the 
 first time broke upon us. It was mid-winter, and in the 
 gloom of a foggy night, and after the weariness of a long 
 journey, our impressions were truly dismal Jolted end- 
 lessly up and down by ruts a foot deep and slaty stones 
 the size of coal-scuttles, entombed alive betwixt grisly 
 hedges which met above us like the wings of night, then 
 obliged to walk up treadmill hills while the rickety fly 
 crawled up behind ; then again plunging and lurching 
 down some corkscrew steep to the perpetual wood and 
 rushing stream at the bottom ; at length and at last 
 along a lane so narrow that it scraped us on both sides 
 as we passed, a lane which zig-zagged every thirty yards 
 with a tree-bole jutting at eveiy corner, at length and at 
 last we came to the farmyard gate. It was not far from 
 the lonely village of Trentisoe, which lies some six miles 
 to the west of Lynmouth. This part is little known to 
 London tourists, though it possesses scenery of a rarer 
 kind than L}Timouth itself can show. 
 
 Passing through an outer court, ^vith a saw-pit on one 
 side and what they call a '' linhay " on the other, and 
 where a slop of straw and " muck " quelched under the
 
 104 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 wheels, we came next to the farmyard proper, and so (as 
 the flyman expressed it) " home to ouze." The " ouze " 
 was a low straggling cottage, jag-thatched, and heavy- 
 eaved, and reminded me strongly of ragged wet horse- 
 cloths on a rack. The farmer was not come home from 
 Ilfracombe market, but his wife, Mrs. Honor Huxtable, 
 soon appeared in the porch, with a bucket in one hand 
 and a candle stuck in a turnip in the other. In the 
 cross-lights, 'we saw a stout short woman, brisk and 
 comely, with an amazing cap, and cheeks like the apples 
 which they call in Devonshire " hoary mornings." 
 
 " A massy on us, Zuke," she called into the house, " if 
 here hain't the genelvolks coom, and us be arl of a 
 muck ! Hurn, cheel, hum for thee laife to the calves' 
 ouze, and toorn out both the pegs, and take the pick to 
 the strah, and gie un a veed o' wets." 
 
 Having thus provided for our horse, she advanced 
 to us. 
 
 " So, ye be coom at last ! I be crule glad to zee e, 
 zure enough. Baint e starved amost ! An unkid 
 place it be for the laikes of you." 
 
 So saying, she hurried us into the house, and set us 
 before a wood-fire all glowing upon the ground, beneath
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN". 105 
 
 an enormous cliimney podded with great pots and crocks 
 hung on things like saws. These pots, like Devonshire 
 hospitality, were always boiling and chirping. The 
 kitchen was low, and floored with lime and sand, which 
 was worn into pits such as boys use for marbles ; but 
 the great feature was the ceiling. This was divided by 
 deep rafters into four compartments lengthwise. Across 
 some of these, battens of wood were nailed, forming a 
 series of racks, wherein reposed at least a stye-ful of 
 bacon. Herbs and stores of many kinds, and ropes of 
 onions dangled between. 
 
 Mrs. Huxtable went to the dresser, and got a large 
 dish, and then turned round to have a good look at us. 
 
 "Poor leddy," she said gently, "I sim her's turble 
 weist and low. But look e zee, there be a plenty of 
 bakken yanner, and us'll cut a peg's drort to-morrow, and 
 Varmer Badcock '11 zend we a ship, by rason ourn be 
 all a'lambing." Then she turned to me. 
 
 " Whai, Miss, you looks crule unlvid tu. Do e love 
 zider?" 
 
 " No, Mrs. Huxtable. Not very much. I would 
 rather have water." 
 
 " Oh drat that wash, e shan't have none of thiccy.
 
 106 CL.VRA VAUGHAN. 
 
 Us has got a brown gearge of beer, and more nor a 
 dizzen pans of mulk and crame." 
 
 Her chattering warmth soon put us at our ease ; and 
 as soon as the parlour fire burnt up, she showed us with 
 many apologies, and " hopping no offence " the room 
 which -was thenceforth to be ours. 
 
 After tea, I put my dear mother to bed as soon as 
 possible, and sat by the dying fire to muse upon our 
 prospects. Not the strangeness of the place, the new 
 ideas around me, not even my weariness after railroad, 
 coach, and chaise, could keep my mind from its one 
 subject. In fact, its colour had now become its form. 
 
 To others indeed, all hope of ever detecting and 
 bringing to justice the man, for whose death I lived, 
 might seem to grow fainter and fainter. Expelled from 
 that place, and banished from those recollections, where, 
 and by which alone, I could well expect ever to wind 
 up my clue, robbed of all means of mo\ing indifferent 
 persons and retaining strong ones ; and, more than this, 
 engrossed (as I must henceforth be) in keeping debt at 
 bay, and shielding my mother from care — what prospect 
 w^as there, nay what possibility, that I a weak unaided 
 girl, led only by set will and fatalism, should ever over-
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 107 
 
 take and grasp a man of craft, and power, and des- 
 peration ? 
 
 It mattered not : let other things be doubtfal, un- 
 likely, or impossible ; let the hands of men be clenched 
 against me, and the ears of heaven be stopped ; let the 
 earth be spread with thick darkness, as the waters are 
 spread with earth, and the murderer set Sahara between 
 us, or turn hermit on the Andes ; happen what would, 
 so God were still above us, and the world beneath our 
 feet — I was as sure that I should send that man from 
 the one to the throne of the other, as he was sure to be 
 dragged away thence, to fire, and chains, and gnashing 
 of teeth.
 
 108 CLAEA. VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 So impulsive, kind-hearted, and honest was Mrs. 
 Huxtable, that we could always tell what was the next 
 thing she was going to say or do. Even at her meals 
 she contrived to be in a bustle, except on Sundays ; but 
 she got through a great deal of work. On Sundays she 
 put on, with her best gown, an air of calm dignity 
 which made her unhappy until it was off, which it 
 was directly after the evening service. She seemed a 
 very sensible woman, and whatever the merits of the case 
 she sided always with the weakest. The next morning 
 we asked how it was she appeared not to expect us, as 
 I had written and posted the letter myself on the 
 previous Saturday. 
 
 " For sure now," she replied, " and the papper scrawl 
 coom'd on Monday ; but us hain't girt scholards, and 
 Varmer said most like 'twas the Queen's taxes, for there 
 was her head upon it ; so us put un in the big mortar
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 109 
 
 till Beany Dawe should come over, or us should go to 
 churcli next Zunday, and passon would discoorse it for 
 us. But " — and off she ran — " But her belongs to you 
 now, Miss Clerer, seeing as how you've coom after un." 
 
 So they had only a general idea that we were coming, 
 and knew not when it would be. The following day, 
 Thomas Henwood arrived, bringing our boxes in a vehicle 
 called a " butt," which is a short and rudely made cart, 
 used chiefly for carrying lime. 
 
 After unpacking our few embellishments, we set up a 
 clumsy but comfortable sofa for my mother, and tried to 
 divert her sadness a little by many a shift and device to 
 garnish our narrow realm. We removed the liorrible 
 print of " Death and the Lady," which was hung above 
 the chimneypiece, and sundry daubs of our Lord and 
 the Apostles, and a woman of Samaria with a French 
 parasol, and Eli falling from a turnpilve gate over the 
 Great Western steamer. But these alterations were not 
 made without some wistful glances from poor Mrs. 
 Huxtable. At last, when I began to nail up a simple 
 sketch of the church at Yaughan St. Mary instead of 
 a noble representation of the Prodigal Son, wearing a 
 white hat with a pipe stuck under the riband^ and
 
 110 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 weeping into a handkerchief with some horse upon it, 
 the good dame could no longer repress her feelings. 
 
 "Whai, Miss Clerer, Miss, dear art alaive, cheel, 
 what be 'bout ? Them's the smartest picters anywhere 
 this saide of Coom. Varmer gied a pan of hogs' 
 puddens for they, and a Chainey ta}^ot and a Zunday 
 pair of corderahoys. Why them'll shaine with the zun 
 on 'um, laike a vield of poppies and charlock. But thic 
 smarl pokey papper of yourn ha'ant no more colour 
 nor the track of a marly scrarly. A massy on us if I 
 couldn't walk a better picter than thic, with my pattens 
 on in the zider squash." 
 
 To argue with such a connoisseur would have been 
 worse than useless ; so I pacified her by hanging the 
 rejected gems in her own little summer room by the 
 dairy. Our parlour began before long to look neat and 
 even comfortable. Of course the furniture was rough, 
 but I care not much for upholstery, and am quite rude 
 of French polish. My only fear was lest the damp from 
 the lime-ash floor should strike to my dear mother's 
 feet, through the scanty drugget which covered it. The 
 fire-place was bright and quaint, lined with old Dutch 
 tiles, and the grey- washed walls were less offensive to
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. Ill 
 
 the eye than would have been a paper chosen by good 
 Mrs. Huxtable. The pretty lattice window, budding 
 even now with woodbine, and impudent to the winds 
 with myrtle, would have made amends for the meanest 
 room in England. Before it lay a simple garden with 
 sparry walks and bright-thatched hives, and down a 
 dingle rich with trees and a crystal stream, it caught a 
 glimpse of the Bristol Channel.
 
 112 CLARA VAUGHAN". 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 Whex our tilings were nearly settled, and I was 
 sitting by myself, with dirty hands and covered with 
 dust, there came a little timid tap at the door, followed 
 by a shuffling outside, as if some one contemplated 
 flight, yet feared to fly. Opening the door, I was 
 surprised to find the child whom I expected a massive 
 figm^e, some six feet and a quarter high, and I know not 
 how many feet in width, but wide enough to fill the 
 entire passage. He made a doubtful step in advance, 
 till his great open-hearted face hung sheepishly above 
 my head. 
 
 " Have I the pleasure of seeing Mr. Huxtable ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " Ees 'um," he stammered, blushing like a beet-root, 
 "leastways Miss, I ort to zay, no plasure 'um to the 
 laikes of thee, but a honour to ai. Varmer Uxtable they 
 karls me round about these 'ere parts, and some on 'em
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 113 
 
 Varmer Jan, and Beany Dawe, he karl me 'Yarmer 
 Brak-plew-harnisli, as tosses arl tliey Garnish/ and a 
 dale he think of his potry as it please God to give 'un : 
 but ^Maister, may be, is the riglar thing, leastways you 
 knows best, Miss." "Danged if I can coom to dis- 
 course with girt folks nohow, no more nor a sto-un." 
 This was an " aside," but audible a long way off, as they 
 always are on the stage. 
 
 " But I am a very small folk, ^Ir. Huxtable, compared 
 at least with you." 
 
 " I humbly ax your parding. Miss, but ai didn't goo 
 for to be zuch a beg, nockety, sprarling zort of a chap. I 
 didn't goo for to do it nohow. Eeckon 'twar my moother's 
 valt, her were always draming of hayricks." This also 
 was an " aside." 
 
 " Come in," I said, " I am very glad to see you, and 
 so will my mother be." 
 
 " ^00 ! Be e now ? Be e though undade, my dear ? " 
 he asked with the truest and finest smile I ever saw ; 
 and I felt ashamed in front of the strong simplicity 
 which took my conventional words for heart's 
 truth. 
 
 " Them's the best words," he continued " as ai 've 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 'eered this many a dai ; for ai'll be daiiged if ever a 
 loi coidd coom from miner such eyes as yourn." 
 
 And thereupon he took my puny weak hand in 
 his rough iron palm, like an almond in the nut-crackers, 
 and examined it with pitying w^onder. 
 
 " Wull, wull ! some hands be made for mulking coos, 
 and some be made of the crame itself. Now there 
 couldn't be such a iDurty thing as tliis ere, unless it wor 
 to snow war'rm. But her bain't no kaind of gude 
 for rarstling ? and ai be aveared thee'll have to rarstle 
 a rare bout wi the world, my dearie : one down, tother 
 coom on, that be the wai of 'un." 
 
 " Oh, T am not afraid, Mr. Huxtable." 
 
 He took some time to meditate upon this, and shook 
 his head when he had finished. 
 
 " ISToo, thee bain't aveard yet I'll warrne. Gude art 
 alaive, if e bain't a spurrity maid. But if ere a chap 
 zays the black word on e — and thiccy's the taime when 
 a maid can't help herzell, then ony you karl Jan 
 Uxtable that's arl my dear, and if so be it's in the 
 dead hoor of the naight, and thee beest to tother zaide 
 of Hexymoor, ai'll be by the zaide of thee zooner nor ai 
 could thraw^ a vorehip."
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 115 
 
 Before I could thank him for his honest championsliip 
 my mother entered the room, and all his bashfulness 
 (lost for the moment in the pride of strength) came over 
 him again like an extinguisher. Although he did not 
 tremble — liis nerves were too firm for that — he stood 
 fumbling with his hat, and reddening, and looking 
 vaguely about, at a loss where to put his eyes or 
 anything else. 
 
 My mother, quite worn out with her morning's walk,, 
 surprised at her uncouth visitor, and frightened perhaps 
 at his bulk, sank on our new-fangled sofa, in a stupor 
 of weakness. Then it was strange and fine to see 
 the strong man's sense of her feeble state. All his 
 embarrassment vanished at once ; he saw there was 
 something to do ; and a look of deep interest quickened 
 his great blue eyes. Poising his heavy frame with 
 the lightness of a bird, he stepped to her side as if 
 the floor had been holy, and, scarcely touching her, 
 contrived to arrange the rude cushions, and to lay 
 her delicate head in an easy position, as a nurse com- 
 poses a child. All the while, his looks and manner 
 expressed so much feeling and gentleness, that he must 
 have kno^vn what it was to lose a daucjhter or motlier. 
 
 l2
 
 116 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Poor dear leddy," he Avliispered to me, " lier be 
 used to zummiit more plum nor thiccy, I reckon. 
 Her zimth crule weist and low laike. Hath her been 
 long in that there wai ? " 
 
 " Yes, she has long been weak and poorly ; but I 
 fear that her health has been growing worse for the 
 last few months." I couldn't help crying a little ; 
 and I couldn't help his seeing it. 
 
 "Dang thee, Jan Uxtable, for a doilish girt zinny. 
 Now doon e tak on so, Miss ; doon e, that's a dear. 
 Avore her's been here a wake, her'U be as peart as 
 a gladdy. There bain't in arl they furren parts no 
 place the laike of this ere to make a body ston up- 
 raight. The braze cooms off o Hexymoor as frash as 
 a young coolt, and up from the zay as swate as the 
 breath of a coo on the clover, and he'll zit on your 
 chake the zame as a dove on her nestie ; and ye'll 
 be so hearty the both on ye, that ye'll karl for taties 
 and heggs and crame and inyons avore e be hout of 
 bed. Ee's fai ye wull." With this homely comfort 
 he departed, after a cheering glance at my mother. 
 
 Before I proceed, the Homeric epithet "Break- 
 plough-harness," applied by the poet to Mr. Hux-
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 117 
 
 table, needs some explanation. It appears that the 
 farmer, in some convivial hour (for at other times 
 he detested vaunting), had laid a wager that he and 
 Timothy Badcock, his farm-labourer, would plough 
 half an acre of land, " wiout no beastessy in the falde." 
 Now, it happened that the Parracombe blacksmith had 
 lately been at Barnstaple, and there had seen a man 
 who had heard of ploughing by steam. So when 
 the farmer's undertaking got noised abroad and mag- 
 nified, all Exmoor assembled to witness the exploit, 
 wondering, trembling, and wrathful Benches and 
 tables were set in the " higher Barton," a nice piece 
 of mealy land, just at the back of the house, while 
 Suke and Mrs. Huxtable plied the cider-barrel for 
 the yeomen of the neighbourhood. The farmer liim- 
 self was not visible — no plough or ploughing tackle 
 of any description appeared, and a rumour began to 
 spread that the whole affair was a hoax, and the 
 contriver afraid to show himself. But as people began 
 to talk of " sending for the constable " (who, of course 
 was there all the time), and as cart-whips and knob- 
 sticks began to vibrate ominously, Mrs. Huxtable made 
 a signal to Mr. Dawe, who led off the grumbluig tJirong
 
 118 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 to the further end of the field, wliere an old rick-cloth 
 lay along against the hedge. While the tilting Avas 
 moved aside, the bold sons of Exmoor shrunk back, 
 expecting some horrilDle monster, whose smoke was 
 already puffing. All they saw was a one-horse plough 
 with the farmer, in full harness, sitting upon it and 
 smoking his pipe, and Timothy Badcock patiently 
 standing at the plough-tail. Amid a loud hurrah from 
 his friends, Mr. Huxtable leaped to the fore, and cast 
 his pipe over the hedge ; then settled the breast-band 
 across the wrestling-pads on his chest, and drew tight 
 both the chain-traces. " Gee wugg now, if e wull," 
 cried stout Tim Badcock cheerily, and off sailed the 
 good ship of husbandry, cleaving a deep bright furrow. 
 But when they reached the corner, the farmer turned too 
 sharply, and snapped the off-side trace. That accident 
 impressed the multitude with a deeper sense of his 
 prowess than even the striking success which attended 
 his primitive method of speeding the plough. 
 
 To return to my mother. As spring came on, and the 
 beautiful country around us freshened and took green 
 life from the balmy air, I even ventured to hope that 
 the good yeoman's words would be true. He had
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAN. 119 
 
 become, by this time, a great friend of ours, doing bis 
 utmost tbat we migbt not feel tbe loss of our faithful 
 Thomas Henwood. 
 
 Poor Thomas bad been very loth to depart ; but I 
 found, as we got settled, that my mother ceased to want 
 him, and it would have been wrong as well as foolish 
 to keep him any longer. He invested his savings in 
 a public-house at Gloucester, which he called the 
 " Vaughan Arms," and soon afterwards married Jane 
 Hiatt, a daughter of our head game-keeper ; or I ought 
 to say, Mr. Vaughan's. 
 
 Ann Maples remained with us still. We lived, as 
 may be supposed, in the most retired manner. My time 
 was chiefly occupied in attendance upon dear mother, 
 and in attempts to create for her some of those countless 
 comforts, whose value we know not until they are lost. 
 After breakfast, my mother would read for an hour her 
 favourite parts of Scripture, and vainly endeavour to 
 lead me into the paths of peace. Her soul discarded 
 more and more the travel garb and wayfaring troubles 
 of this lower existence, as, day by day, it won a nearer 
 view of the golden gate, and the glories beyond ; witli 
 which I have seen her eyes suffused, like the lucid
 
 120 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 heaven with sunrise. It has been said, and I believe, 
 that there is nothing, in all our material world, so lovely 
 as a fair woman looking on high for the angels she 
 knows to be waiting for her. 
 
 Even I, though looking in an opposite direction, and 
 for an opposite being, could not but admire that gentle 
 meekness, whose absence formed the main fault of 
 my character. ISTot that I was hard-hearted, or cross, 
 (unless self-love deceives me), but restless yearning and 
 hatred were ever at work within me ; and these repel 
 things of a milder nature, as a bullet cries tush to 
 the zej)hyr.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 121 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 One cold day in March, when winter had come to say 
 " good-bye " with a roar, after wheeling the sofa with 
 my mother upon it towards the parlour fire, I went 
 out to refresh my spirit in the kitchen wdth Mrs. 
 Huxtable, and to " yat myself" (for the sofa took all 
 the parlour fire) by the fragrant hearth of wood and 
 furze. The farmer's wife was " larning " me some strange 
 words of her native dialect, wliich I was now desirous 
 to " discoorse," and which she declared to be " the only 
 vitty talk. Arl the lave of thiccy stoof, zame as the 
 Carnishers and the Zummersets and the Lunnoners 
 tulls up, arl thiccy's no more nor a passel of gibbersh, 
 Miss Clerer, and not vitty atari ; noo, nor English 
 nother. Instead of zaying ' ai ' laike a Kirsten, zome 
 on em zays * oi,' and zome on em ' I.' " In the middle 
 of her lecture, and just as I had learned that to 
 " quilty " is the proper English for to " swallow," and 
 that the passage down which we quilty is, correctly
 
 122 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 speaking, not the throat, but the " ezelpipe," a strange- 
 looking individual darkened the "draxtool"' (corruptly 
 called the threshold) and crossed the ''planch," or 
 floor, to the fireplace where we sat. 
 
 Turning round, I beheld a man about fifty years old, 
 of moderate stature, gauntly bodied, and loosely built, 
 and utterly reckless of his attire. His face was long 
 and thin, the profile keenly aquiline ; and the angles 
 made yet sharper, by a continual twitching and tension 
 of the muscles. The skin of his cheeks was drawn, 
 from his solemn brows to his lipless and down-curved 
 mouth, tight and hollow, like the bladder on a jam-pot. 
 His eyes, of a very pale blue, seemed always to stand 
 on tip-toe, and never to know what he was going to say. 
 A long, straight, melancholy chin, grisly with patches 
 of hair, was meant by nature to keep his mouth shut, 
 and came back sullenly when it failed. Over his 
 shoulders was flung a patched potato-sack, fastened in 
 front with a wooden skewer, and his nether clothes 
 were as ragged as poetry. In his air and manner, self- 
 satisfaction strove hard with solemn reserve. Upon the 
 whole he reminded me of an owl who has lost his heart 
 to a bantam hen. I cannot express him justly ; but
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 123 
 
 those who have seen may recognise Beany Dawe, the 
 sawyer, acknowledged the hard of the north of Devon. 
 !Mr. Ebenezer Dawe, without any hesitation or salute, 
 took a three-legged stool, and set it between our chairs, 
 then looked from ^Irs. Huxtable to me, and introduced 
 himself. 
 
 " Willi, here be us three, 
 And I hopps us shall agree." 
 
 " Agray indeed," cried Mrs. Huxtable, " doon 'e zee 
 the quarlity be here, ye aul vulel" Then turning to 
 me. " Doon'e be skeared, Miss Clerer, it be oney that 
 there aul mazed ramscallion. Beany Dawe. Her makth 
 what girt scholards, laike you, karls potry, or zum 
 such stoof. Her casn' oppen the drort of liim nohow, 
 but w^hat her must spake potry. Bote* indeed ! 
 No tino, I'd pote un out of ouze if I was the waife of 
 un. ' Zee zaw. Beany Dawe V that be arl the name 
 he hath aimed vor his rhaiming and rubbish, and too 
 good for 'un too 1 Ehaime, rhaime, drash, drasli, like 
 two girt gawks in a barn ! Oh fai, oh fai ; and a maight 
 have aimed two zhillings a dai and his zider ! " 
 
 Tlie subject of these elegant strictures regarded her 
 * " Pote." Damnonic for to " kick."
 
 124 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 all the time, with that pleased pity which none but a 
 great Poet so placed can feel. Then swinging slowly 
 on his tripod, and addressing the back of the clumney, 
 he responded : 
 
 " Poor vule ! Her dunno what a saight 'tis haigher 
 To be a Poiit, nor a Imnderzawyer ! " 
 
 Perhaps his lofty couplet charmed her savage ear ; at 
 any rate she made a peaceful overture. 
 
 " Coom now, Mr. Dawe, wull e have a few broth ?" 
 He assented with an alacrity much below his dignity ; 
 
 '* Taties,'and zider, maat, and broth a few, 
 Wull, zin you ax ai, ai'U not answer noo." 
 
 '' E shan't have no cider," replied his hostess, " without 
 e'll spake, for wance, laike a Kirsten, maind that, with- 
 out no moor of thiccy jingle jangle, the very zame for 
 arl the world as e be used to droon in the zawpit. 
 ' Zee, zaw, Margery Daw,' with the arms of e a gwayn 
 up and doon, up and doon, and your oyes and maouth 
 most chokked with pilm * and the vace of e a burning 
 laike a taypot, and never a drop of out to aise the 
 crickles of your barck. That's the steet you potes be 
 in, and zawyers." 
 
 As she delivered this comment, she swung to and 
 
 * Film, Londinice, "dust."
 
 / 
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 125 
 
 fro on her chair, in weak imitation of tlie impressive 
 roll, with which he enforced his rhyme. This plagiarism 
 annoyed him much more than her words : but he vin- 
 dicated his cause, like a true son of song. 
 
 " And if zo hap, I be a pout grand, 
 Thee needn't jah, 'cos thee doon't understand. 
 A pout, laike a 'ooman, or a bell, 
 Must have his clack out, and can't help hiszell. " 
 
 A mighty " ha ha " from the door, like a jocund 
 earthquake, proved that this last hit had found an echo 
 in some ample bosom. 
 
 " Thee shall have as much vittels as ever -thee can 
 let down," said the farmer, as he entered, " danged 
 if thee hain't a wunnerful foine chap, zure enough. 
 Ai'd as lieve a'most to be a pote, plase God, as I wud 
 to be a ooman : zimth to ai, there hain't much differ 
 atwixt 'em. But they vainds out a saight of things 
 us taks no heed on. I reckon now, Beany, thee cas'n 
 drink beer ? " 
 
 This was a home thrust, for ^Mr. Dawe was a no- 
 torious drinker. He replied with a lieavv siuli and 
 profoundly solemn look : 
 
 "Ah noo ! a noo ! Unless when I be vorcel, 
 By rason, Dactor zaith, my stommick ba'in exhaust.*'
 
 126 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 "And what was it the doctor said to you, Mr. Dawe?" 
 I asked, perceiving that he courted inquiry. He fixed 
 his eyes upon me, with a searching look ; eager, as it 
 seemed, yet fearing to believe that he had found at 
 last a generous sympathy. 
 
 *' ' Twas more nor dree montlis zince ai titclied a drap, 
 When ai was compelled to consult the Dactor chap ; 
 He zaith, zaith he, ' 'tain't no good now this here, 
 Oh, Ebenezer Dawe, you miMst tak beer. ' " 
 
 These words he repeated with impressive earnestness, 
 shaking his head and sighing, as if in deprecation of 
 so sad a remedy. Yet the subject possessed perhaps 
 a melancholy charm, and his voice relented to a pensive 
 unctuousness, as he concluded. 
 
 ** ' Tak beer ! ' I zays, ' Lor, I dunnow the way ! ' 
 * Then you must larn,' zays he, ' this blessed day : 
 You'm got, ' he zays, ' a daungerous zinking here, 
 Your constitooshun do requaire beer.' " 
 
 "Thee wasn' long avore thee tried it, I'll warr'n," 
 said the farmer, " tache the calf the vrai to the coo ! " 
 
 Scorning this vile insinuation, Mr. Dawe continued 
 thus : 
 
 " "Wull, after that, mayhap a month or zo, 
 I was gooin home, the zame as maight be noo :
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 127 
 
 I had zawed a helium up for Yarmer Yeo, 
 
 And a velt my stommick gooin turble low, 
 
 Her cried and skooned, like a chield left in the dark, 
 
 And a maze laike in my head, and a maundering in my barck. 
 
 Zo whun ai coom to the voot of Breakneck hill, 
 
 I zeed the public kept by Pewter Will : 
 
 The virelight showed the glasses in the bar, 
 
 And 'um danced and twinkled like the avening star. " 
 
 Here he paused, overcome by his own description. 
 
 "AYuU," said the farmer, brightening with fellow- 
 feeling, for he liked his glass, '' Wull, thee toorned in 
 and had a drap, laike a man, and not be shamed of it 
 nother. And how did her tast ? A must have been 
 nation good, after so long a drouth ! " 
 
 ** Coom'd down my drort, like the Quane and Princess Eoyal, 
 The very sa-am as a drap of oi-al ! " 
 
 " The very sa-am, the very sa-am," he repeated with an 
 extrametrical smack of his lips, which he wiped with 
 the back of his hand, and cast a meaning glance towards 
 the cellar. The farmer rose, and took from the dresser 
 a heavy quart cup made of pewter. \Yith this he went 
 to the cellar, whence issued presently a trickling and 
 frothing sound, which thrilled to the sensitive heart of 
 Mr. Dawe. The tankard of ale, with a crown of white
 
 128 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 foam, was presented to the thirsty bard by his host, who 
 did not, however, relinquish his grasp upon the vessel ; 
 but imposed (like Pluto to Orpheus) a stern condition. 
 " !N"ow, Beany Dawe, thee shan't have none, unless thee 
 can zay zurnmut without no poetry in it." 
 
 At this barbarous restriction, poor Ebenezer rolled 
 his eyes in a most tragic manner ; he thrust his tongue 
 into his cheek, and swung himself, not to and fro as 
 usual, but sideways, and clutched one hand on the 
 tatters of his sack, while he clung with the other to the 
 handle of the cup. Then with a great effort, and very 
 slowly, he spoke — 
 
 '* If my poor vasses only maks you frown, 
 I'll try, ees fai I vrall, to keep 'em — " 
 
 A rhyme came over him, the twitching of his face 
 showed the violence of the struggle ; he attempted to 
 say "in," but nature triumphed, and he uttered the 
 fatal "down." In a moment the farmer compressed 
 his mighty fingers, and crushed the thick metal like 
 silver paper. The forfeit liquor flew over the poet's 
 knees, and hissed at his feet in the ashes. Foreseeing 
 a storm of verse from him, and of prose from Mrs.
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN". 129 
 
 Huxtable at the fate of the pride of her dresser, I made 
 a hasty retreat. 
 
 Thenceforth I took a kind interest in our conceited 
 but harmless bard. His neighbours seemed not to 
 know, how long it was since he had first yielded to 
 his unfortunate ailment ; which probably owed its birth 
 to the sound of the saw. During our first interview, 
 his rhythm and rhyme had been unusually fluent and 
 finished, from pride perhaps at having found a new 
 audience, or from some casual inspiration. Candour 
 compels me to admit that his subsequent w^orks were 
 little, if at all, better than those of his more famous 
 contemporaries ; and I am not so proud, as he expects 
 me to be, of his connexion with my sad history. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 130 CLAEA. VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 About haK a mile from Tossil's Barton (tlie farm- 
 house where we lived) there is a valley, or rather a vast 
 ravine, of a very uncommon formation. A narrow 
 winding rocky combe, where slabs, and tors, and 
 boulder stones, seem pasturing on the velvet grass, 
 or looking into the bright trout-stream, which leaps 
 down a flight of steps without a tree to shade its flash 
 and foam ; this narrow, but glad dingle, as it nears the 
 sea, bursts suddenly back into a desert gorge,, cleaving 
 the heisjhts that front the Bristol Channel. The 
 mountain sides from right and left, straight as if struck 
 by rule, steeply converge, like a high-pitched roof 
 turned upside down; so steep indeed that none can 
 climb them. Along the deep bottom gleams a silver 
 chord, where the cramped stream chafes its way, 
 bedded and banked in stone, without a blade of green.
 
 CIAEA VAUGHAK. 131 
 
 From top to bottom of this huge ravine there is no 
 growth, no rocks, no cliffs, no place to stay the foot, 
 but all a barren, hard, grey stretch of shingle, slates, 
 and gliddery stones : as if the ballast of ten million 
 fleets had been shot in two enormous piles, and were 
 always on the slip. Looking at it we forget that there 
 is such a thing as life : the desolation is not painful, 
 because it is so grand. The brief noon glare of the 
 sun on these Titanic dry walls, where even a lichen 
 dies ; the gaunt desert shade stealing back to its lair 
 in the early afternoon ; the solemn step of evening 
 stooping to her cloak below — I know not which ol 
 these is the most impressive and mournfuL Xo stir of 
 any sort, no voice of man or beast, no flow of tide, ever 
 comes to visit here ; the little river, after a course of 
 battles, wins no peaceful union with the sea, but ponds 
 against a shingle bar, and gurgles away in slow whirl- 
 pools. Only a fitful moaning wind draws up and down 
 the melancholy chasm. The famous " Valley of Eocks," 
 some four miles to the east, seems to me common-place 
 and tame compared to this grand defile. Yet how 
 many men I know who would smoke their pipes 
 
 throughout it ! 
 
 K 2
 
 132 CLAKA VAUGHAX. 
 
 Thinking so mucli of this place, I long wished my 
 mother to see it ; and finding her rather stronger one 
 lovely April morning, I persuaded her forth, embarked 
 on Mrs. Huxtable's donkey. We went, down a small 
 tributary glen, towards the head of the great defile. 
 The little glen was bright, and green, and laughing into 
 bud, and bantering a swift brook, which could hardly 
 stop to answer, but left the ousels as it passed to talk 
 at leisure about their nests, and the trout to make those 
 musical leaps that sound so crisp through the alders. 
 Another stream meets it among the bushes below, and 
 now they are entitled to the dignity of a bridge 
 whereon grows the maidenhair fern, and which, with its 
 rude and pointed arch, looks like an old pack-saddle 
 upon the stream. 
 
 From this point we followed a lane, leading obliquely 
 up the ascent, before the impassable steep begins. 
 Having tethered our quiet donkey to a broken gate, 
 I took my mother along a narrow path through the 
 thicket to the view of the great ravine. Standing at 
 the end of this path, she was astonished at the scene 
 before her. AVe had gained a height of about two 
 hundred feet, the hill-top stretched a thousand feet
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 133 
 
 above us. We stood on the very limit of vegetation, 
 a straight line passing clown the hill where the quarry- 
 like steep begins. 
 
 My dear mother was tired, and I had called her to 
 come home, lest the view should make her giddy ; when 
 suddenly she stepped forward to gather a harebell 
 straggling among the stones. The shingle beneath her 
 foot gave way, then below her, and around, and above 
 her head, began in a great mass to glide. Buried to 
 the knees and falling sideways, she was sinking slowly 
 at first, then quickly and quicker yet, with a hoarse 
 roar of moving tons of stone, gathering and whelming 
 upon her, down the rugged abyss. Screaming, I leaped 
 into the avalanche after her, never thinking that I could 
 only do harm. Stronger, and swifter, and louder, and 
 surging, and berged with shouldering stone the solid 
 cascade rushed on. I saw dearest mother below me 
 trying to clasp her hands in prayer, and to give me 
 her last word. With a desperate effort dragging my 
 shawl from the gulfing crash, I threw it tow^ards her, 
 but she did not try to grasp it. A heavy stone leaped 
 over me, and struck her on the head ; her head dropped 
 back, she lay senseless, and nearly buried. We were
 
 134 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 dashing more headlong and headlong, in the rush of 
 the mountain side, to the precipice over the river, and 
 my senses had all but failed, and revenge was prone 
 before judgment, when I heard through the din a shout. 
 On the brink of firm ground stood a man, and signed 
 me to throw my shawl. With all my remaining strength 
 I did so, but not as he meant, for I cast it entirely to 
 him, and pointed to my mother below. One instant the 
 avalanche paused, he leaped about twenty feet down, 
 through the heather and gorse, and stayed his descent 
 by clutching a stout ash sapling. To this in a moment 
 he fastened my shawl, (a long and strong plaid), and 
 just as my mother was being swept by, he j^lunged 
 with the other end into the shingle tide. I saw him 
 leap and struggle towards her, and lift her out of the 
 gliding tomb, gliding himself the while, and sway him- 
 self and his burden, by means of the shawl, not back 
 (for that was impossible), but obliquely downwards ; 
 I saw the strong sapling bow to the strain like a fisliing- 
 rod, while hope and terror fought hard within me ; 
 I saw him, by a desperate effort, which bent the ash- 
 tree to the ground, leap from the whirling havoc, and 
 lay my mother on the dead fern and heath. Of the
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 13-5 
 
 rest, I know nothing, having become quite unconscious, 
 before he saved me, in the same manner. 
 
 We must have been taken home in Farmer Hux- 
 table's butt, for I remember well that, amidst the stir 
 and fright of our return, and while my mother was 
 still insensible, Mrs. Huxtable fell savagely upon poor 
 Suke, for having despatched that elegant vehicle mth- 
 out cleaning it from the lime dust ; whereby, as she 
 declared, our dresses (so rent and tattered by the jagged 
 stones) were " muxed up to shords." Poor Suke would 
 have been likely to fare much worse, if, at such a time, 
 she had stopped to dust the cart. 
 
 When the farmer came home, his countenance, rich 
 in capacity for expressing astonishment, far outdid 
 his words. " Wull, wull, for sure ! wuther ye did or 
 no ? " was all the vent he could find for his ideas 
 during the rest of the day ; though it was plain to all 
 who knew him that he was thinking profoundly upon 
 the subject, and wholly occupied with it. In the course 
 of the following week he advised me very ini])ressively 
 never to do it again ; and nothing could ever persuade 
 him but that I jumped in, and my mother came to 
 rescue me.
 
 136 CLAEA VAUGITAN. 
 
 But his wife very soon had all her wits about her. 
 She sent to " Coom " for the doctor (T begged that 
 it might not be Mi\ Dawe's physician), she put dear 
 mother to bed, and dressed her wounds with simples 
 worth ten druggists' shops, and bathed her temples 
 with rosemary, and ran down the glen for "fathery 
 ham " (Valerian), which she declared " would kill nine 
 sorts of infermation ; " then she hushed the entire 
 household, permitting no tongue to move except her 
 own, and beat her eldest boy (a fine young Hux- 
 table) for crying, whereupon he roared; she even con- 
 quered her strong desire to know much more than 
 all could tell ; and showed my mother such true 
 kindness and pity that I loved her for it at once, and 
 ever since. 
 
 Breathing slowly and heavily, my poor mother lay 
 in the bed which had long been the pride of Tossil's 
 Barton. The bedstead was made of carved oak, as 
 many of them are in ISTorth Devon, and would have 
 been handsome and striking, if some ancestral Hux- 
 table had not adorned it with whitewash. But the 
 quilt was what they were proud of. It was formed 
 of patches of diamond shape and most incongruous
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 137 
 
 colours, with a death's head in the centre and cross- 
 bones underneath. 
 
 When first I beheld it, I tossed it down the stairs, 
 but my mother would have it brought back and used, 
 because she knew how the family gloried in it, and she 
 could not bear to hurt their feelings. 
 
 One taper white hand lay on it now, with the ten- 
 der skin bruised and discoloured by blows. She had 
 closed the finger which bore her wedding ring, and it 
 still remained curved and rigid. In an agony of 
 tears, I knelt by the side of the bed, watching her 
 placid and deathlike face. Till then I had never 
 known how strongly and deeply I loved her. 
 
 I firmly believe that she was revived in some degree 
 by the glare of the patched quilt upon her eyes. The 
 antagonism of nature w^as roused, and brought home 
 her wandering powers. Feebly glancing away, she 
 came suddenly to herself, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Is she safe ? is she safe ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother; here I am, with my o\^ti dear mother." 
 
 She opened her arms, and held me in a ners^ous cold 
 embrace, and thanked God, and wept.
 
 138 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 When tlie surgeon came, he pronounced that none of 
 her limbs were broken, but that the shock to the brain, 
 and the whole system, had been so severe, that the only 
 chance of recovery consisted in perfect quiet. She 
 herself said that the question was, whether Providence 
 wanted her still to watch over her child. 
 
 After some days she came down stairs, not without 
 my support, and was propped once more upon her poor 
 sofa. Cahn she appeared, and contented, and happy 
 in such sort as of old; but whenever she turned her 
 glance from me, she observed with starting eyes every 
 little thing that moved. Especially she would lie and 
 gaze through the open window, at a certain large spider, 
 who worked very hard among the woodbine blossoms. 
 One day, in making too bold a cast, he fell ; some chord 
 of remembrance was touched, and she swooned away 
 on the couch.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAK 139 
 
 In spite of these symptoms I foncQy hoped that she 
 was recovering strength. She even walked out -sNith me 
 twice, in the sunny afternoon. But this only lasted a 
 very short time ; it soon became manifest, even to me, 
 that ere long she would be with my father. 
 
 Unable to fight any more with this dark perception, 
 I embraced it with a sort of savage despair, an utter 
 sinking of the heart, which defied God as it sank. 
 This she soon discovered, and I fear that it saddened 
 her end. 
 
 She was much disappointed, too, that we could not 
 find or thank him who had perilled his life for us. 
 IN'one could tell who he was, or what had become of 
 him; though the farmer, at our entreaty, searched all 
 the villages round. We were told, indeed, by the land- 
 lady of the " Eed-deer Inn " (a lonely public-house 
 near the scene of the accident) that a stranger had 
 come to her in very great haste, and, having learned 
 who we were, for she had seen us pass half an hour 
 before, had sent her boy to the farm for some kind of 
 conveyance, while he returned at full speed to attend 
 those whom he had rescued. It further appeared that 
 this stranger had helped to place us in the cart, and
 
 140 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 showed the kindest anxiety to lessen the roughness of 
 its motion, himself even leading old " Smiler," to thwart 
 his propensity to the deepest and hardest ruts. By 
 the time our slow vehicle reached the farm, Mrs. Hux- 
 table was returned from the Lower Cleve orchard, where 
 she had been smoking the fernwebs, in ignorance of our 
 mishap ; and our conductor, seeing us safe in her hands, 
 departed without . a word, while she was too flurried 
 and frightened to take much notice of him. 
 
 Neither could the woman of the inn describe him ; 
 she was so " mazed," when she Iieard of the " vail arl 
 down the girt goyal," as she called our slide of about 
 fifty feet ; and for this she quoted the stranger as her 
 authority, "them's the very words as he used;" though, 
 just before this, she had stated that he was a foreigner 
 and could not speak English. Knowing that in Devon- 
 shire any stranger is called a foreigner, and English 
 means tlie brogue of the countryside, I did not attach 
 much weight to this declaration. The only remaining 
 witness, the lad who had come with the butt, was too 
 stupid to describe anything, except three round O's, 
 with his mouth and eyes. 
 
 But it mattered little about description ; I had seen
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 141 
 
 that stranger under such circumstances, that I could 
 not fail to know him again. 
 
 On the morrow, and once in the following week, some 
 kind inquiries were made as to our condition, by means 
 of slips of paper conveyed by country lads, l^o name 
 was attached to these, and no information given about 
 the incj^uirer. The bearer of the first missive came 
 from Lpimouth, and of the second from Ilfracombe. 
 Xeither lad knew anything (though submitted by j\Irs. 
 Huxtable to keen cross-examination), except that he was 
 paid for his errand, but would like some cider, and that 
 the answer was to be written upon the paper he brought. 
 
 Whether any motive for concealment existed, beside 
 an excess of delicacy, or whether there even was any 
 intentional secresy, or merely indifference to our grati- 
 tude, was more than we could pretend to say. I am 
 not at all inquisitive — not more so, I mean, than other 
 women — but I need not confess that my curiosity (to 
 say nothing of better feelings) was piqued a little by 
 this uncommon reserve. 
 
 So now, beside the engrossing search for my deadly 
 enemy, I had to seek out another, my brave and noble 
 friend.
 
 142 CLARA VAUGHAX. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 But for the present, curiosity, gratitude, hate, all 
 feelings indeed and passions, except from the bled vein 
 of love, and the heart-rooted fibres of sorrow, were to 
 be crushed within me. Evening after evening, my dear 
 mother's presence seemed more and more dreamy and 
 shadowy ; and night after night she went feebler and 
 feebler to bed. In the morning indeed she had gathered 
 some fragile strength, such strength as so wasted a form 
 could exert, and the breeze and the fresh May sun made 
 believe of health on her cheeks. But no more was I 
 tempted to lay my arm round her waist, and rally her on 
 its delicate girlish span, nor could I now look gaily into 
 her eyes, and tell her how much she excelled her child. 
 Those little liberties, which with less than a matron's 
 dignity, and more than a mother's fondness she had so 
 long allowed me, became as she still expected, and I 
 could not bear to take them, so many great distresses.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 143 
 
 Even at night, when I twined in its simple mode her 
 soft brown hair, as I thought how few the times my 
 old task would be needed again, it cost me many a shift 
 to prevent her descrying my tears in the glass, or sus- 
 pecting them in my voice. For herself, she knew 
 well what was coming ; she had learned how soon she 
 must be my sweet angel instead of my mother, and her 
 last trouble was that she could not brinsc me to think 
 the difference small. So calmly she spoke of her end, 
 not looking at me the while for fear we both should 
 weep, so gently and sweetly she talked of the time when 
 I should hearken no more, as if she were going to visit 
 a garden and hand me the flowers outside. Then, if I 
 broke forth in an anguish of sobs, she would beg my 
 foimveness, as if she could have done wronir, and 
 mourn for my loneliness after her, as though she could 
 help forsaking me. 
 
 Looking back, even now, on that time, ho^r 1 
 condemn and yet pardon myself, reflecting how little 
 I tried to dissemble my child-like woe. 
 
 When all things rejoiced in their young summer 
 strength, and scarcely the breeze turned the leaves 
 for the songs of the birds, and the pure white hawthorn
 
 144 CLARA VAUGHA^J. 
 
 was calm as the death of the good, and the soul of 
 gladness was sad, we talked for the last time together, 
 mother and child, looking forth on the farewell of sun- 
 set. The room under the thatch smelled musty in 
 summer, and I had made up a bed on the sofa down- 
 stairs. The wasting low fever was past, and the weari- 
 some cough exhausted, and the flush had ebbed from 
 her cheeks (as the Avorld from her heart), and of all 
 human passions, and wishes, and cares, not one left a 
 trace in her bosom, except a mother's love. This and 
 only this retarded her flight to heaven, as the sight of 
 his nest delays the rising of the lark. 
 
 " My child," she began, and her voice was low, but 
 very distinct, "my only and darling child, who has 
 minded me so long, and laid her youth, and beauty, and 
 high courageous spirit, at the feet of her weak mother ; 
 my cliild, who fostered in wealth and love, will be to- 
 morrow an orphan, cast upon the wide world" — here 
 she fairly broke down, in spite of religion, and heaven, 
 and turned her head to the pillow, a true daughter and 
 mother of earth. I would fain have given that fortune, 
 whose loss to me she lamented, for leave to cry freely 
 with her, without adding to her distress.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 145 
 
 In a minute or two, she was able to proceed ; with 
 her thin hand she parted the hair shaken purposely 
 over my eyes. 
 
 " I am sure that my pet will listen, with kindness 
 and patience, while I try to say what has lain so long at 
 my heart. You know how painfully I have always 
 been moved by any allusion to the death of your 
 dear father. It has been a weakness no doubt on 
 my part, but one which I vainly strove against ; and 
 for which I trust to be pardoned where all is pardon 
 and peace." 
 
 Her voice began to tremble, and her eyes became 
 fixed, and I feared a return of the old disorder ; but she 
 shook it off, and spoke again distinctly, though with 
 great labour : 
 
 "This is a bitter subject, and I never could bring 
 myself to it, till now, when it seems too late. But, my 
 poor love, I am so anxious about it. For the rest — that 
 Providence which has never forsaken us, repine as I 
 would, I can trust that Providence still to protect my 
 darling child. There is one thing, and only one, by 
 promising which you will make my departure quite 
 happy. Then I shall go to rejoin your father, and carry 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 CLARA VAUGHAE^. 
 
 such tidings of you, as will enable its both to wait, in 
 the fulness of time, your coming." 
 
 " Oh, that the fulness of time were come ! " I cried 
 in my selfish loneliness ; " for me it is empty enough." 
 
 " My precious, my own darling Clara, you sob so, you 
 make me most wretched." 
 
 " Mother, I will not cry any more ; " neither did I, 
 while she could see me. 
 
 " I need not tell you," she said, " what is that promise 
 which I crave for your own dear sake." 
 
 " No, ma'am," I replied, " I know quite well what it is." 
 
 I saw that I had grieved her. How could I call 
 her then anything else than " mother " ? 
 
 " My mother dear, you wish me to promise this — that 
 I will forego my revenge upon him who slew my 
 father." 
 
 She bowed her head, with a look I cannot describe. 
 In the harsh way I had put it, it seemed as if she were 
 injuring both my father and me. 
 
 " Had you asked me anything else, although it were 
 sin against God and man (if you could ask such a 
 thing) — I would have pledged myself to it, as gladly as 
 I would die — die, at least, if my task w^ere done. But
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 147 
 
 this, this one thing only — to abandon what I live for, 
 what I was bom to do, to be a traitor to my own father 
 and you — I implore you, mother, by Him whose glory 
 is on you now, do not ask me this." 
 
 Her face in its sadness and purity made me bury my 
 eyes and forget things. 
 
 " Then I must die, and leave my only child possessed 
 with a murderer's spirit ! " 
 
 The depth of her last agony, and which I believed 
 would cling to her even in heaven, was more than I 
 could bear. I knelt on the floor and put my hand to 
 her side. Her worn out heart was throbbing afjain, 
 with the pang of her disappointment. 
 
 " Mother," I cried, " I will promise you this. WTien 
 I have discovered, as I must do, that man who has 
 made you a widow and me an orphan, if I find any 
 plea whatever to lessen his crime, or penitence to atone 
 for it, as I hope to see my father and mother in heaven, 
 I will try to spare and forgive him. Can you wish me 
 to rest in ignorance, and forget that deed 1 " 
 
 " Clara," she answered weakly, and she spoke more 
 slowly and feebly every time, " you have promised m^ 
 all I can hope for. How you loved your father ! Me 
 
 l2
 
 148 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 too you have loved I cannot say how much. For my 
 sake, you have borne poverty, trouble, and illness, 
 without a complaining word. By day, and by night, 
 through my countless wants, and long fretfulness." 
 
 I put my finger upon her pale Kps. How could she 
 tell such a story then ? Her tears came now and then, 
 and would not be stopped, as she laid her weak hand on 
 my head. 
 
 " May the God of the fatherless and the poor, who 
 knows and comforts the widow's grief, the God w^ho is 
 taldno- me now to His bosom, bless with all blessings 
 of earth and heaven, and restore to me this my 
 child." 
 
 A sudden happiness fell upon her, as if she had seen 
 her prayer's acceptance. She let her arms fall round 
 me, and laid my cheek by the side of her bright flowing 
 smile. It was the last conscious stir of the mind ; all 
 the rest seemed the flush of the soul. In the window 
 the night-scented heath was blooming ; outside it, the 
 jessamine crossed in a milky way of white stars, and the 
 lush honeysuckle had flung down her lap in clusters. 
 The fragrance of flowers lay heavy upon us, and we 
 were sore weary with the burden of sorrow and joy. So
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAy. 140 
 
 tranquil and kind was the face of death, that sleep, his 
 half-brother, still held his hand. 
 
 The voice of the thrush, from the comer laurel, broke 
 the holy stillness. Like dreams of home that break our 
 slumbers, his melody was its own excuse. My mother 
 awoke, and said faintly, ^^'ith no gleam in her eyes : 
 
 " Eaise me upon the pillow, my love, that I may hear 
 him once more. He sings like one your father and I 
 used to listen to every evening, in the days when we 
 watched your cradle." 
 
 I lifted her gently. The voice of nature made way 
 for her passing spirit. 
 
 " Xow kiss me, my child ; once more, my own loved 
 child, my heart is with you for ever. Light of my eyes, 
 you are growing dim." 
 
 She clasped her hands in prayer, with one of mine 
 between them. My other was round her neck. 
 
 Then she spoke slowly, and with a waning voice ; 
 but firmly, as if it had been her marriage-response. 
 
 " Thou art my guide, and my staff. I have no fear, 
 neither shadow of trembling. Make no long tarr}^ing, 
 oh my God ! " 
 
 The bird went home to his nest, and she to that
 
 150 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 refuge where all is home. Though the hands that held 
 mine grew cold as ice, and her lips replied to no kiss, 
 and the smile on her face slept off into stillness, and a 
 grey shade crept on her features ; — I could not believe 
 that all this was death.
 
 C L A E A y A U G H A X. 
 
 BOOK 11.
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 " LoxG-SHADO\\^D death," some xDoet says. How well 
 I know and feel it ! the gloom before him deepening as 
 he comes, and the world of darkness stretching many 
 years behind. 
 
 I once dared to believe that no earthly blow could 
 ever subdue, or even bend my resolute will. I now 
 found my mistake, and cared not even to think about it 
 
 On the morning after my mother's death I wandered 
 about, and could not tell where to go. The passionate 
 clinging which would not allow me, during that blank 
 and sleepless night, to quit what remained of her pre- 
 sence, and the jealous despair which felt it a \\Tong that 
 any one else should approach, had now settled down to 
 a languid heaviness, and all that I cared for was to be 
 let alone. All the places where we had been together 
 I visited now, without knowing why, perhaps it was to 
 see if she were there. Then vaguely disappointed, I
 
 154 CLARA VAUGIIAN. 
 
 tlioiiglit there must be some mistake, and wearily went 
 the dreary round again. 
 
 I cannot clearly call to mind, iDut think it must have 
 been that day, when I was in the corner of the room, 
 looking at the place whence they had taken dear mother. 
 Ann Maples and Mrs. Huxtable came in, followed by 
 the farmer, who had left his shoes at the door. They 
 did not see me, so I suppose it must have been in the 
 evening. They were come to remove the sofa. I have 
 not the heart to follow thek brogue. 
 
 "Yes to be sure," said Mrs. Huxtable, looking at it 
 with a short sigh. It was odd that it should strike me 
 then, but all she did was short. 
 
 " Get it out of her sight, poor dear," said Ann 
 Maples. 
 
 "To see her sit and look at it!" exclaimed the 
 farmer's wife. 
 
 " With her eyes so dry and stupid like ! " returned 
 the other. " Poor child, she must have cried herself 
 out. I have known her sit by the hour, and stare at 
 the bed where her father was killed, but it was a dif- 
 ferent sort of look to this." 
 
 " Ah well, she has lost a good mother," said Dame
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 155 
 
 Huxtable. " God grant my poor little chicks may never 
 be left like her." 
 
 "What's your children to talk of along with Miss 
 Clara ? " asked my nurse. 
 
 Mrs. Huxtable was about to answer sharply, but 
 checked herself, and only said : 
 
 "All children is much of a muchness to their mo- 
 thers." 
 
 " Don't tell me," cried Ann Maples, who had never 
 had any. 
 
 The farmer came between them, walking on tip-toe. 
 
 " For good, now, don't ye fall out at such a time as 
 this here. What's our affairs to speak of now ? " 
 
 " AMiat's any folks," asked Mrs. Huxtable, "that has 
 the breath of life ? " 
 
 "And goes forth in the morning, and is cast into 
 the oven, ma'am," continued her antagonist. 
 
 " Ah, bless thee, yes ! " the farmer replied, " I'll take 
 my gospel oath of it. It's not much good I am at 
 parsoning, and maybe I likes a drop of drink when the 
 weather is fitty ; but that young chestnut lilly that's 
 just come home from l)reaking, I'd sell her to a gipsey, 
 and trust him for the money, if so be 'twould make the
 
 156 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 young lady turn her face to the Lord. Can't ye speak 
 to her now about it, either of you women ? Doo'e now, 
 doo'e." 
 
 " How could I possible ? " his wife exclaimed ; " why, 
 farmer, you must be mazed. A high young lady like 
 that, and the tears still hot in her eyes ! " 
 
 " The very reason, wife, the very time and reason. 
 But likely Mrs. Maples would be the proper person." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," my nurse replied, "Mrs. Maples 
 knows good manners a little. Thank you, sir; Mrs. 
 Maples wasn't born in Devonshire." 
 
 " I ask your pardon, ma'am," said the farmer, much 
 abashed, " I humbly ask your pardon ; I wasn't taught 
 no better. I can only go by what I have seen, and 
 what seems to come inside of me. And I know, in our 
 way of business, when a calf is weaned from the 
 mother, the poor beastess hath a call for some one 
 else to feed it. Maybe it's no harm to let her have the 
 refusal." Therewith he opened my mother's Bible, and 
 placed it reverently on the window-seat. " Waife, do'e 
 mind the time as poor Aunt Betsy died, over there to 
 Eowley Mires ? " 
 
 " For sure I do, but what have her got to do with it ?
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN, 157 
 
 Us mustn't talk of her, I reckon, any more than of the 
 chillers, though us be so unlucky as to be born in 
 Devonsliire. Fie, fie, thee ought to know better than to 
 talk of poor Aunt Betsy along of a lady, and before 
 our betters." Here she curtsied to Ann ^laples, with a 
 flash of light in her eyes, and rubbing them hard with 
 her aprom 
 
 " Well, well," replied the farmer, sadly, " mayhap so 
 I did. And who be I to gainsay ? Mayhap so I did ; " 
 he dropped his voice, but added, after some reflection, 
 " It be hard to tell the rights of it ; but sure her were a 
 woman." 
 
 " Who said her were a man, thee zany ? " Mrs. Hux- 
 table was disappointed that the case would not be argued. 
 The farmer discreetly changed the subject. 
 
 " Now, if it was me," he continued, " I wouldn't think 
 of taking this here settle-bed away from the poor thing." 
 
 " Why not, farmer ? " asked IMrs. Huxtable, sharply. 
 " Give me a reason for leaving it, and I'll give you ten 
 for taking it." 
 
 " I can't give no reasons. But maybe it comforts her 
 a Httle." 
 
 " Comfort indeed ! " said his wife ; " breaks her heart
 
 158 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 ■with crying, more likely. Come, lend a hand, old 
 heavy-strap ; what can a great dromedary like thee 
 know about young wenches ? " 
 
 At any rate he knew more than she did. The mo- 
 ment they touched it I burst forth from my corner, and 
 flung myself upon it, rolling as if I would bury myself 
 in the ecstasy of anguish. What they did I cannot 
 tell ; they might say what they liked, I had not cried 
 till then. 
 
 The next day I was sitting stupiiied and heavy, 
 trying once more to meet the necessity of thinking 
 about my mother's funeral ; but again and again, the 
 weakness of sorrow fell away from the subject. The 
 people of the house kept from me. Mrs. Huxtable 
 had done her best, but they knew I would rather be 
 alone. 
 
 The door was opened quietly, and some one entered 
 in a stealthy manner. Eegarding it as an intrusion, 
 I would not look that way. 
 
 " Miss Clara dear," began the farmer, standing behind 
 me, and whispering, " I humbly ask your pardon. Miss, 
 for calling you that same. But we have had a wonder- 
 ful fine season, sure enough."
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 159 
 
 I made him no answer, being angry at his ill-timed 
 common-place. 
 
 " If yon please, Miss, such a many lambs was never 
 known afore, and turnips fine last winter, and corn, and 
 hay, and every kind of stock, a fetching of such prices. 
 The farmers about here has made their fortune 
 mainly." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that you are so prosperous, Mr. 
 Huxtable," I answered, very coldly. 
 
 " Yes fie, good times. Miss, wonderful good times, we 
 don't know what to do vnth. our money a'most." 
 
 " Buy education and good taste," I said, " instead of 
 thrusting your happiness upon such as I." 
 
 How little I knew him ! Shall I ever forgive myself 
 that speech ? 
 
 " Ah, I wish I could," he answered, sadly, " I wish 
 with all my heart I could. But we must be born to the 
 like of that, I am afeared, ^liss Vaughan." 
 
 Poor fellow ! he knew nothing of irony, as we do, 
 who are born to good taste, otherwise I might have 
 suspected him of it then. 
 
 He suddenly wished me " good evening," although it 
 was middle-day, and then he made off for the door, but
 
 160 CLARA. VAUGHAN. 
 
 came back again with a desperate resolve, and spoke, 
 for him, very quickly, looking all the time at his feet. 
 
 " There, I can't make head or tail of it, Miss Clara, 
 but wife said I was to do it so. Take the danged 
 money, that's a dear, and for good now don't be 
 offended, for I cas'n help it." 
 
 He opened his great hand, which was actually shak- 
 ing, and hurriedly placed on the sofa a small packet 
 tied in the leaf of a copy book ; then suddenly put 
 in mind of something, he made a dive, and snatching it 
 up, flung it upon a Windsor chair. It fell wdth a chink, 
 the string slipped off, and out rolled at least forty 
 sovereigns and guineas, and a number of crown-pieces. 
 
 Peremptorily I called him back, for he was running 
 out of the door. 
 
 " Mr. Huxtable, what is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 " Meaning, Miss ! Lord bless you, Miss Clara, there 
 hain't no meaning of it; only it comed into my head 
 last night, as I was laying awake, humbly asking your 
 pardon, Miss, for that same, that if so be you should 
 desu-e, that the dear good lady herself might like, if I 
 may make so bold, meaning that it isn't fitty like, that 
 she should lay nowhere else, but alongside of her own
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 161 
 
 husband, till death do them part, Mr. Henry Valentine 
 Vaughan, Esquire, Yaughan Park, in the county of 
 Gloucestershii-e. There I be as bad as Beany Dawe." 
 
 He repeated his rhyme, with some relief, hoping to 
 change the subject. I caught him by both hands, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Don't ye now," he said, with a thickness in his 
 voice, "don't ye now, my dearie, leastways unless it 
 does you good." 
 
 " It does me good, indeed," I sobbed, " to find still in 
 the world so kind a heart as yours." 
 
 Though I longed to look him in the face, I knew that 
 I must not do so. Oh why are men so asliamed of 
 manly tears ? Perceiving that I could not speak, he 
 began to talk for both of us, making a hundred blun- 
 dering apologies, trying to hide his knowledge of my 
 poverty, and to prove that he was only paying a debt 
 which extended over many years of tenancy. He was 
 not at all an imaginative man, but delicacy supplied 
 him with invention. So deep a sense pervades all 
 classes in this English country, that want of money 
 is an indictment, w^hich none but the culprit may sign. 
 Poor or rich, I should not be worth despising, if I 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 had shown the paltry pride of declining such a 
 loan. 
 
 The tears came anew to my eyes when I found that 
 what had been brought so freely was the savings of 
 years of honest toil, a truth which the owners had tried 
 to conceal by polishing the old coin. But not being 
 skilled, dear souls, in plate-cleaning, they had left some 
 rotten-stone adhering to the George and Dragons.
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 163 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 Although I find a sad pleasure in lingering over 
 these times, with such a history still impending, I 
 cannot afford the indulgence. 
 
 Dear mother's simple funeral took me once more to 
 my native place. Even without Mr. Huxtable's gene- 
 rous and noble assistance, I should have laid her to rest 
 by the side of the husband she loved so well. But 
 diiSiculties, sore to encounter at such a time, would 
 have met me on eyeiy side. Moreover the kind act 
 cheered and led me through despondency, like the hand 
 and face of God. 
 
 Caring little what people might say or tliink, I could 
 not stay at a distance. Nature told me that it was my 
 duty to go, and duty or not, I could not stay away. 
 
 And now for the last time I look on the face and 
 form of my mother. That which I have played, and 
 talked, and laughed with, thougli lately not much of 
 
 M 2
 
 164 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 laughter, that which has fed and cared for me, till it 
 needed my care in turn ; that which I have toddled 
 beside, or proudly run in front of; whose arms have 
 been round me whenever I wept, and whose bosom the 
 haven of childhood's storms; first to greet me with 
 smiles in the morning, and last to bless me with tears 
 at night; ever loving, and never complaining — in one 
 word for a thousand, my mother. So far away now, so 
 hopelessly far away ! There it lies indeed, I can touch 
 it, kiss it, and embrace it ; but oh how small a part of 
 mother ! and even that part is not mine. So holy and 
 calm it lies, such loving kindness still upon its features, 
 so near me, but in mystery so hopelessly far away ! I 
 can see it, but it never will know me again ; I may die 
 beside it, and it cannot weep. The last last look of all 
 on earth — they must have carried me away. 
 
 I remember tottering down the hill, supported by a 
 stalwart arm. The approach to the house prevented — 
 or something. Two children ran before me, stopping 
 now and then to wonder, and straggling to pick hedge- 
 flowers. One of them brought me a bunch, then stared, 
 and was afraid to offer them. " Nancy, I'll be the 
 death of thee," whispered a woman's voice. The little
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 165 
 
 girl shrunk to me for shelter, with timid tears in 
 her great blue eyes. So I took her hand, and led her 
 on, and somehow it did me good. 
 
 At intervals, the funeral hymn, which they sing on 
 the road to the grave, fell solemnly on our ears. Some 
 one from time to time gave out the words of a verse 
 and then it was sung to a simple impressive tune. 
 That ancient hymn, which has drowned so many sobs, 
 I did not hear, but felt it. 
 
 We arrived at Vaughan St. Mary late in the after- 
 noon of the second day. The whole of the journey 
 was to me a long and tearful dream. Mr. Huxtable 
 came with us. He had never before been further from 
 home than Exeter ; and his single visit to that city 
 had formed the landmark of his life. He never tried 
 to comfort me as the others did The ignorant man 
 knew better. 
 
 Alone I sat by my father's grave, with my mother's 
 ready before my feet. They had cast the mould on 
 the other side, so as not to move my father's coverlet. 
 The poor old pensioner had been true to her promise, 
 and man's last garden was blooming like liis first 
 flower-bed.
 
 166 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 My mind (if any I had) seemed to have undergone 
 some change. Defiance, and pride, and savage delight 
 in misery, were entirely gone; and depression had 
 taken the place of dejection. Death now seemed to 
 me the usual and proper condition of things, and I 
 felt it an impertinence that I should still be alive. 
 So I waited, with heavy composure, till she should be 
 brought, who so often had walked there with me. At 
 length she was coming for good and all, and a space 
 was left for me. But I must not repose there yet ; I 
 had still my task before me. 
 
 The bell was tolling faster, and the shadows growing 
 longer, and the children who had been playing at 
 hide-and-seek, where soon themselves shall be sought 
 in vain, had flitted away from sight, perhaps scared 
 at my presence, perhaps gone home to tea, to enjoy 
 the funeral afterwards. The evening wind had ceased 
 from troubling the yews, and the short-lived songs of 
 the birds were done. The place was as sad as I could 
 wish. The smell of new earth inspired, as it always 
 does, some unsearchable everlasting sympathy between 
 the material and the creature. 
 
 The sun was setting behind me : suddenly a shadow
 
 CLAEA YAUGHAN. 167 
 
 eclipsed my own upon the red loam across the open 
 grave. Without a start, and dreamily (as I did all 
 things now), I turned to see whence it came. Within 
 a yard of me stood Mr. Edgar Vaughan. In a moment 
 the old feeling was at my heart, and my wits were 
 all awake. 
 
 I observed that he was paler than when I had seen 
 him last, and the rigid look was wavering on his face, 
 like steel reflected by water. He lifted his hat to me. 
 I neither rose nor spoke, but turned and watched him. 
 
 " Clara," he said in a low, earnest voice, " I see you 
 are still the same. Will no depth of grief, no length 
 of time, no visitation from Him who is over us all, 
 ever bend your adamant and implacable will?" 
 
 I heard, with some surprise, his allusion to the 
 Great Being, whom he was not wont to recognise ; 
 but I made him no reply. 
 
 " Very well," he resumed, with the ancient chill 
 hardening over his features ; " so then let it be. I am 
 not come to offer you condolence, which you would 
 despise ; nor do I mean to be present when you would 
 account the sight of me an insult. And yet I loved 
 your mother, Clara ; I loved her very truly."
 
 168 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 This lie said with such emotion, that a new thought 
 broke upon me. 
 
 Quick as the thought, he asked, " Would you know 
 who killed your father ? " 
 
 " And my mother, too," I answered, " whose coffin I 
 see coming." 
 
 The funeral turned the corner of the lane, and the 
 dust rose from the beavers' feet. He took his hat off, 
 and the perspiration stood upon his forehead. Betwixt 
 suspense and terror, and the wildness of grief, I was 
 obliged to lean on the headstone for support, and a 
 giddiness came over me. When I raised my eyes 
 again, there was no one near me. In vain I wiped 
 them hurriedly and looked again. Mr. Vaughan was 
 gone ; but on the grass at my feet lay a folded letter. 
 I seized it quickly, and broke the seal. That moment 
 a \N'hite figure appeared between the yew-trees by the 
 porch. It was the aged minister leading my mother 
 the last path of all. The book was in his hand, and 
 his form was tall and stately, and his step so slow, 
 tliat the white hair fell unruffled, while the grand 
 words on his lips called majesty into his gaze. Thrust- 
 ing aside the letter, I followed into the Church, and
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 1G9 
 
 stood behind the old font where I had been baptized ; 
 a dark and gloomy nook, fit for such an entrance. 
 She who had carried me there was carried past it 
 now, and the pall waved in the damp cold air, and 
 all the world seemed stone and mould. 
 
 But afterwards, on the fair hill-side, while the faint 
 moon gathered power from the deepening sky, and 
 glancing on that hoary brow sealed the immortal 
 promises and smoothed the edges of the grave, around 
 which bent the uncovered heads of many w^ho had 
 mourned before, and after a few" bounds of mirth should 
 bend again in mourning, until in earth's fair turn and 
 turn, others should bend and they lie down — beholding 
 this, and feeling something higher than " dust to dust," 
 I grew content to bide my time with the other children 
 of men, and remembered that no wave can break until 
 it reach the shore.
 
 170 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 When a long and heavy sleep (my first sleep since 
 dear mother's death) had brought me down to the 
 dull plain of life, I read for the first time the letter 
 so strangely delivered. Even then it seemed unkind to 
 my mother that I should think about it. jNIr. Yaughan 
 had placed it in a new envelope, which he had sealed 
 with his own ring, the original cover (if any there 
 were) having been removed. The few words, of which 
 it consisted, were written in a clear round hand, upon 
 a sheet of thin tough paper, such as we use for foreign 
 postage, and folded in a peculiar manner. There was 
 nothing remarkable in the writing, except this, that 
 the words as well as the letters were joined. It was 
 as follows : 
 
 " The one who slain your brother is at 19 Grove 
 Street London. You will come in danger of it why 
 you know." 
 
 No date, no signature, no stops, except as shown
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 171 
 
 above. In short, it was so dark and vague, that I 
 returned to Devonshire, with a resolution to disregard 
 it wholly. When we reached the foot of the hill, at 
 the corner of the narrow lane which leads to Tossil's 
 Barton, and where the white gate stands of which the 
 neighbourhood is so proud, a sudden scream was heard, 
 and a rush made upon us from behind the furze-bush. 
 The farmer received the full brunt of a most vigorous 
 onset, and the number and courage of the enemy 
 making up for their want of size, his strong bastions 
 were almost carried by storm. To the cry of " Daddy ! 
 Daddy's come home ! " half a dozen urchins and more, 
 without distinction of sex, jumped and tugged and 
 flung and clung around him, with no respect whatever 
 for his Sunday coat, or brass-buttoned gaiters. Taking 
 advantage of his laughing, they pulled his legs this 
 way and that, as if he were skating for the first time, 
 and little Sally (his favourite) swarming up, made a 
 base foot-rope of the great ancestral silver watch-chain 
 whose mysterious awe sometimes suf&ced to keep her 
 eyes half open in church. Betwixt delight and shame, 
 the poor father was so di'eadfully taken aback, that he 
 could not tell what to do, till fatherly love suggested
 
 172 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 the only escape. He lifted them one by one to his 
 lips, and after some hearty smacks sent all (except the 
 baby) sliding down his back. 
 
 While all this was going forward, the good dame, 
 with a clean apron on, kept herself in the background, 
 curtseying and trying to look sad at me, but too much 
 carried away to succeed. Her plump cheeks left but 
 little room for tears, yet I thought one tried to find 
 a road from either eye. When the burst was nearly 
 done, she felt (like a true woman) for me so lonely 
 in all this love, though I could not help enjoying it ; 
 and so she tried to laugh at it. 
 
 For a long time after this, the farmer was admired 
 and consulted by all the neighbouring parishes, as a 
 man who had seen the world. His labourers, also, one 
 man and a boy, for a fortnight called him " Sir," a great 
 discomfort to him ; more than this, some letters were 
 brought for him to interpret, and Beany Dawe became 
 unduly jealous. But in this, as in most other matters, - 
 things came to their level, and when it was slowly 
 discovered that the farmer was just the same, his 
 neighbours showed much disappointment, and even 
 some contempt.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 173 
 
 It was not long before the thought of that letter, 
 which had been laid by so scornfully, began to work 
 within me. Again and again, as time wore on, and the 
 deep barb of sorrow darkly rusted away, it came home 
 to me as a sin, that I was neglecting a special guidance. 
 Moreover, my reason for staying in Devonshire was 
 gone, and as my spirit recovered its tone, it could not 
 put up with inaction. 
 
 Three months after our return, one breezy afternoon 
 in August, when the heath had long succeeded the 
 gorse and broom upon the cleve, and the children were 
 searching for " wuts " and half-kerneled nuts, I sat on 
 a fallen tree, where a break in the copse made a frame 
 for one of our favourite views. Of late I had been 
 trying to take some sketches in water-colours of what 
 my mother and I had so often admired together, and 
 this had been kept for the last. Wild as the scheme 
 may appear to all who know the world and its high 
 contempt for woman's skill, I had some hope of earninor 
 money in London by the pencil, and was doing my 
 utmost to advance in art. Also, I wished to take 
 away with me some memorials of a time comparatively 
 happy.
 
 174 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 Little Sally Huxtable, a dear little cliild, now my 
 chief companion, liad strayed into the wood to string 
 more strawberry beads on her spike of grass, for the 
 wood strawberries here last almost to the equinox ; and 
 I had just roughed in my outline, and was correcting 
 the bold strokes, by nature's soft gradations ; when 
 suddenly through a cobnut bush, and down the steep 
 bank at my side, came, in a sliding canter, a mag- 
 nificent red deer. He passed so close before me, with 
 antlers, like a varnished crabstick, russet in the sun, 
 that I could have touched his brown flank with my 
 pencil. Being in no huny or fright whatever, he 
 regarded me from his large deep eyes with a look of 
 courteous interest, a dignified curiosity too well bred 
 for words ; and then, as if with an evening of pleasant 
 business before him, trotted away through the podded 
 wild broom on the left. 
 
 Before I had time to call him back, which, with a 
 childish impulse, I was about to do, the nutbush where 
 he had entered moved again, and, laughing at his own 
 predicament on the steep descent, a young man leaped 
 and landed in the bramble at my feet. Before me stood 
 the one whom we had so often longed to thank. But
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 175 
 
 at sight of me, his countenance changed entirely. The 
 face, so playful just before, suddenly grew dark and 
 sad, and, with a distant salutation, he was hurrj'ing 
 away, when I sprang forward and caught him by the 
 hand. Ever}^ nerve in my body tlirilled, as I felt the 
 grasp that had saved my mother and me. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said coldly, " I will lose my prey." 
 
 But I would not let him go so curtly. What I said 
 I cannot tell, only that it was very foolish, and clumsy, 
 and cold by the side of what I felt. Whom but God 
 and him had I to thank for my mother's peaceful end, 
 and all her treasured words, each worth a dozen lives 
 of mine ? He answered not at all, nor looked at me ; 
 but listened with a cold constraint, and, as I thouiidit, 
 contemptuous pity, at which my pride began to take 
 alarm. 
 
 " Sir," I exclaimed, when still he answered not, " Sir, 
 I will detain you no longer from murderiag that poor 
 stag." 
 
 He answered very haughtily, " I am not of tlie 
 Devonshire hunters, who toil to exterminate this noble 
 race." 
 
 As he spoke he pointed dowTi the valley, wliere the
 
 176 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 red deer, my late friend, was crossing, for his evening 
 browse, to a gnoU of juicy grass. Then why was he 
 pursuing him, and why did he call him his prey ? The 
 latter, probably a pretext to escape me, but the former 
 question I could not answer, and did not choose to 
 ask. He went his way, and I felt discharged of half 
 my obligation.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 177 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The farmer, his wife, and little Sally were now all I 
 had to love. Poor Ann ]\Iaples, though thoroughly 
 honest and faithful, was of a nature so dry and precise 
 that I respected rather than loved her. I am born to 
 love and hate with all my heart and soul, although a 
 certain pride prevents me from exhibiting the better 
 passion, except when strongly moved. That other feeling, 
 sown by Satan, he never allows me to disguise. 
 
 To leave the only three T loved was a bitter grief, 
 to tell them of my intention, a sore puzzle. But, after 
 searching long for a good way to manage it, the only 
 way I found was to tell them bluntly, and not to cry 
 if it could be helped. So when Mrs. Huxtable came in 
 fuU glory to try upon me a pair of stockings of the 
 briojhtest blue ever seen, which she had lomx been 
 knitting on the sly, for winter wear, I thanked her 
 warmly, and said : 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 178 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 "Dear me, Mrs. Huxtable, how they will admire 
 these in London." 
 
 " In Lonnon, cheel ! " — she always called me her 
 child, since I had lost my mother— " they'll never see 
 the likes of they in Lonnon, without they gits one of 
 them there long glaskies, same as preventive chaps has, 
 and then I reckon there'll be Hexymoor between, and 
 Dartmoor too, for out I know, and ever so many 
 church-towers and milestones." 
 
 " Oh yes, they will. I shall be there in a week." 
 " In Lonnon in a wake ! Dear heart alaive, cheel, 
 dont'e tell on so ! " 
 
 She thought my wits were wandering, as she had 
 often fancied of late, and set off for the larder, which 
 was the usual course of her prescriptions. But I 
 stopped her so calmly that she could not doubt my 
 sanity. 
 
 "Yes, dear Mrs. Huxtable, I must leave my quiet 
 home, where all of you have been so good and kind 
 to me; and I have already written to take lodgings 
 in London." 
 
 "Oh, Miss Clerer, dear, I can't belave it nohow! 
 Come and discoorse with farmer about it. He knows
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 179 
 
 a power more than I do, though I says it as shouldn't. 
 But if so be he hearkens to the like of that, I'll comb 
 him with the toasting iron." 
 
 Giving me no time to answer, she led me to the 
 kitchen. The farmer, who had finished his momin^^'s 
 work, was stamping about outside the threshold, wiping 
 his boots most carefully with a pitchfork and a rope of 
 twisted straw. This process, to his great discomfort, 
 Mrs. Huxtable had at length enforced by many 
 scoldings; but now she snatched the pitchfork from 
 him, and sent it flying into the court. 
 
 " Wun't thee never larn, thee girt drummedar}^, not 
 to ston there an hour, mucking arl the place ? "^ 
 
 " Wull, wuU," said the farmer, looking at the pitch- 
 fork first, and then at me, " Eeckon the old mare's dead 
 at last." 
 
 " Cas'n thee drame of nothing but bosses and asses, 
 thee girt mule ? Here's Miss Clerer, as was like a cheel 
 of my own, and now she'm gooin awai, and us'll niver 
 zee her no more." 
 
 " "What dost thee mane, 'ooman ? " asked the farmer, 
 sternly, " hast thee darr'd to goo a jahing of her, zame 
 as thee did Zuke ? " 
 
 n2
 
 180 CL.\RA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Oil, no, farmer ! " I answered, quickly, " Mrs. Hux- 
 table never gave me an unkind word in her life. But 
 I must leave you all, and go to live in London." 
 
 The farmer looked as if he had lost something, and 
 began feeling for it in all his pockets. Then, without 
 a word, he went to the fire, and unhung the crock 
 which was boiling for the family dinner. This done, 
 he raked out the eml)ers on the hearthstone, and sat 
 down heavily on the settle with his back towards us. 
 Presently w^e heard him say to himself, " If any cheel 
 of mine ates ever a bit of bakkon to-day, 111 bile him 
 in that there pot. And to zee the copy our Sally wrote 
 this very morning ! " 
 
 " Wonnerful ! wonnerful ! " cried Mrs. Huxtable, " and 
 now her'll not know a p from a pothook. And little 
 Jack can spell zider, zame as 'em does in Lonnon town ! " 
 
 " Dang Lonnon . town," said the farmer, savagely, 
 "and arl as lives there, lave out the Duke of Wellington. 
 It's where the devil lives, and 'em catches his braath in 
 lanterns. ]\Iy faather tould me that, and her niver 
 spak a loi. But it hain't for the laming I be vexed to 
 lose my dearie." 
 
 That last word he dwelt upon so tenderly and sadly,
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 181 
 
 that I could stop no longer, but ran up to him bravely 
 with the tears upon my face. As I sat low before him, 
 on little Sally's stool, he laid his great hand on my 
 head, with his face turned toward the settle, and asked 
 if I had any one to see me righted in the world but him. 
 
 I told him, " None whatever ; " and the answer 
 seemed at once to please and frighten him. 
 
 "Then don't e be a-gooin', my dear heart, don't e 
 think no more of gooin. If it be for the bit and drap 
 thee ates and drinks, doesn't thee know by this time, 
 our own flash and blood bain't no more welcome to it ;' 
 And us has a plenty here, and more nor a plenty. And 
 if us hadn't, Jan Huxtable hisseK, and Honor Huxtable 
 his waife, wud live on pegmale (better nor they desarves) 
 and gie it arl to thee, and bless thee for ating of it." 
 
 "Ay, that us waid, ees fai," answered Mrs. Huxtable, 
 coming forward. 
 
 " And if it be for channge, and plaisure, and zecing 
 of the warld, I've zeen a dale in my time, axing your 
 pardon, Miss, for convarsing so to you. And what 
 hath it been even at Coom market, with the varmers 
 I've a-knowed from little chillers up ? No better nor a 
 harrow dill for a little coolt to zuck. I'd liefer know
 
 182 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 thee was a-gooin' to Trentisoe churchyard, where little 
 Jane and Winny be, than let thee goo to Lonnon town, 
 zame as this here be. And what wud thy poor moother 
 zay, if so be her could hear tell of it ? " 
 
 At this moment, when I could say nothing, being 
 thoroughly convicted of ingratitude, and ashamed be- 
 fore natures far better than my own, dear little Sally, 
 who had been rolling on the dairy floor, recovered from 
 the burst of childish grief enough to ask w^hether it 
 had any cause. Up to me she ran, with great pearl 
 tears on the veining of her cheeks, and peeping through 
 the lashes of her violet-blue eyes, she gave me one long 
 reproachful look, as if she began to understand the 
 world, and to find it disappointment ; then she buried 
 her flaxen head in the homespun apron I had lately 
 taken to wear, and sobbed as if she had spoiled a 
 dozen copies. What happened afterwards I cannot tell. 
 Crying I hate, but there are times when nothing else 
 is any good. I only know that, as the farmer left the 
 house to get, as he said, " a little braze," these ominous 
 words came back from the court : 
 
 "'Twud be a bad job for Tom Grundy, if her coom'd 
 acrass me now."
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 183 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 That same evening, as I was sitting in my lonely 
 room, yet not quite alone, — for little Sally, who always 
 did as I bade her, was scratching and blotting her best 
 copy-book, under my auspices, — in burst ^Irs. Huxtable, 
 without stopping to knock as usual. 
 
 " Oh Miss Clerer, what have e been and doed ? 
 Varmer's in crule trouble. Us'll arl have to goo to f^aol 
 to-morrow, chillers and arl." 
 
 She was greatly flurried and out of breath, and yet 
 seemed proud of what she had to tell. She did not 
 require much asking, nor beat about the bush, as many 
 women do ; but told me the story shortly, and then 
 asked me to come and hear all particulars from Tim 
 Badcock the farm-labourer, who had seen the whole. 
 
 Tim sat by the kitchen fire with a pint of cider by 
 him on the little round table ; strong eWdence that his 
 tidings, after all, were not so very unwelcome.
 
 184 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Wull, you zee, Miss," said Tim, after getting up, and 
 pulling his rough forelock, " you zee, Miss, the Maister 
 coom out this arternoon, in a weist zort of a wai, as if 
 her hadn't had no dinner." Here he gave a sly look at 
 " the Missus," who had the credit of stopping the sup- 
 plies, when the farmer had been too much on the cruise. 
 
 " AVhat odds to thee, Tim," she replied, " what odds to 
 thee, what thee betters has for dinner?" 
 
 " Noo fai," said Tim, "zo long as ai gits maine, and my 
 missus arlways has un raddy. Zo I zed to BiU, zays I, 
 ' Best maind what thee's at boy, there's a starm a coomin, 
 zure as my name's Timothy Badcock.' Howsomever 
 her didn't tak on atari wi w^e, but kitched up a shivel, 
 and worked awai without niver a ward. 'Twur the tap 
 of the clave, 'langside of the beg fuzz, where the braidle 
 road coomth along 'twixt that and the double badge ; 
 and us was arl a stubbing up the bushes as plaisant as 
 could be, to plough thiccy plat for clover, coom some 
 rain, plase God." 
 
 " Git on, Tim, wull e," cried his impatient mistress, 
 "us knows arl about that. Cas'n thee tuU it no 
 quicker ?" 
 
 " Wull, Miss," continued Tim, in no hurry whatever,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 185 
 
 " prasently us zees a girt beg chap on a zort of a brown 
 cob, a coomin in our diraction" — Tim was proud of this 
 word, and afraid that w^e should fail to appreciate it — 
 " they was a coomin, as you might zay, in our diraction 
 this beg chap, and anither chap 'langside on him. 
 Wull, when 'um coom'd within spaking room of us, beg 
 chap a' horsebarck hollers out, ' Can 'e tell, my men, 
 where Jan Uxtable live?' Avore I had«taime to spake, 
 Maister lifts hissell up, and zaith, ' What doo 'e want 
 to know for, my faine feller?' every bit the zame as ai 
 be a tullin of it to you. ' What's the odds to thee,' 
 zays tother chap, ' thee d'st better kape a zivil tongue 
 in thee head. I be Tom Gundry from CarnwalL' And 
 with that he stood up in his starrups, as beg a feller as 
 iver you zee, Miss. Wull, Maister knowed all about 
 Tom Gundry and what a was a coom for, and zo did I, 
 and the boy, and arl the country round ; for Maister 
 have gotten a turble name for rarstling ; maybe, Miss, 
 you've a heer'd on him in Lunnon town ?" 
 
 " I have never been in London, Tim, since I was a 
 child ; and I know nothing at all about WTCstling." 
 
 "Wull, Miss, that be nayther here nor there. But 
 tliere had been a dale of brag after Maister had thrown
 
 186 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 arl they Carnisliers to Barnstable vair, last year, about 
 vetcMng this here Tom Gundry, who wor the best man 
 in Carnwall, to throw our Maister. Howsomever, it be 
 time for ai to crack on a bit. 'Ah/ zays the man 
 avoot, who zimth had coom to back un, ' ah, 'twor arl 
 mighty faine for Uxtable to play skittles with our 
 zecond rate men. Chappell or Ellicombe cud have 
 doed as much as that. Eackon Jan Uxtable wud vind 
 a different game with Tom Gundry here.' ' Eackon he 
 wud/ zaith Gundry, ' a had better jine a burial club, if 
 her've got ere a waife and vamily. " 
 
 " Noo. Did a zay that though ? " inquired Mrs. Hux- 
 table, much excited. 
 
 " ' Coom now/ my maister zaith, trying to look smarl 
 behaind the fuzz, ' thee must throw me, my lad, avore 
 thee can throw Jan Uxtable. He be a better man 
 mainly nor ai be this dai. But ai baint in no oomer 
 for playin' much jist now, and rackon ai should hoort 
 any man ai kitched on.' ' Hor that be a good un, Zam, 
 baint it now V zaith Gundry to little chap, the very zame 
 as ai be a tullin it now, ' doth the fule s'pose ai be ratten ? 
 Ai've half a maind to kick un over this badge ; jist 
 thee hold the nag ! ' ' Sober now,' zaith varmer, and
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 187 
 
 ai zeed a was gettin' rad iu the cliakes, ' God knows ai 
 don't feel no carl to hoort 'e. Ai'll gie thee wan chance 
 more, Tom Gundry, as thee'st a coom arl this wai fram 
 Carnwall. Can 'e trod a path in thiccy country, zame 
 as this here be V And wi' that, a walked into the beg 
 fuzz, twaice so haigh as this here room, and the stocks 
 begger round nor my body, and harder nor wrought 
 hiern. A jist stratched his two hons, raight and left, 
 and twitched un up, wan by wan, vor ten gude lanyard, 
 as asily as ai wud pull spring inyons. ' Now, wull e 
 let me lone?' zaith he, zo zoon as a coom barck, wi 
 his brath a little quicker by rason of the exarcise, ' wull 
 'e let me lone ?' ' Ee's fai, w^ull I,' zaith the man avoot 
 ' Hor," zaith Tom Gundry, who had been a * shopping 
 zumwhere, ' thee cans't do a gude dai's work, my man, 
 tak that vor thee's w^ages.' And wi' that a lets fly at 
 Maister's vace wi' a light hash stick a carr'd, maning to 
 raide off avore Maister cud coom to's brath again. In 
 a crack Jan Uxtable zet both his hons under the 
 stommick of the nag, one avore the starrup and one 
 behaind, zame as I maight to this here little tabble, and 
 haved un, harse and man, clane over badge into Muster 
 
 * i.e. dealing uommercially where the staples are liquid.
 
 188 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 Yeo's turmot falde. Then with wan heft, a kitched up 
 tother chap, and zent un sprarling after un, zame as if 
 'twor this here stule after the tabble." , 
 
 1 thought poor Tim, in the excitement of his story, 
 would have thrown table and stool over the settle to 
 illustrate it ; and if he had, Mrs. Huxtable would have 
 forgiven him. 
 
 " ' Thar,' zaith our Maister, as plaisant as cud be, and 
 ai thought us shud have died of laffing, * tliar now, if zo 
 be the owner of thicey falde zummons e for traspash, 
 you zay Jan Uxtable zent e on a little arrand, to vaind 
 a Carnisher as can do the laike to he.' And wi' that, a 
 waiped his hons with a slip of vern, and tuk a little 
 drap of zider, and full to's wark again." 
 
 " Wull, but Tim," asked the farmer's Avife, to lose no 
 part of the effect, " what zort of a badge wor it now ? 
 Twor a little badge maybe, no haigher nor the zettle 
 barck." 
 
 " Wor it thoucrh ?" said Tim, " thee knows better nor 
 that. Missus. It be the beggest badge on arl the varm, 
 wi' a double row of saplin hash atap. Her maks the 
 boundary betwixt the two parishes, and ain't been 
 trimmed these vaive year, ai can swear."
 
 CLAEA YAUGIIAN. 180 
 
 " And how be the both on 'em now, Tim ? A 
 must have gone haigh enough to channge the 
 mune. 
 
 " Willi, Miss," said Tim, addressing me, for he had 
 told his Mistress all the story twice, " Tom Gundry brak 
 his collar boun, and zarve 'un raight, for a brak Phil 
 Dascombe's a piippose whun a got 'un in a trap, that 
 taime down to Bodmin thar ; and harse gat a rick of his 
 taial ; but the little chap, he veil upon his hat, and that 
 zaved him kindly. But I heer'd down to Pewter Will's, 
 whur I gooed for a drap of zumthin for my waife's 
 stommick, ai heer'd zay there, as how Constable was a 
 coomin to Maister this very naight, if Carnishers cud 
 have perswadded un. But Constable zaith, zaith he, 
 * Twor all along o you Camish chaps, fust battery was 
 mad, and fust blow gien, and wi'out you can zhow me 
 Squaire Drake's warrant, I wunt have nout to do wi' it, 
 not ai ; and that be law and gospel in Davonsheer and 
 in Cam wall.' " 
 
 "Tim," said Mrs. Huxtable, " I'se wan-ant tliee's 
 niver tould so long a spin up in thee's laife avore. 
 And thee's tould it wonnerful well too ; hathn't un 
 Miss Clerer ? Zuke, here be the kay of zellar, gie Tim
 
 190 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 a half a paint more zicler ; and thee mai'st have a drap 
 theesell, gall. Waipe thee mouth fust." 
 
 "Ah," said Tim, favouring me with a wink, in the 
 excess of his glory, " rackon they Carnishers 11 know 
 the wai off Tossil's Barton varm next taime, wi'out no 
 saign postesses." * 
 
 * Every word of Tim's story is true, except as regards the names.
 
 CLAllA YAUGHAX. 191 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Two or three days after this, I was keeping school in 
 the dairy, the parlour being too smaU for that purpose, 
 and the kitchen and "wash-up" (as they called the 
 back-kitchen) too open to inroads from Suke and Tim. 
 My class consisted of ten, or rather was eight strong, 
 the two weanies (big baby and little baby), only 
 attending for the sake of example, and because they 
 would have roared, if parted from the other children. 
 So those two were allowed to spraddle on the floor, 
 where sometimes they made little rollers of themselves, 
 with much indecorum, and between whiles sat gravely 
 sucking their fat red fingers, and then pointed them in 
 a glistening state at me or my audience, and giggled 
 with a large contempt. The eight, who made believe 
 to learn something, were the six elder Huxtables, and 
 two of Tim Badcock's " young uns." I marshalled them, 
 four on each side, against the low lime-whitened walls,
 
 192 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 which bore the pans of cream and milk. Little Sally, 
 my head scholar, was very proud of measuring her 
 height, by the horizontal line on the milk-pan where the 
 glazing ended ; which Tabitha Badcock, even on tiptoe, 
 could not reach. They were all well " claned/' and had 
 white pinnies on, and their ruddy cheeks rubbed up to 
 the highest possible polish, with yellow soap and the 
 jack-tow^el behind the wash-up door. Hence, I never 
 could relieve them from the idea that Sunday now came 
 every day in the week. 
 
 I maintained strict discipline, and allowed no non- 
 sense ; but two sad drawbacks constantly perplexed me. 
 In the first place, their ways were so ridiculous, and 
 they laboured so much harder to make me laugh, than 
 they did to learn, that I could not always keep my 
 countenance, and when the spelling-book went up before 
 my face, they knew, as well as possible, what was going 
 on behind it, and peeped round or below, and burst 
 out all together. The second drawback was, that Mrs. 
 Huxtable, in spite of all my protests, would be always 
 rushing in, upon errands purely fictitious ; and the 
 farmer himself always found some special business in 
 the yard, close to the \nred and unglazed window,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 193 
 
 whence every now and then his loud haw-haws, and 
 too audible soliloquies, " Dang me ! wull done, Zally, 
 that wor a good un ; zay im again, cheel ! zay un 
 again, wull 'e?" utterly overthrew my most solemn 
 institutions. 
 
 " Coom now, smarl chillers" — I addressed them in my 
 unclassical Devonshire dialect, for it kept their attention 
 alive to criticise me when I " spak unvitty" — " coom 
 now, e've a been spulling lang enough : ston round me 
 now, and tull me what I axes you." 
 
 Already, I had made one great mistake, by saying 
 " round" instead of " raound," and Billy, the genius of 
 the family, was upon the giggle. 
 
 " Now thun, wutt be a quadripade ? " 
 
 " Ai knoo ! " says Sally, with her hand held out. 
 
 "Zo do ai," says Jack, thrusting forth his stomach. 
 
 " Who wur axing of you ? " I inquire in a stately 
 manner. " You hain't the smarl chillers, be 'e ? BiU 
 knows," I continue, but wax doubtful from the expres- 
 sion of Bill's face. 
 
 " Ees fai," cries Bill, suddenly clearing up, ** her be 
 wutt moother zits on vor to mulk the coos. Bain't her 
 now?" 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " Tliee bee'st ony wan leg out, Bill. Now Tabby 
 Badcock?" 
 
 While Tabby is splashing in her memory (for I told 
 them all last week), the farmer much excited, and having 
 no idea what the answer should be, but hoping that one 
 of his own children may discover it first, boldly shows 
 his face at the wired window, but is quite resolved to 
 allow fair play. Not so Mrs. Huxtable, who, in full 
 possession of the case, suddenly appears behind me, and 
 shakes her fist at poor puzzled Tabby. " Thee'dst best 
 pretend to know more than thy betters." She tries to 
 make Tabby hear, without my catching her words. 
 But the farmer hotly shouts, " Lat un alo-un, waife. 
 Tak thee hon from thee mouth, I tuU 'e. Spak up 
 now, little w^anch." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Tabby makes reply, looking cross- 
 wise at Mrs. Huxtable. 
 
 " Plase, ^liss, it be a beastie wi vour taials." 
 " Eaight," cries the farmer, with admiration conquer- 
 in o^ his disappointment ; " raight this taime, ai'U tak my 
 oath on it. I zeed wan to Barnstaple vair last year, and 
 her wor karled, * Phanominy Quadripade/ her Kirsten 
 name and her zurname, now ai coom to racollack."
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 195 
 
 Tabby looks elated, and Mrs. Huxtable chagrined. 
 Before I can redress the situation, a sound of heavy- 
 blows, delivered on some leathery substance, causes a 
 new stir. All recognise the arrival of Her Majesty's 
 mail, a boy from Martinhoe, who comes upon a donkey 
 twice a week, if there happen to be any letters for the 
 village below. 
 
 Out rush Mrs. Huxtable and Suke (who once re- 
 ceived an epistle), and the children long to go, but 
 know better. The boy, however, has only a letter for 
 me, which is from Mrs. Shelfer (a cousin of Ann 
 Maples), to whom I wrote a few days since, asking 
 whether she had any rooms to let. Mrs. Shelfer replies 
 that " she has apartments, and they are splendid, and 
 the rent quite trifling ; " so the mail is bribed with a 
 pint of cider, while I write to secure a new home. 
 
 My departure being now fixed and inevitable, the 
 women naturally began to remonstrate more than ever. 
 It had been settled that Ann staples should go witli 
 me, not to continue as my servant, but to find a place 
 for herself in London. 
 
 My few arrangements, which cost me far more pain 
 than trouble, were not long in making ; and after saying 
 
 02
 
 196 CLAHA VAUGHAK. 
 
 good-bye to all tlie dear little children and weanies, and 
 kissing theii' pretty faces in their little beds, amid an 
 agony of tears from Sally, I was surprised, on entering 
 f the kitchen, to find there Mr. Beany Dawe. There was 
 little time for talking, and much less for poetry. We 
 were to start at three in the morning, the farmer having 
 promised to drive us to meet the coach in Barnstaple, 
 whence there would be more than thirty miles of hilly 
 road to Tiverton, the nearest railway station. The 
 journey to London could thus be made in a day, though 
 no one in the parish could be brought to believe it. 
 
 The poet had been suborned, no doubt, by Mrs. 
 Huxtable, and now detained me to listen to an elegy 
 upon the metropolis of England. I cannot stop to 
 repeat it, neither does it deserve the trouble ; but it 
 began thus : — 
 
 " Fayther was wance to Lonnon town, 
 
 And a zed, zed he, whan a coom down, 
 
 ' Don't e niver goo there, Ebenezer my son, 
 
 For they mulks a coo, when her ain't gat none. 
 
 They kai)es up sich a hollerin, naight and day, 
 
 And a Devonsheer man dunno the impudence they zay. 
 
 Their heads and their hats wags regular, like the scratchers of a 
 
 harrow, 
 And they biles their taties peeled, and ates them In a barrow.
 
 CLARA VAXJGHAN. 197 
 
 They raides on a waggon top with their wives squazed up inside her, 
 And they drinks black dose and yesty pops in the place of wholesome 
 
 zider. 
 They want take back anything they've zelled, 
 
 And the beds can bite, and the cats can speak : 
 And a well-dress 'd man be a most compelled 
 
 To channge his shirt in the middle of the week I "* 
 
 " Lor," cried Mrs. Huxtable, " however could they do 
 their washing? Thee vayther must a been as big a 
 liar as thee, Beany. Them gifts always runs in the 
 family." 
 
 When, with remarkable patience, I had heard out 
 his elegant effusion, the author, who had conceived 
 much good will towards me, because I listened to his 
 lays and called him Mr. Dawe, the author dived with a 
 deep-drawn sigh into a hole in his sack, and produced 
 in a mysterious manner something wrapped in greasy 
 silver paper, and well tied up. He begged me to accept, 
 and carry it about me most carefully and secretly, as 
 long as I should live. To no other person in the world 
 would he have given this, but I had earned it, as a true 
 lover of poetry, and required it as a castaway among 
 the perils of London. In vain I declined the present ; 
 refusal only confirmed his resolution. As the matter
 
 198 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 was of so little importance, I soon yielded upon con- 
 dition that I should first examine the gift. He gave 
 me leave with much reluctance, and I was surprised at 
 the beauty and novelty of the thing. It was about the 
 size of a Geneva watch, but rather thicker, jet black 
 and shining, and of the exact shape of a human heart. 
 Around the edge ran a moulding line or cord of 
 brilHant red, of the same material as the rest. In the 
 centre was a white spot like a siphuncle. What it was 
 I could not guess, but it looked like some mineral sub- 
 stance. Where the two lobes met, a small hole had been 
 drilled to receive a narrow riband. After putting me 
 tlirough many guesses, Mr. Dawe informed me that it 
 was a pixie's heart, a charm of unequalled power against 
 witchcraft and assassination, and to enthral the affection 
 of a loved one. He only smiled, and rubbed his nose, 
 on hearing that I should never want it in the last 
 capacity. Being greatly pleased with it, I asked him 
 .nany questions, which he was very loth to answer. 
 Nevertheless I extorted from him nearly all he knew. 
 
 As he was sawing into boards a very large oak-tree, 
 something fell from the very heart of it almost into his 
 mouth, for poor Ebenezer was only an undersawyer.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 199 
 
 As he could not stop the saw without his partner's 
 concurrence, and did not wish to share his prize, he 
 kicked some sawdust over it until he could stoop to 
 pick it up unobserved. In all his long experience of 
 the woods, he had seen but two of these rare and beau- 
 tiful things, and now assured me that any sawyer was 
 considered lucky who found only one in the course of 
 his career. The legend on the subject was rather quaint 
 and graceful, and deserves a better garb than he or I 
 can furnish. 
 
 ' ' AH in the olden time, there lived 
 A little Pixie king, 
 So lovely and so light of foot 
 That when he danced the ring, 
 The moonlight always shifted, to gaze upon his face, 
 And the cowslip-bells uplifted, rang time with every pace. 
 
 There came a dozen maidens, 
 Almost as tall as bluebells ; 
 The cowslips hushed their cadence, 
 And bowed before the true belles : 
 The maidens shyly glancing, betwixt the cummer darts, 
 Espied the monarch dancing, and lost a dozen hearts. 
 
 He was fitted up so neatly, 
 
 With dewdrops for his crown. 
 And he footed it so featly 
 He never shook them down. 
 The maids began advancing, along a lily stem, 
 Not to stop the monarch's dancing, but to make him look at them.
 
 200 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 The king could not afford them 
 
 The proper time to gaze, 
 But sweetly bowed toward them, 
 At the turn of every maze : 
 Till full of pretty faces, and his sandals getting worn. 
 He was puzzled in his paces, and fell upon a thorn. 
 
 The maidens broke the magic ring, 
 
 And leaped the cummer dart ; 
 * Alas, our little Pixie king, 
 The thorn is in his heart ! ' 
 They laid him in a molehill, and piteously they cried : 
 Yet this was not the whole ill, for all the maidens died. 
 
 Each took a spindled acorn, found 
 
 Below a squirrel's nest. 
 And set the butt against the ground. 
 The barb beneath her breast : 
 So truly she addressed the stroke unto her loving part, 
 That when the acorn grew an oak, it held her little heart. " 
 
 By no means a " little heart," it seemed to me, for a 
 fairy to have owned, but as large as it was loving. I 
 assured Mr. Dawe that he was quite untaught in fairy 
 lore, or he never would have confounded fairies with 
 pixies, a different class of society. But he treated my 
 learning with utter contempt, and reasonably enough 
 declared that he who spent all his time in the woods 
 jnust know more than any books could tell.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 201 
 
 He also informed me, that the proper name for the 
 lignified fairy heart, was a "gordit:" but he did not 
 choose to tell me what had become of the other, which 
 was not so large or handsome as this, yet it had saved 
 him a month's sawing, and earned him "a rare time," 
 which meant, I fear, that the proceeds had been spent 
 in a very long cruise. 
 
 After refusing all compensation, Mr. Dawe made his 
 farewell in several couplets of uncouth but hearty 
 blessing, begging me only to shake hands with him 
 once, and venturing as a poet to prophesy that we 
 should meet again. The " gordit " was probably nothing 
 more than a rare accretion, or ganglion, in the centre 
 of an aged oak. However, it was very pretty ; and of 
 course I observed the condition upon which I had 
 received it, valuing it moreover as a token of true 
 friends. 
 
 But how can I think of such trifles, while sitting for the 
 last time in the room where my mother died ? To-morrow 
 all the form and colour of my life shall change ; even now 
 I feel once more my step on the dark track of justice, 
 wliich is to me revenge. How long have I been saunter- 
 ing on the dreary moor of listlessness and hollow weari-
 
 202 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 ness, which spreads, for so many dead leagues, below 
 the precipice of grief? How long have I been saunter- 
 ing, not caring to ask where, and conscious of existence 
 only through the nerves and fibres of the memory. 
 Tlie tilings I have been doing, the duties I have 
 discharged, the vague unlinked ideas, startling me by 
 their buffoonery to grief — might not these have all 
 passed through me, every whit as well, if I had been 
 set against a wall, and wound up for three months, and 
 fitted with the mind expressed in the chuckle of a 
 clock ? Nay, worse than all — have I not allowed soft 
 thoughts to steal throughout my heart, the love of 
 children, the warmth of kindness, the pleasure of doing 
 good in however small a way ? Much more of this, 
 and I shall learn forgiveness of my wrong ! 
 
 But now I see a clearer road before me. Returning 
 health renews my gall. Death recedes, and lifts his 
 train from the swords that fell before him. Once more 
 my pulse beats high with hatred, with scorn of mean- 
 ness, treachery, and lies, with admiration of truth and 
 manhood, not after the fashion of fools. 
 
 But dare I mount the Judge's throne ? Shall the stir 
 of one frail heart, however fresh from its Maker's hand, 
 be taken for His voice pronouncing right and wrong ?
 
 CLARA VAUOHAN. 203 
 
 These thoughts give me pause, and I dwell again 
 with my mother. But in all the strength of youth and 
 stern will, I tread them down ; and am once more that 
 Clara Vaughan whose life shall right her father's 
 death.
 
 204 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 At last we got through our parting with the best of 
 people (far worthier than myself to interest any reader), 
 and after it the dark ride over the moors, and the 
 farmer's vain attempt at talking to relieve both himself 
 and us. The honest eyes were bright with tears, tears 
 of pity for my weakness, which now he scarcely cared 
 to hide, but would not show by wiping away ; and how 
 many times he begged for frequent tidings of us, which 
 Sally could now interpret, if written in large round 
 hand. How many times he consulted, commanded, and 
 threatened the coachman, and promised him a goose at 
 Michaelmas, if he took good care of us and our luggage ! 
 These great kindnesses, and all the trifling cares which 
 strew the gap of long farewells, were more to think of 
 than to tell. But I ought to mention, that much against 
 the farmer's will, I insisted on paying him half the sum,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 205 
 
 which he had lent me in a manner never to be forgotten. 
 Moreover, with the same presentiment which he had 
 always felt, he made me promise once more to send for 
 him, if I fell into any dreadful strait. 
 
 It was late at night when our cabman, the most 
 polite, and (if his word may be tmsted) the most 
 honourable of mankind, rang the bell of ]\Irs. Shelfer s 
 house. The house was in a by-street near a large un- 
 finished square, in the northern part of London. Mrs. 
 Shelfer came out at once, sl^arp and quick and short, 
 and wonderfully queer. At first she took no notice 
 at all of either of as, but began puUing with all her 
 strength at the straps of the heaviest boxes, which, by 
 means known to herseK alone, she contrived to dra^r 
 through the narrow passage, and down three low steps 
 into the little kitchen. Then she hurried back, talking 
 all the time to herself, re-opened the door of the fly, 
 jumped in, and felt under both the seats, and round the 
 lining. Finding nothing there, she climbed upon the 
 driver's box, and thoroughly examined both that and 
 the roof. Being satisfied now that none of our chattels 
 were left in the vehicle, she shook her little fist at two 
 or three boys, who stood at the corner near the mews,
 
 206 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 and setting both hands to the farmer's great hamper or 
 " maun " (as he called it), she dragged it inside the front 
 door, and turned point blanc upon me. 
 
 " Pray, my good friend, how many is there ? " 
 "I'm sure I don't know, Mrs. Shelfer, your cousin 
 knows best." 
 
 " Ah, they're terrible fellows them cabbies, terrible ! " 
 The cabman stood by all the time, beating his hands 
 together. "'Twas only last time I went to Barbican, 
 one of 'em come up to me, ' Mrs. Shelfer,' says he, ' Mrs. 
 Shelfer ! ' says I, ' pray my good friend, how do you 
 know my name ? ' ' Ho, I knows Charley well enough,' 
 says he, ' and there ain't a better fellow living.' ' A deal 
 too good for you,' says I, 'and now pray what's your 
 business with me ? ' ' Why, old lady,' he says, as im- 
 pudent as the man with the wooden leg, * you've been 
 and left your second best umbrella under the seat of 
 the Botany Bay Bus.' ' Catch me ! ' says I. ' It's Bible 
 truth,' says he, ' and my old woman's got it now.' * If 
 you never get drunk,' says I, ' till that umbrella runs in 
 your shoes, your old woman needn't steal her lights,' 
 and with that I ran between the legs of a sheep, 
 hanging up with my Tuscan bonnet on trimmed with
 
 CIARA VAUGHAN. 207 
 
 white — nothing like it, my good friend; the same as I've 
 had these two and twenty years." 
 
 " Wliat for, Mrs. Shelfer ? " I asked in great surprise. 
 
 " Why, for the butcher to see me, to be sure. Miss. 
 You see he wanted to get me down the mews, and 
 murder me with my little wash-leather bag, as I was 
 going to pay the interest on Shelfer's double-barrel gun. 
 Ah yes," with a short sigh, " and there'll be four and 
 ninepence again, next Tuesday." 
 
 Talking at this rate, and stopping for no reply, she 
 led us into her kitchen, sapng that she would not light 
 a fire upstairs, it was so bootiful, the trimmings of the 
 grate, because she wasn't certain that we would come, 
 but she had got supper for us, excuse me, my good 
 friend, in her own snug little room, and bootiful they 
 was sure enough, the wind last week had made them 
 so fat. 
 
 She pointed in triumph to a large dish on the table 
 piled up with blue shells. 
 
 " AVliy, Mrs. Shelfer, they are muscles," I exclaimed 
 with some disgust. 
 
 " Ah I see you knows 'em, that they are, Miss, and as 
 bootiful as ever you ate. Charley and me sits down to
 
 208 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 a peck of them. But the man as comes round with the 
 catsmeat's brother the man with the truck and his eyes 
 crossed, he told me there was such a demand for them 
 in Grosvenor Square, and they was so cunning this 
 weather when they gets fat, he hadn't more than half a 
 peck left, but they was the best of the lot. Now I'll 
 have them all bootiful hot, bootiful, boiling my good 
 friend, if you'll just run upstairs, and a teaspoon and a 
 half of salt, and Cousin Ann knows the way, and the 
 apartments is splendid, splendid, Miss Vaughan ! " 
 
 She drew herself up, at the end of the sentence, with 
 an air of the greatest dignity ; then suddenly dropped 
 it again, and began bustling in and out. Now for the 
 first time, I had leisure to examine her, for while she 
 spoke, the short jumps of her ideas unsettled my 
 observatioiL 
 
 She was a little body, rather thin, with a face not 
 strongly peculiar, but odd enough to second the oddities 
 of her mind. No doubt she had once been pretty, and 
 her expression was pleasant now, especially when a 
 glimpse was afforded of her quick grey eyes, which 
 generally avoided the gaze, and dropped beneath a 
 fringe of close-set lashes. But the loss of the front
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 209 
 
 teeth, and the sharpening and wrinkling of the face, 
 with the straggling neglect of the thick black hair 
 fraying out from the black cap, and the habit she had 
 of shutting her mouth with a snap, all these interfered 
 with her credit for pristine good looks. Like Mrs. 
 Huxtable, she was generally in a bustle, but a bustle of 
 words more often than of deeds. She had no deception 
 about her, yet she never knew the difference between 
 the truth and a lie, and could not understand that any 
 one else should do so. Therefore she suspected every- 
 thing and everybody, till one of her veins of opinion 
 was touched, and then she would swallow anything. 
 
 Tired out with the long day's travel, the dazing of 
 railway speed, and the many scenes and faces which 
 had flashed across me, I could not appreciate the 
 beauty of Mrs. Shelfer's furniture ; but leaving Ann 
 Maples to eat the muscles, if she could, and to gossip 
 with her cousin, I was not slow to revisit the old farm- 
 house, and even the home of my childhood, in the 
 winged cradle of sleep. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 210 ' CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 Ann Maples had done her best to persuade me to 
 call on my godmother, Lady Cranberry, but I was quite 
 resolved to do nothing of the sort. In the first place, 
 Lady Cranberry was a person of great wealth, living in 
 a very large house, and keeping up such state as gay 
 widows love, who have forgotten old affections and are 
 looking out for new. In me, therefore, to whose fixed 
 estimate fidelity seemed the very pith of honour, there 
 could be no love towards such a changeling. And even 
 if I had liked her, my circumstances would not admit 
 ot our visiting upon equal terms, and it was not likely 
 that I would endure to be patronized by any one. In 
 the second place, the same most amiable lady had 
 written letters of beautiful condolence, and taken a 
 tender interest in our change of fortune, so long as there 
 was any novelty in it ; but soon flagged off, and had 
 not even replied to my announcement of dearest
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 211 
 
 mother's death. Finally, I hated her without any 
 compromise, from what I had seen of her, and what she 
 had done to me at Yausrhan Park. 
 
 So my good Ann set off all alone, for she hoped 
 to obtain some recommendation there, and I was left 
 to receive Mrs. Shelfer's morning visit. 
 
 Her queer episodical conversation, and strange biogra- 
 phies of every table, chair, and cushion — her " sticks," 
 as she delighted to call them — I shall not try to repeat, 
 for my history is not a comic one ; neither will she 
 appear, unless the connexion requires it. One vein 
 of sympathy between us was opened at once, by her 
 coming into the room with a lame blackbird on her 
 finger ; and I was quite surprised at tlie number of 
 her pets. As for the "splendid apartments," they 
 were two little rooms on the first floor, adjoining 
 one another, and forming, together with the landing 
 outside and a coal-closet, the entirety of that storey. 
 The rooms above were occupied by a young dress- 
 maker. Mr. and Mrs. Shelfer, who had no children 
 kept the ground-floor (consisting of a parlour and 
 kitchen) and the two attics, one of which was always 
 full of onions and carrot seed. Upon the whole, 
 
 p2
 
 212 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 though the " sticks " were very old, and not over clean, 
 until I scoured them, and the drawing-room (as my 
 landlady loved to call it) was low and small, and looked 
 through the rails of a narrow balcony upon a cheese- 
 monger's shop across the road (instead of a wooded 
 dingle), I was very well satisfied with them; and above 
 all the rent was within my means. 
 
 In the afternoon, when things were growing tidy, a 
 carriage drove up rapidly, and a violent ringing of the 
 hell ensued. It was Lady Cranberry, who, under the 
 pretext of bringing Ann Maples home, was come to 
 gratify her own sweet curiosity. She ran upstairs in 
 her most charming manner, caught me by both hands, 
 and would have kissed me desperately, if I had shown 
 any tendency that way. Then she stopped to admire 
 me. 
 
 " Oh, you lovely creature ! How you are grown to 
 be sure ! I should never have known you. How 
 delicious all this is ! " 
 
 Of course I was pleased with her admiration ; but 
 only for a moment, because I disliked her. 
 
 "I am glad you find it delicious," I replied quite 
 coldly ; " perhaps I shall by-and-by."
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 213 
 
 " What would I give to be entering life under such 
 sweetly romantic circumstances ? Dear me ! I must 
 introduce you. ^\Tiat a sensation you will cause ! 
 With such a face and figure and such a delightful 
 story, we shall all rave about you. And how well you 
 are dressed from that outlandish place ! What a piece 
 of luck ! It's the greatest marvel on earth that you 
 found me in London now." 
 
 " Excuse me," I said, " I neither found, nor meant 
 to find you." ' 
 
 " Oh, of course you are cross with me. I forgot about 
 that. But who made your dress, in the name of all 
 woodland graces ? " 
 
 " I always make my own dresses." 
 
 " Then you shall make mine. Say no more about it. 
 You shall live with me, and make my dresses by 
 day ; and by night you shall go with me everywhere, 
 and I won't be jealous. I will introduce you every- 
 where. ' This is my ward, Miss Vaughan, whose father 
 — ah, I see, you know that romantic occurrence in 
 Gloucestershire.' Do you think it will be a year — 
 and the Great Exhibition season— before you are mis- 
 tress of a property ten times tlie size of Vaughan Park i
 
 214 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 If you doubt it, look in the glass. Ah me ! You know 
 nothing of the world, I forget, I am so warm-hearted. 
 But you may take my word for it. Will you cry a 
 bargain ? " 
 
 She held out her hand, as she had seen the fast men 
 do, whose society she affected. I noticed it not, but 
 led her on ; my fury had long been gathering. I 
 almost choked when she spoke in that way of my 
 father, utterly as I despised her. But I made it a trial 
 of self-control, which might be demanded against more 
 worthy objects. 
 
 " Are you sure that I shall be useful ? Sure that I 
 shall earn my board ? " 
 
 " Oh, you Yaughans are always so conscientious. I 
 want an eider-down petticoat quilted at once for the 
 winter, and I dare not trust it to Biggs, I know she 
 will pucker it so. That shall be the first little job 
 for my Clara." 
 
 Her cup was full. She had used dearest mother's 
 fond appellative, and, as I thought, in mockery. I 
 did not lower myself by any sarcastic language. She 
 w^ould not have understood it. I merely opened tlie 
 door, and said calmly to my landlady, who was there,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 215 
 
 of course " promiscuously ;" " Mrs. SlieKer, show out the 
 Countess of Cranberry." 
 
 Poor godmother, she was so frightened that I was 
 sorry for her. They helped her into the carriage, and 
 she had just strength to draw down the blinds. 
 
 Mrs. Shelfer had been in raptures at having so grand 
 a vehicle and two great footmen at her door. Lest 
 the street should lose the effect, she had run in and 
 out a dozen times, and banged the door, and got into 
 talk with the coachman, and sent for beer to the Inn, 
 though she had it in the house. She now came again 
 to my door, in what she called a " terrible quandary." 
 I could not attend to her, but locked myseK in, and 
 wrestled w^ith my passionate nature, at one time in- 
 dulging, then spurning and freezing it. Yet I could 
 jiot master it, as I fancied I had done.
 
 216 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER TX. 
 
 Soon afterwards, Ann Maples went to the place 
 which she had obtained in Lady Cranberry's house- 
 hold ; and I determined to begin my search, 
 c " Mrs. Shelfer, do you know London well ? " 
 
 My landlady was feeding her birds, and I had made 
 up for her disappointment about Lady Cranberry, by 
 fitting the lame blackbird with a wooden leg, cut from 
 a skewer, and tipped with a button : it was pretty to 
 see how kindly and cleverly he took to it, and how 
 proudly he contemplated it, when he thought there 
 was no one watching. His mistress now stopped her 
 work, and made ready for a long speech, with the 
 usual snap of her lips. 
 
 " Know London, ]Miss Vaughan ! I was born in 
 Bed Cross Street, and I've never been further out of 
 town than Chalk Farm fair, or Hampstead Waterworks, 
 and, please God, I never will. Bless me, what an awful
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 217 
 
 place the country is, a^vful ! What with the trees, 
 and the ditches, and the sting-nettles, and the black 
 wainscot with skewers on the top — " t 
 
 " Too bad of you, Mrs. Shelfer, to be frightened at 
 palings — and your husband a gardener, too ! But tell 
 me whereabouts is Grove Street 1 " 
 
 " What Grove Street, my good friend ? " 
 
 " Grove Street, London, to be sure." 
 
 " Why, dear me. Miss, I thought you knew every- 
 thing ; you can doctor Jack, and the Bully, and tell 
 me all about Sandy the squirrel's tail and the hair 
 coming ofi' and when it's going to rain ! Don't you 
 know there's a dozen Grove Streets in London, for 
 all I know. Leastways I knows four." 
 
 " And where are those four, Mrs. Shelfer ? " 
 
 " Now please, my good friend, give me just a minute 
 to think. It is dreadful work to be hurried, ever since 
 I fell downstairs, when I were six year old. Let me 
 see now. Charley knows. Can't you wait. Miss, till 
 Charley comes home, and he's coming quite early this 
 evening, and two friends of his to supper." 
 
 " ISTo, Mrs. Shelfer, I cannot wait. If you can't tell 
 me, I must go and get a book."
 
 218 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 ''Oh them books is no good. Why they ain't got 
 Charley in, and he with the lease one time of the garden 
 in Hollyhock Square, and a dahlia named after him at 
 the Eoyal Heretical Society ! And they did say the 
 Queen would have handed him the spade she liked his 
 looks so much, only his nails wasn't clean. Very likely 
 you heard. Miss — And how he was cheated out of it." 
 
 "Do you expect me to wait all day ? " 
 
 " No no, my good friend, to be sure not. You never 
 will wait a minute, partikler when I spill the coals, and 
 when I wants to baste the meat. And how can the 
 gravy run, and a pinch of salt in the dripping-pan — " 
 
 " Yesterday, Mrs. Shelfer, you basted my pound and a 
 half of mutton with three pounds of coals. Now don't 
 go off into a treatise. Answer me, where is Grove 
 Street?" 
 
 " Bless my heart. Miss Vaughan. You never gives 
 one a chance. And we thought a young lady from the 
 country as had been brought up with tags, and lace, and 
 bobbin, and pigs, and hay — " 
 
 " Could be cheated anyhow. No, I don't mean that : 
 I beg your pardon, dear Patty. I often speak very 
 hastily. What I mean is that you thought I should
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 219 
 
 know nothing at alL And I don't know much, but one 
 thing I do know, that you would never cheat me much." 
 
 To my surprise she was not at aU sensitive on this 
 subject. In fact she had dealt with so many lodgers, 
 that she expected to be suspected. But I believe she 
 never cheated me more than she could help. She 
 answered me quite calmly, after some meditation : 
 
 " To be sure, Miss, to be sure, I only does my dooty. 
 A little dripping may be, or a drop of milk for old Tom, 
 and a piece of soap you left in the water. Miss, I kept 
 it for Charley to shave with." 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Shelf er, no more of that. Come back to 
 Grove Street ; surely, I have given you time enough now." 
 
 " Well, Miss, there is one I know close by here. You 
 keep dowTi the Willa Eoad, and by the fishmonger's 
 shop, and then you turn on the right over against the 
 licensed pursuant to Act of George the Fourth. I knows 
 George the Fourth acted badly, but I never thought it was 
 that way. Sam the Sweep lives with him, and the young 
 man with a hook for his hand that lets out the ' Times ' 
 for a penny, and keeps all his brothers and sisters." 
 
 "And where are the other three that you know ? " 
 
 " There's one in Hackney, and one in Bethnal Green,
 
 220 CLARA VAXTGHAN. 
 
 and there's one in Mile-end Eoad. Bless me, to be 
 sure ! I've been there with dear Miss Minto after a cat 
 she lost, a tabby with^ a silver collar on, and a notch in 
 his left ear. It would make you cry, Miss — " 
 
 "Thank you, Mrs. Shelfer ; that will do for the 
 present. I'll go up to the ' drawing-room ' now." 
 
 In a few minutes I went forth with my dark plaid 
 shawl around me, which had saved my mother's life, 
 and was thenceforth sacred. It was the first time I 
 walked all alone in London, and though we lived quite 
 in the suburbs it seemed very odd to me. For a while 
 I felt rather nervous, but no one molested me then or 
 at any other time ; although I have heard some plain 
 young ladies declare that they could not walk in London 
 without attracting unpleasant attention. Perhaps because 
 they knew not the way either to walk or to dress. 
 
 Without any trouble, I found ISTo. 19, Grove Street, 
 then rang the bell and looked round me. It was a clean 
 unpretentious street, not to be known by its architec- 
 ture from a thousand others in London. The bell was 
 answered by a neat little girl, and I asked for the 
 Master of the house. Clever tactics truly for com- 
 mencing a task like mine
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAI^^. 221 
 
 Being told that the Master was from home, I begged 
 to see the Mistress. The little maid hesitated awhile, 
 with the chain of the door in her hand, and then in\ited 
 me into the parlour, a small room, but neat and pretty. 
 
 " Please, Miss, what name shall I say ? " 
 
 "Miss Vaughan, if you please." Then I said to 
 myseK, " What good am I ? Is this my detective 
 adroitness ? " 
 
 Presently a nice old lady, T\^th snow-white hair, 
 came in. 
 
 "Miss Vaughan," she asked with a pleasant smile, 
 " do you wish to see me ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you please. Just to ask a few questions as 
 to the inmates of this house." 
 
 Despite her kindness and good breeding, the lady 
 stared a little. 
 
 "■ May I inquire your motives ? Do you know me 
 at all ? I have not the pleasure of knowing you." 
 
 " My motives I must not tell you. But, as a lady, I 
 assure you, that curiosity is not one. Neither are they 
 improper." 
 
 She looked at me in great surprise, examined me 
 closely, and then replied :
 
 222 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 "Young lady, I believe what you say. It is im- 
 possible not to do so. But my answering you must 
 depend on the nature of your inquiries. You have done, 
 excuse my saying it, you have done a very odd thing." 
 
 " I will not ask many questions. How many people 
 live here ? " 
 
 *' I will answer you curtly as you ask, unless you ask 
 what I do not choose to answer. Four people live here, 
 namely, my husband, myself, our only daughter — ^but 
 for whom I might have been ruder to you — and the 
 child who let you in. Also a woman comes every day 
 to work." 
 
 " Are there no more ? Forgive my impertinence. No 
 strangers to the family ? " 
 
 " No lodgers whatever. My son is employed in the ♦ 
 City, and sleeps there. My only daughter is in very 
 weak health, and though we do not want all the house, 
 we are not obliged to take lodgers. A thing I never 
 would do, because they always expect to be cheated." 
 
 " And is your husband an Englishman ?'" 
 
 " Yes, and an English writer, not altogether unknown." 
 
 She mentioned a name of good repute in the world of 
 letters, as even I was aware.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 223 
 
 " You have quite satisfied me. I thank you most 
 heartily. Very few would have been so polite and kind. 
 I fear you must think me a very singular being. But I have 
 
 powerful motive, and am quite a stranger in London." 
 
 " My dear, I knew that at once. No Londoner w^ould 
 have learned from me the family history I have told 
 you. I should have shown them out at the very first 
 question. Thank you, oh thank you, my child. But I 
 am sure you have hurt yourself Oh, the shell has run 
 into your forehead." 
 
 As she looked so intently at me, on her way to the 
 door of the room, her foot had been caught by the claw 
 of the what-not, and I barely saved her from falling. 
 
 " No, Mrs. Elton, I am not hurt at all. How stupid 
 of me, to be sure. And all my fault tliat you fell. I 
 hope the shell is not broken. Ah, I bring very bad 
 luck to all who treat me kindly." 
 
 " The shell is not worth sixpence. The fault was all 
 my own. If you had not been wonderfully quick, I 
 must have fallen heavily. Pray sit down, and recover 
 yourself, Miss Vaughan. Look, you have dropped a 
 letter. Dear me, I know that writing ! Excuse me ; it 
 is I that am now impertinent."
 
 224j CLARA VAUGHAN, 
 
 " If you know that writing, pray tell me how and 
 where." 
 
 The letter she had seen was the anonymous one which 
 brought me from Devonshire to London. I had put it 
 into my pocket, thinking that it might be wanted. It 
 fell out as I leaped forward, and it lay on the floor 
 wide open. 
 
 " May I look at the writing more closely ? Perhaps I 
 am deceived." 
 
 For a while I hesitated. But it seemed so great a 
 point to know who the writer was, that I hushed my 
 hesitation. However, I showed the letter so that she 
 could not gather its import. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Elton, " I am quite certain now. 
 That is the writing of a Polish lad}^, whom at one time 
 I knew well. My husband has written a work upon 
 Poland, which brought him into contact with some of 
 the refugees. Among them was a gentleman of some 
 scientific attainments, who had a pretty lively warm- 
 hearted wife, very fond of dancing, and very fond of 
 dogs. She and I have had many a laugh at one another 
 and ourselves ; for, though my hair is grey, I am fond 
 of lively people.'*
 
 CLAEA TAUGHAN. 225 
 
 " And where is that lady now ? " 
 
 " My child, I cannot tell you. Her name I will tell 
 you, if you like, when I have consulted my husband. 
 But it will help you very little towards finding her ; for 
 they change their names almost every time they move. 
 Even in London they forget that they are not heard 
 every time they sneeze. The furtive habits born of 
 oppression cling about them still." 
 
 " And where did they live at the time you knew 
 them?" 
 
 Wrung by suspense and anxiety, I had forgotten good 
 manners. But Mrs. Elton had good feeling which knows 
 when to dispense with them. Nevertheless I blushed 
 with shame at my own effrontery. 
 
 " Not very far from here, in a part that is called 
 ' Agar Town.' But they have now left London, and 
 England too, I believe. I must tell you no more, 
 because they had reasons for wishing to be un- 
 known." 
 
 " Only tell me one thing. Were they cruel or violent 
 people ? " 
 
 " The very opposite. Most humane and warm-hearted. 
 They w^ould injure no one, and hated all kinds of cruelty. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 How pale you are, my cliild ! You must have a glass of 
 wine. It is useless to say no." 
 
 As this clue, which seemed so promising, led to 
 nothing at all, I may as well wind it up at once, and not 
 tangle my story with it. Mr. Elton permitted his wife 
 to tell me all she knew about the Polish exiles, for they 
 were gone to America, and nothing done here could 
 harm them. But at the same time he made me promise 
 not to mention to the police, if my case should ever 
 come before them, the particulars which he gave me ; 
 and I am sure he would not wish me to make free with 
 the gentleman's name. A gentleman he was, as both 
 my kind friends assured me, and not likely to conceal 
 any atrocious secret, unless he had learned it in a way 
 which laid it upon his honour. Mr. Elton had never 
 been intimate with him, and knew not who his friends 
 were, but Mrs. Elton had liked the lady who was ver}' 
 kind and passionate. Also she was very apt to^ make 
 mistakes in English names, and to become confused at 
 moments of excitement. Therefore Mrs. Elton thought 
 that she had confounded the Eltons' address with that 
 of some other person ; for it seemed a most unlikely 
 thing that she should know the residents at two
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 227 
 
 Nos. 19 Grove Street. However so it proved — but of 
 that in its place. It was now six months since they had 
 quitted London, perhaps on account of the climate, for 
 the gentleman had been ill some time, and quite con- 
 fined to the house. It would be altogether vain to 
 think of tracing them in America. "Wliile Living in 
 London they owned a most magnificent dog, a tiiily 
 noble fellow but afflicted with a tumour. This dog 
 suddenly disappeared, and they would not tell what 
 had become of him, but the lady cried most \dolently 
 one day when he was spoken of. Directly after this 
 they left the country, with a very brief farewell 
 
 All this I learned from ]Mr. and Mrs. Elton during 
 my second visit, for Mrs. Elton was too good a wife to 
 dispense with her husband's judgment. Also I saw 
 their daughter, a pleasing delicate girl ; they learned of 
 course some parts of my story, and were most kind and 
 affectionate to me ; and I am proud to have presented 
 their friendship to the present tune. But as they take 
 no prominent share in the drama of my life, henceforth 
 they will not be presented upon its stage. 
 
 As I returned up tlie Villa Road, thinking of all I 
 liad heard, and feeling down at heart, something cold 
 
 Q2
 
 228 CLARA VAUGHAX. 
 
 was gently placed in my ungloved hand. Turning in 
 surprise and fright I saw an enormous dog, wagging 
 his tail, and looking at me with magnificent brown 
 eyes. Those great brown eyes were begging clearly for 
 the honour of my acquaintance, and that huge muzzle 
 was deposited as a gage of love. As I stooped to 
 ascertain his sentiments, he gravely raised one mighty 
 paw and offered it to me delicately, with a little sigh 
 of self-approval. U]Don my accepting it frankly and 
 begging to congratulate him upon his noble appearance 
 and evident moral excellence, he put out his tongue, a 
 brilliant red one, and gave me a serious kiss. Then he 
 shrugged his shoulders and looked with patient con- 
 tempt at a nicely-dressed young lady, who was exerting 
 her lungs at a silver whistle some fifty yards down the 
 road. " Go, good dog," I said with a smile, " run, that's 
 a good dog, your Mistress wants you immediately." "Let 
 her wait," he said with his eyes, " I am not in a hurry 
 this morning, and she doesn't know what to do with her 
 time. However, if you think it would be rude of me — " 
 And with that he resumed a long bone, laid aside while 
 he chatted to me, tucked it lengthwise in his mouth, 
 like a tobacco-pipe, and after shaking hands again, and
 
 CLAKA YAUaHAN-. 229 
 
 saying " Now don't forget me," the great dog trotted 
 away sedately, flourishing his tail on high, like a plume 
 of Pampas grass. At the corner of the railings he 
 overtook his young Mistress, whose features I could not 
 descry ; though from her air and walk I knew that she 
 must be a pretty girl A good-tempered one too she 
 seemed to be, for she only shook her little whip lightly 
 at the dog, who made an excursion across the road and 
 sniffed at a heap of dust
 
 230 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 Although Ann Maples was not so very talkative, it 
 would be romantic to suppose that Mrs. Slielfer had 
 failed to learn my entire history, so far at least as her 
 cousin knew it. 
 
 Having now disposed of one Grove Street, I was 
 about to try the same rude tactics with another, viz. 
 that in Hackney; when my landlady gave a little 
 nervous knock, and hurried into the room. " Oh, Miss 
 Vaughan, is it about them willains you are wandering 
 about and taking on so, and frightening all of us 
 nearly to death ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Shelfer, I shall feel obliged by your leaving me 
 to manage my own affairs." 
 
 " Bless you. Miss, so I will. I wouldn't have them 
 on my mind for the Bank of England, and Guildhall, 
 paved with Lombard Street, and so I told Charley last 
 night. Eight, my good friend, quite right, you may
 
 CLXRA VAUGHAN. 231 
 
 depend upon it." Here she tapped her forehead, and 
 looked mysterious. 
 
 " That being so, Mrs. Shelfer, I need say nothing 
 more ;" and with that I was going away. 
 
 "Xo, no, to be sure not. Only listen to me, Miss, 
 one minute ; and I knows more about willains, a deal 
 more than you do of course. Miss. Why, ever since 
 that rogue who come to Miss Minto's with brandyballs 
 and rabbitskins on a stick." 
 
 " Once more, Mrs. Shelfer, I have no time to spare 
 for gossip — " 
 
 " Gossip ! 'No, no, Miss Yaughan ; if you ever heard 
 any one say Patty Shelfer was a 'gossip,' I'll thank 
 you for their name. Gossip ! A mercy on me with all 
 I has to do, and the days drawing in so, and how they 
 does charge for the gas, and the directors holds a 
 meeting first Tuesday in every month, and fills up the 
 pipes w^th spittle, that's the reason it sputters so, 
 Charley told me." 
 
 " Good bye, Mrs. Shelfer." 
 
 " No, no. One minute, Miss Vaughan ; you are 
 always in such a hurry. Wliat Charley and me was 
 talking about last night was this. ^ly Uncle John, a
 
 232 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 
 
 very high class man, first-rate, first-rate, Miss Vaughan, 
 has been for ever so long in the detective police. 
 There's nothing he don't know of what goes on in 
 London, from the rats as comes np the drain pipes to 
 the Queen getting up on her throne. A wonderful man 
 he is. I said t'other day — " 
 
 "Is he like you, Mrs. Shelfer ?" 
 
 " Lilve me, my good friend ! No, no. And I wouldn't 
 be like him for something. With all them state secrets 
 upon him. Why he daren't sneeze out of his hat. But if 
 you'll only put off going again till to-morrow, he'll be here 
 this very night about the plate they stole in the Square. 
 And I'm sure you can't do better than hear what he 
 thinks about you. He'll be sure to know all that was 
 done at the time. Bless you, he has got to make all 
 the returns ; what that is, I don't know. It's a kind of 
 tobacco Charley says, that they smokes in the Queen's 
 pipe. But I think it's the convicts as returns from 
 Botany Bay." 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I'll fhink of what you say, and I 
 am much obliged to you for the suggestion ; but I can't 
 bear the idea of coming before the Police again, with a. 
 matter in which they failed so signally."
 
 CLAKA YAUGH.VJN'. 233 
 
 " But you know, my good friend, it need not be put 
 on tlie books at all. He'll tell us what he thinks of 
 it, private like, and for the love of the thing." 
 
 " If I see him at all, I must beg to see him alone." 
 
 ''To be sure, my good friend. Quite right, Miss 
 Vaughan, quite right. I'm sure I would ratlier have 
 the plumber's ladle put to my ear, than one of them 
 horrible secrets." 
 
 " Mrs. Shelfer, have I told you any ? Now remember, 
 if you ever again allude to this subject before me, I 
 leave your house that day. You ought to know better, 
 Mrs. Shelfer." 
 
 " You are quite right. Miss Vaughan ; I ask your 
 pardon, you are quite right. The very words as Charley 
 said to me the other night. 'You ought to have 
 knowed better, Patty, that you did.' " 
 
 Away she went, smoothing her apron, patting the 
 fray of her hair — for she never wore side-combs — and 
 mumbling down the stairs. " Quite right, my good 
 friend, quite right, I ought to have knowed better, poor 
 thing." 
 
 She brought up my dinner and tea, without a single 
 word, but with many sly glances at me from her quick
 
 234 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 grey eyes. Once or twice she was at the point of 
 speaking, and the dry smile she always spoke with 
 fluttered upon her face ; but she closed her lips firmly 
 and even bit them to keep herself in. I could scarcely 
 help laughing, for I liked the odd little thing ; but she was 
 so free with her tongue, that the lesson was sadly wanted. 
 
 Late in the evening, she came to say that Inspector 
 Cutting was there, and w^ould come up if I wished it. 
 Upon my request he came, and one look was enough to 
 show that his niece had not misdescribed him. An 
 elderly man, but active looking and wdry, wdth nothing 
 remarkable in his features, except the clear cast of his 
 forehead and the firm set of his mouth. But the quick 
 intelligence that shot from his eyes made it seem waste 
 of time to finish telling him anything. For this reason, 
 polite though he was, it became unpleasant to talk to 
 him. It was something like shooting at divers — as my 
 father used to describe it — for whom the flash of the 
 gun is enough. 
 
 Yet he never once stopped or hurried me, until 
 my tale was done, and all my thoughts laid bare. 
 Then he asked to see all my relics and vestiges of the 
 deed ; even my gordit did not escape him.
 
 CLAEA TAUGHAX. 235 
 
 "L. D. 0." he said shortly, " do you speak Italian V 
 
 " I can read it, but not speak it." 
 
 " Is it commoner for Italian surnames to begin with 
 an 0, or with a CI" 
 
 " There are plenty beginning with both ; but more I 
 should think with a C." 
 
 When all my particulars had been told, and aU my 
 evidence shown, I asked with breathless interest — for 
 my confidence in him grew fast — what his opinion was. 
 
 "Allow me, young lady, to put a few questions to 
 you, on matters you have not mentioned. Forgive me, 
 if they pain you. I believe you feel that they will not 
 be impertinent.'* 
 
 I promised to answer without reserve. 
 
 " What was your mother's personal appearance V* 
 
 " Most winning and delicate." 
 
 " How old was she at the time of her marriage ?'* 
 
 " Twenty-one, I believe." 
 
 " How old was your father then ?" 
 
 " Twenty-five." 
 
 " How many years were they married ?" 
 
 " Sixteen, exactly." 
 
 " When did your guardian first leave England?"
 
 236 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 " In the course of a year or two after the marriage." 
 
 " Had there been any misunderstanding between him 
 and your father?" 
 
 " None, that I ever heard of." 
 
 " Did your father, at any time, travel on the con- 
 tinent?" 
 
 " Only in Switzerland, and part of Italy, during his 
 wedding tour." 
 
 "Your guardian returned, I believe, at intervals to 
 En^fland?" I had never told him this. 
 
 " Yes. At least I suppose so, or he w^ould not have 
 been in London." 
 
 " Did he visit then at Vaughan Park ? " 
 
 " Not once within my memory." 
 
 " Thank you. I will ask no more. It is a strange 
 story ; but I have known several much more strange. 
 Of one thing be assured. I shall catch the criminal. I 
 need not tell you that I heard much of this case at the 
 time." 
 
 "Were you sent down to Gloucestershire?" 
 
 " No. If I had been — well, I will not say. But I 
 was not then in my present position. Had I been so, it 
 would have become my special department."
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 237 
 
 " Pray keep me no more in suspense. Tell me what 
 you think." 
 
 " That I must not do, or you should know it at once, 
 for my opinion is formed. It would be a breach of duty 
 for me to tell you now." 
 
 "Oh," I cried in my disappointment, "I wish I had 
 never seen you." 
 
 "Young lady, you have done your duty in placing 
 the matter before me, and some day you will rejoice 
 that you did so. One piece of advice I will give you : 
 change your name immediately, before even the trades- 
 men about here know it." 
 
 " Change my name. Inspector Cutting ! Do you 
 ^ I hink I am ashamed of my name ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. You have shown great intelligence 
 when a mere child ; exert but a little now, and you will 
 see the good sense, or rather the necessity, of my recom- 
 mendation. When you have gained your object, you 
 may resume your name with pride. You have given 
 your information, Miss Vaughan, as clearly as ever I 
 knew a female give it." 
 
 K I detest anything, in the way of small things, it is 
 to be called a " female." So I said coldly ; " Inspector
 
 238 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 Cutting, I thank you for the compliment. It would be 
 strange indeed if I could not tell with precision, what I 
 have thought of all my life." 
 
 " Excuse me, Miss, it would not be strange at all, in 
 a female. And now I will wish you 'good night.' 
 You shall hear from me when needful. Meanwhile, I 
 will take charge of these articles." 
 
 He began, in the coolest manner, to pack up my 
 sacred relics, dagger, casts, and alL 
 
 " Indeed you won't," I cried, " you shall not have one 
 of them. What are you thinking of?" 
 
 He went on with his packing. I saw he was 
 resolute ; so was I. I sprang to the door, locked it, 
 and put the key in my pocket. He said nothing, but 
 smiled. 
 
 "Now/' I exclaimed in triumph, "you cannot take 
 those away, unless you dare to outrage a young lady." 
 
 I was wholly mistaken. He passed by, without 
 touching me, drew some instrument from his waistcoat 
 pocket, and the door stood open before him. AU my 
 treasures were in his left hand. I flew at, and snatched 
 them, and then let go with a scream. A gush of blood 
 poured from my hand. He had taken the dagger
 
 CLAEA VAUaHAX. 239 
 
 folded in paper only, and I was cut to the bone. I sank 
 on a chair and fainted. 
 
 When I came to myself, Mrs. Shelfer was kneeling 
 before me, with her feet in a basin of water, while two 
 other basins, and numberless towels, were round. ^Mrs. 
 Shelfer was rubbing my other hand, and cr}dng and 
 talking desperately about her bad luck that day, and a 
 man with eyes crossed whom she had met in the 
 morning. In the background stood Mr. Shelfer himseK, 
 whom I had hitherto failed to see, though I believe he 
 had seen me often. He had a pipe in his mouth about 
 a yard long, and seemed wholly undisturbed. "All right, 
 old 'ooman," he said deliberately through his nose, as 
 he saw that I perceived him, " she'U do now, if you 
 don't make too much rumpus." And with that he dis- 
 appeared, and I had time to pity myself. The hand the 
 poor farmer used so to admire, and which I was proud 
 of no doubt, in my way, lay in a dishcloth covered and 
 oozing with blood. But my relics were on the table, all 
 safe. A quick step was heard on the stairs, and 
 Inspector Cutting came in, caiTying a small phial. 
 
 " Out of the way, Patty," he cried, " you are doing 
 more harm than good."
 
 240 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 He took up a basin of cold water, and poured half 
 the contents of the little phial into it. 
 
 " Now hold her arm up, Patty, as high as you can. 
 I never knew arnica fail." 
 
 My hand was put into the water, and the bleeding 
 was stanched in a minute or two. However he kept 
 it there for a quarter of an hour, till it was quite 
 benumbed. 
 
 '' Now you may look at your hand, Miss Vaughan ; 
 it will not be disfigured at alL There will be no infiam- 
 mation. Patty, fetch me some cambric and the best 
 lard ; put the young lady to bed at once, and prop her 
 arm up a little." 
 
 I looked at my hand, and found three parallel gashes 
 across it, for every edge of the weapon was keen. But 
 only one wound was deep, viz. that across the palm, 
 which was very deep under the thumb. I have the 
 mark of it still. All the wounds were edged with a 
 narrow yellow line. 
 
 " Inspector Cutting," I cried, " no power will move me 
 from here, until you promise not to steal my property. 
 Stealing it is, and nothing else. You have no warrant, 
 and my information to you was wholly unofficial."
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 241 
 
 The last word seemed to move him. They all like 
 big words, however clear-headed they are. 
 
 " Miss Vaughan, under these special circumstances, I 
 will promise what you require ; upon condition that you 
 give me accurate drawings, for I see that you can make 
 them." 
 
 " Certainly, when my hand is well enough." 
 
 "Believe me, I am deeply concerned at what has 
 occurred. But the fault was all your own. How dare 
 you obstruct the Police ? But I wish some of my fellows 
 had only half your spirit. A little more experience, and 
 nothing will escape you. Come, Miss Yaughan, though 
 you are a lady, or rather because you are one, give me 
 your left hand, in token that you forgive me." 
 
 I did so with all my heart. I liked him much better 
 since I had defeated him ; and I saw that it was well 
 worth the pain, for he would do his utmost to make 
 amends. He wished me good night with a most respect- 
 ful bow. " I will come and inquire how you are to- 
 morrow. Miss Vaughan. Patty, quiet, and coolness, and 
 change the lard frequently. No doctor, if you please ; 
 and above all hold your queer little tongue." 
 
 " Never fear me. Uncle John ; you are right, my good 
 
 VOL. L E
 
 242 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 friend, it is a little tongue, but no queerer than my 
 neighbours." 
 
 Inspector Cutting would have formed a far lower 
 opinion of my spirit, if he had seen how I cried that 
 night ; not from the pain of the wounds, I am sure, but 
 to think of the fuss dear mother would have made about 
 them.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 243 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 In spite of the arnica, my cuts were not healed for a 
 month ; not enough, I mean, for me to handle a pencil. 
 Mr. Cutting, when he came, according to promise, told 
 me something to quiet me, because I was so feverish. 
 AVhether he believed it, or only acted medically, was 
 more than I could decide. The opinion he gave me, or 
 the substance of it, was this. 
 
 That the deed was done, not for money, or worldly ad- 
 vantage in any Avay, but for revenge. Here I thought of 
 Mrs. Daldy. What wrong the revenge was wreaked for, 
 he could not even guess, or at any rate would not hint 
 to me. 
 
 That the straightest clue to the mysteiy was to be 
 sought in Italy, where my guardian's track should be 
 followed carefully. The idea of forcing, or worming, the 
 truth from him was rejected at once through my descrip- 
 tion of his character ; although the Inspector quite agreed 
 
 r2
 
 244j CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 with me, that, even if guiltless of the crime, Mr. Edgar 
 Vaughan knew all about it now. 
 
 That no importance should be attached to the anony- 
 mous letter from London ; in accordance with my promise 
 to Mrs. Elton, I did not mention the Polish lady's name ; 
 and Mr. Cutting did not press me to do so, for he firmly 
 believed from what I said that she had made a mistake 
 in the address she gave, and would not help us now, even 
 if we could find her. That nevertheless a strict watch 
 should be kept in London, whither flock nine-tenths of 
 the foreigners who ever set foot in this country. London 
 moreover was likely, ere long, to draw nearly all the 
 migratory strangers to the business or pleasure of next 
 year's " Great Exhibition," provided only that it should 
 prove successful, as the Inspector thought it would. 
 
 As for my enemy being attracted by works of industiy, 
 it seemed to me quite against nature that a base assassin 
 should care for art or science, or any national progress. 
 But the remembrance of several cases, among the dark 
 annals I used to delight in, soon proved to me my 
 error ; while the long experience of a man, versed 
 from his youth in criminal ways, convicted me of 
 presumption.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 245 
 
 To put myself more on a level with fraud, and stealth, 
 and mystery, I did a thing for which I felt guilty to 
 myself and my mother. I changed my name. But, in 
 spite of Inspector Cutting, I did not travel out of the 
 family. My father's second name was " Valentine," taken 
 from his mother. This name I assumed in a shorter 
 form, becoming " Clara Valence ; " it saved change of 
 initials and a world of trouble, and I felt warmer in it, 
 because it seemed to have been my fatlier's. In the 
 neighbourhood I knew no one except jNIrs. Elton, to 
 whom (as I grew intimate with her) I partly explained 
 my reasons. As for !Mr3. Shelfer, she w^as delighted at 
 the change. She said that her Uncle John had chris- 
 tened me, that it sounded much prettier, and would 
 always remind her of Valentines. Xevertheless I longed 
 for the day when I might call myself " Clara Vaughan " 
 once more. 
 
 By the time I was able to go about freely again and use 
 my hand as of old, it was the middle of November. The 
 first use I made of my pencil was to copy most carefidly 
 aU that Inspector Cutting required. He promised to 
 keep these drawings, and indeed the whole matter, most 
 jealously to himself; by which term he meant, as I
 
 24G CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 afterwards found, Inspector Cutting and those to whom 
 he was bound to report. 
 
 What I now wanted was money, to send an adroit 
 inquirer throughout the North of Italy, and other parts 
 where my guardian's shifting abode had been, I knew 
 that he dwelt awhile at Pisa, Genoa, and Milan, also at 
 an obscure little village named " Calva," which I could 
 not find in the maps. All I had learned of his rovings 
 was from the lessons my father would give me sometimes, 
 when he used to say, " ISTow, Tooty, put your finger on 
 Uncle Edgar." To every one, but myself, it seemed a 
 strange thing that after so many wanderings, Mr. Edgar 
 Vaughan had brought no valet, major domo, or courier, 
 no dependant or retainer of any kind, and not even a 
 foreign friend to England, or at any rate to Vaughan Park. 
 
 But now for the needful resources — the only chance 
 of procuring them lay in my young and partly self- 
 tutored art. I braced myself with the remembrance, 
 that while none of my family ever laid claim to genius, 
 the limner's faculty had never been wanting among 
 them. Inferior gifts are often as heirlooms in the blood, 
 though high original power follows no vein except its 
 own. The latter none of us ever possessed ; but taste
 
 CLAEA VAIJGHAX. 217 
 
 and the knack of adaptation had seldom been alienated. 
 Observation too, in a small way, and the love of nature 
 seemed inborn in us all. ]\Iy father's drawings were 
 perfect, but for the one thing wanted; and in sketches 
 from outdoor nature that want was less perceived. My 
 grandfather had been known among the few amateurs of 
 the day as a skilful colourist. As to habits of observa- 
 tion, a little tale handed down in our family will show 
 that they had existed in one of its members seven gene- 
 rations ago. 
 
 In the autumn of 1651, when King Charles was steal- 
 ing along from Colonel Wyndham's house to the coast 
 of Hampshire and Sussex, the little band was overtaken 
 by nightfall, somewhere near the New Forest. It was 
 shortly after the narrow escape of the King from that 
 observant blacksmith, who saw that liis horse was shod 
 with Xorth-country iron. Though he was taking it 
 easily, his three trusty friends knew well that a Eound- 
 head Squadron was near, and that his last chance de- 
 pended on speed and night travel AVhat could they do 
 now in the tempestuous darkness? They were in a 
 tract thinly inhabited, half woodland, half heather, and 
 the road was hopelessly lost No rain fell as yet it was
 
 248 CLARA VAUGHAX. 
 
 true, and the wind was waiting for rain, but the lightning 
 came fitfully from the horizon all round. The King 
 alone was on horseback, his three companions afoot. 
 They stood still in doubt and terror, for they could not 
 tell north from south. Suddenly Major Cecil Vaughan 
 espied a faint gleam familiar to him of old in the waste 
 land round Vausfhan Park. To an accurate eye there 
 could be little doubt as to the source of the lambent 
 light — flame it could not be called. It played in a pale 
 yet constant stream on a certain kind of moss, known to 
 botanists, not to me, for the waste lands have been re- 
 claimed. This light is to be seen at no time, except 
 when the air is surcharged with electricity. 
 
 " Follow me all ; I know the way 1 " cried Major 
 Yaughan, right cheerily. 
 
 " And if you do, man," said the King, " yoiu^ eyes are 
 made of dashers." 
 
 [What this meant, I used as a child to wonder ; but 
 now I know.] 
 
 For six dark miles the ]\Iajor led them without default, 
 until they came to a lonely heathman's house, where 
 they slept in safety. He never told them how he did it ; 
 being apt, I suppose, as men of the second order are, to
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 249 
 
 hug superior knowledge. But it was a most simple 
 tiling. That strangely sensitive moss follows the course 
 of the sun, and therefore the lambent light can only be 
 seen from the west. So all the time he could see it — the 
 others never saw it at all — he knew that they were wend- 
 ing from west to east, which was their proper course. 
 
 To return to myself I put the finishing touch to a 
 view of rock and woodland scenery, north-west of 
 Tossil's Barton, and set off to try my fortune with it. 
 Some yoimg ladies, born to my position, would have 
 thought this errand one of much degradation, but it did 
 not appear so to me. So I walked briskly — for I hate 
 an omnibus, and could ill afford a cab — to the shop of a 
 well-known dealer in pictures, not far from the Hay- 
 market. It was my first venture into the heart of 
 London, but I found the way very easily, having jotted 
 it down from a map. The day was dark and drizzly ; 
 the pavement grimy and slimy, and hillocked with mud 
 at the joints of the flags. It was like walking on a 
 peeled kneading-trough with dollops of paste left in it. 
 Along the far reach of the streets, and the gardens in 
 the Sfjuares, wisps of fog were crawling, and almost 
 every one was coughing.
 
 250 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 The dealer received me politely. Too politely in 
 fact : for it seemed to savour of kindness, whicli I did 
 not want from him. What I wanted was business, 
 and nothing else. He took my poor drawing, done 
 only in water-colours, and set it up in a square place 
 made perhaps for the purpose, where the brown flaw 
 fell upon it from a skylight formed like a Devonshire 
 chimney. Then he drew back and clasped his hands, 
 then shaded his eyes with them, as if the light were too 
 strong, whereas the whole place was like a well turned 
 upside down. He seemed uneasy because I did not care 
 to follow him throughout all this little performance. 
 
 " And now," I said, for my foolish pride was up, and 
 I spoke as I would have done to the porter at our lodge, 
 not with the least contempt — I was never so low as 
 that— but with a long perspective, " ISTow, Mr. Oxgall, 
 it will soon be dark. What will you give me for it ?" 
 
 " Allow me. Miss ; allow me one moment. The 
 light is a leetle too strong. Ah, the mark of the brush 
 comes out. Strong touch, but indiscreet. A year of 
 study required. Shade too broad and massive. A 
 want of tone in the background. Great feeling of 
 nature, but inexperienced rendering. ]\Iore mellowness
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 251 
 
 desiderated. Full however of promise. All tlie faults 
 on the right side. Most energetic handling ; no weak 
 stippling here. But water-colours are down just 
 now; a deal d expends on the weather and time of 
 year." 
 
 " How so, Mr. Oxgall ?" 
 
 " Hot sun, and off they go. Fog and murk and frost, 
 and the cry is all for oil. Excuse me. Miss — a thousand 
 pardons, your name escaped me, you did not pronounce 
 it strongly." 
 
 " Miss Valence I " I said, with an emphasis that 
 startled him out of his mincing. 
 
 " Miss Valence, you think me very long. All young 
 ladies do. But my object is to do them justice, and if 
 they show any power, to encourage them." 
 
 " Thank you, I want no encouragement. I know I 
 can draw a little ; and there it is. The fog is thicken- 
 ing. I have far to go. Your price, if you please ? " 
 
 I went up many steps in his opmion, by reason of 
 my curtness and independence. 
 
 " Miss Valence, I will give you three guineas, although 
 no doubt I shall be a loser." 
 
 " Then don't give it," said I in pure simplicity.
 
 252 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 I went up several steps more. How utterly men of 
 the world are puzzled by plain truth ! 
 
 " Miss Valence, if you will forgive tlie observation, I 
 would beg to remark that your conversation as well as 
 your painting is crisp. I will take this little piece at 
 all hazards, because it is full of character. AVill you 
 forgive me for one word of advice ? " 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive. I shall thank you 
 heartily for it." 
 
 " It is simply this : — The worst part of your work is 
 the perspective. And figure-drawing will be of service 
 to you. Study at a school of design, if you have one 
 near you ; and be not above drawing stiff and unsightly 
 objects. Houses are the true guides to perspective. I 
 cannot paint or even draw; but I am so much with 
 great artists, that I know well how to advise." 
 
 "Thank you. Can you kindly suggest anytliing 
 more ? " 
 
 "Yes. Your touch is here and there too harsh. 
 Keep your hand light though bold, and your brush just 
 a leetle wetter. But you have the grand things quite 
 unattainable, when not in the grain. I mean, of course, 
 freedom of handling and an artist's eye."
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 253 
 
 " Do you think I could do any good in oils ?" 
 
 " I have no doubt you could, but not for a long time. 
 If fame is your object, take to oils. If speedy returns, 
 stick to water-colours. Leave me your address, if you 
 have no objection ; and bring me your next work. If 
 I do well with this, I will try to give you more." 
 
 He took from a desk three new sovereigns and three 
 new shillings, wrapped them neatly in silver paper, and 
 handed them to me. I never imagined I could be so 
 proud of money. 
 
 Light of heart I left the shop, not that I had made 
 my fortune yet, but what was greater liaj)piness, I 
 thought myself likely to make it. 
 
 Soon I perceived, with some alarm, how thick and 
 murky the air had grown. The fog was stooping heavily 
 down, and was now become like a wash of frambo<Te 
 and lamp-black. All the street-lamps were lit, though 
 they could not see one another, and every shop-keeper 
 had his little jet. The pavement was no longer slippery? 
 but sticky and dry ; and a cold, that pierced to the 
 bones, was stealing along. Already it had begun to 
 freeze ; and I, so familiar both with white and black 
 frost, observed with no small interest the gi'oy or fog-
 
 2 54 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 frost, which was new to me. How different from the 
 pure whiteness when the stars are sparkling, and the 
 earth is gleaming, and the spirit of man so buoyant ! 
 This grey fog-frost is rather depressing to most natures, 
 and a chilly damp creeps to the core of all things. 
 Thick encrusting rime comes with it, and sometimes a 
 freezing rain. 
 
 Before I reached the New Eoad, the fog had grown so 
 dense and dark, that I w^as much inclined to take a cab, 
 for fear of losing my way. But I could not see one, 
 and finding myself at last in a main thoroughfare called 
 the Hampstead Eoad, I walked on briskly and bravely 
 till I reached Camden Town, when I knew what course 
 to pursue. 
 
 Slowdy wending up College Street, for I was getting 
 tired and the fog thicker than ever, indeed every step 
 seemed a thrust into an ochred wall, I heard a plaintive, 
 and rather musical, voice chanting, much as follows : — 
 . " Christian friends, and sisters in the Lord, all who 
 own a heart that feels for undeserved distress, aid, I 
 implore you, a bereaved wife and mother, who has this 
 very moment seven small lovely children, starving in a 
 garret, three of them upon a bed of sickness, and the
 
 CLAEA TAUGHAX. 2 
 
 oo 
 
 inliiiinan landlord, for the sake of a few shillings about 
 to turn them this bitter night into the flinty streets. 
 Christian fiiends, may you never know what it is to be 
 famished as I and my seven darlings are this very night, 
 in the midst of plenty. From Plymouth in Devonshire, 
 I walked two hundred and fifty miles afoot all the 
 way to join my beloved husband in London. When I 
 came to tliis Christian city — Georgiana, pick up that 
 halfpenny — he had been ordered off in the transport 
 ship Hippopotamus, to shed his blood for his Queen and 
 country ; and I who have known the smiles of plenty in 
 my happy rustic home, I am compelled for the sake of 
 my children to the degradation of publicly soKciting 
 alms. The smallest trifle, even an old pair of shoes 
 or a left off garment will be received with the heartfelt 
 gratitude of the widow and orphan. My eldest child, 
 ma'am, the oldest of seven, bad in the whooping cou^di. 
 Georgiana, curtsey to the pretty lady, and show her 
 your broken chilblains." 
 
 " 'No thank you," I said : I could just see her through 
 the fog. She looked like one who had seen better days, 
 and the thought of my own vicissitudes opened my heart 
 towards her. How could I show my gratitude better
 
 256 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 for the money I had just earned, than by bestowing a 
 share in charity upon worthy objects ? So I took out 
 my purse, an elegant little French one given me by dear 
 mother, and placed my three new shillings in the poor 
 creature's hand, as she stood in the gutter. She was 
 overpowered with gratitude, and could not speak for a 
 moment. Then she came nearer, to bless me. 
 
 "Sweet lady, in the name of seven famishing inno- 
 cents, whom you have saved from death this night, may 
 He who guards the fatherless and the widow from His 
 mercy-seat above, may He shower his richest blessings — " 
 
 Snap — she had got my purse and was out of sight in 
 the fog. Georgiana's red heels were the last thing I 
 saw. For an instant I could not believe it ; but thought 
 that the fog had affected my sight. Then I darted 
 across the road, almost under the feet of a horse, and 
 down a place called " Pratt Street." It was hopeless, 
 utterly hopeless ; and not only my three pounds were 
 gone, but half besides of all I had in the world. I had 
 taken that money with me, because I meant, if fortunate 
 with my landscape, to buy a large box of colours in 
 Eathbone-place ; but the fog had deterred me. She had 
 snatched my purse while I tried to clasp it, for my glove
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 257 
 
 had first got in the way. All was gone, dear motlier's 
 gift, my first earnmgs, and all. More than all I felt 
 sore at heart from the baseness of the robbery. Nothing 
 is so bitterly grievous to youth as a blow to faith in 
 one's species. 
 
 I am not ashamed to confess that feeling all alone in 
 the fog, I leaned against some iron railings and cried 
 away like a child. Child I was still at heart, despite 
 ■ all my trials and spirit ; and more so perhaps than girls 
 who have played out their childhood. In the full flow 
 of my passion, for I was actually sobbing aloud, ashamed 
 of myself all the wdiile, I felt an arm steal round my 
 waist, and starting in fear of another tliief, confronted 
 the loveliest face that human eyes ever looked oil With 
 soft caresses, and sweetest smiles, it drew close to my 
 own stormy and bitter countenance. 
 
 " Are you better now, dear ? Oh don't cry so. You'll 
 break your poor little heart. Do tell me what it is, 
 that's a dear. I'll do an}'i;hing to help you." 
 
 " You can't help me : " I exclaimed through my sobs : 
 " Nobody can help me 1 I was born to ill luck, and 
 shaU have nothing else till I die." 
 
 *' Don't say so dear, You mustn't think of it. ]\Iy 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 father, who never is wrong, says there's no such thing 
 as luck." 
 
 " I know that well enough. People always say that 
 who have it on their side." 
 
 " Ah, I never thought of that. But I hope you are 
 wrong. But tell me, dear, what is the matter with you. 
 I'm sure you have done no harm, and dear papa says 
 no one can be unhappy who has not injured any one." 
 
 " Can't they though ? Your papa is a moralist. Now * 
 111 just tell you facts." And to prove my point, I told 
 her of this new trouble, hinted at previous ones and my 
 many great losses, of which money was the least. Even 
 without the controversial spirit, I must have told her 
 all. There was no denying anything to such a winning 
 loving face. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she cried very thouglitfuUy, with her 
 mites of hands out of her muff — she had the prettiest 
 set of fur I ever beheld, and how it became her ! — 
 " Dear me ! she couldn't have meant it, I feel quite 
 sure she couldn't. You'll come to my opinion when 
 you have time to consider, dear" — this was said so 
 sagely that I could have kissed her all over like a duck 
 of a baby. " To steal from you who had just given her
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 259 
 
 more than you could afford ! Now come with me, 
 dear, you shall have all the money I have got ; though 
 I don't think it's anything like the nine pounds you 
 have lost, and I'm sure it is not new money. Only I 
 haven't got it with me. I never carry money. Do you 
 know why, dear ? " 
 
 "No. How should I?" 
 
 " Well, I don't mind telling [you. Because then I 
 can't spend it, or give it away. I don't care a bit about 
 money. What good is it to me? Why, I can never 
 keep it, somehow or other. But papa says if I can 
 show five pounds on Christmas-day, he will put five 
 more on the top of it, and then do you know what 111 
 do ? I'll give away five, and spend the rest for Pappy 
 and Conrad." And the lively Little thing clapped her 
 hands at the prospect, cpiite forgetting that she had 
 just offered me all her store. Presently this occurred 
 to her. 
 
 " No. Now I come to think of it, I won't have the 
 five pounds on Christmas-day. As the girls at the 
 College say, I'll just seU the old Pappy. That will be 
 better fun still. He will find a good reason for it. He 
 always does for everything. You shall have ever}- bit 
 
 s2
 
 260 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 of it. Come home with me now, that's a dear. You are 
 better now, yon know. Come, that's a love. I am sure 
 I shall love you with all my heart, and you are so 
 terribly unlucky." 
 
 I yielded at once. She was so loving and natural, I 
 could not resist her. She broke upon me like soft sun- 
 shine through the fog, laughing, smiling, dancing, her 
 face all light and warmth, yet not a shallow light, but 
 one that played up from the fount of tears. Her deep 
 rich violet eyes seldom used their dark lashes, except 
 when she was asleep. She was life itself, quick, playful, 
 loving life, feeling for and with all life around ; pitying, 
 trusting, admiring all things ; yet true as the hearth to 
 household ties. I never found another such nature : it 
 was the perfection of maiden womanhood, even in its 
 unreason. And therefore nobody could resist her. With 
 me, of ten times her strength of will, and power of mind 
 — small though it be — she could do in a moment exactly 
 as she liked ; I mean of course in trivial matters. It 
 was impossible to be offended with her. 
 
 When she had led me a few steps towards her home 
 — for I went with her (not, of course, to take her money, 
 but to see her safe), she turned roimd suddenly : —
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 261 
 
 " Oh I forgot, dear ; I must not take you to our house. 
 We have had new orders. But where do you live ? I 
 will bring you my little bag to-morrow. They won't let 
 me out again to-night. N'ow I know you will oblige 
 me. I am so sorry that I mustn't see you safe home, 
 dear." This she said with the finest air of protection 
 imaginable. 
 
 I gave her my name and address, and asked for hers. 
 
 " My name is Isola Eoss, I am seventeen and a half, 
 and my papa is Professor at the College. I ran away 
 from old Cora. It seemed such fun to be all alone in 
 the fog. What trouble I shall get into ! But they can't 
 be angry with me long. Eliss me, darling. Mind, 
 to-morrow ! " 
 
 Off she danced through the fog ; and I went sadly 
 home, yet thinking more of her, than of my serious and 
 vexatious loss.
 
 262 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Inspector Cutting, upon the first tidings of the 
 robbery, came at once, and assured me that he knew 
 the "party" well, and wanted her for several other 
 plants, and crafty as she was (" leary " was the elegant 
 word he used) he was sure to be down upon her in the 
 course of a very short time. 
 
 Isola Ross, to my great surprise, did not come the 
 next day, nor even the day after ; so I set out to look 
 for her, at the same time wondering at myself for doing 
 so. Knowing that College Street must take its name 
 from some academic building in or near it, I concluded of 
 course that there I should find Professor Ross and my 
 lovely new friend. So without consulting Mrs. Shelfer, 
 who would have chattered for an hour, away I went one 
 line frosty morning to ask about the College. 
 
 I found that a low unsightly building, which I had 
 often passed, near the bottom of the street, was the only
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 263 
 
 College there ; so T entered a small quadrangle, to make 
 further inquiries. 
 
 The first person I saw was a young man dressed like 
 one of my father's grooms, and cracking a long whip 
 and whistling. He had a brilliant scarlet neckcloth, 
 green sporting coat, and black boots up to his knees. I 
 studied him for a moment because it struck me that he 
 would look well in a foreground, when toned down a 
 little, as water colours would render him. He appre- 
 ciated my attention, and seemed proud of it. 
 
 " Now, Polly, what can I do for you, dear ? " 
 
 He must have been three parts di^unk, or he would 
 never have dared to address me so. Of course I made 
 no answer, but walked on. He cracked his whip like a 
 pistol, to startle me. 
 
 " Splendid filly," I heard him mutter, " but cussed 
 high action." What he meant I do not know or care. 
 
 The next I met was a fussy little man, di*essed all in 
 brown, who smelt of musty hay. 
 
 " Will you kindly tell me," I asked, " where to find 
 Professor Eoss ? " 
 
 " Ross, Ptoss ! Don't know the name. No Koss about 
 here. What's he Professor of ? "
 
 264 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 '' That I was not told. But it is something the young 
 ladies study." 
 
 " No young ladies about here. But I see you have 
 brought your dear mamma's lapdog. Take it out of the 
 bag. Let me look at it." 
 
 " Is not this the College ? " 
 
 " Yes to be sure. The best College in London. Quick, 
 let me see the dog." 
 
 " I have no dog, sir. I have made some mistake." 
 
 " Then you have got a pony. Pet over-fed. Shetland 
 breed." 
 
 "No indeed. Nothing except myself; and I am 
 looking for Miss Eoss." 
 
 " Young lady, you have made a very great mistake. 
 You have kept me live minutes from a lecture on the 
 navicular disease. And my practice is controverted by 
 an upstart youth from the country. I am in search of 
 authorities." And off he darted, I suppose to the library. 
 
 It was clear that I had made some mistake, so I 
 found my way back to the street, and asked in the 
 nearest shop what building it was that I had just left. 
 
 " Oh, them's the weterans," said the woman, " and a 
 precious set they be ! "
 
 CLARA YAUGHAX. 265 
 
 " Wliy, they did not look like soldiers." 
 
 " No, no, Miss. Weterans, where they takes in all 
 the sick horses and dogs. And very clever tliey are, I 
 have heard say." 
 
 " And where is the College where the young ladies 
 are?" 
 
 " I don't know of no other College nearer than High 
 Street, where the boys wear fiat caps. But there's a 
 girls' school down the road." 
 
 " I don't want a school. I want a College where 
 young ladies go." 
 
 " Then I cant help you. Miss." And back I went to 
 consult Mrs. Shelfer. 
 
 " Bless my soul, ^liss Valence," cried the little woman, 
 out of breath with amazement, " have you been among 
 them niggers ? It's a mercy they didn't skin and stuff 
 you. What do you think now they did to my old Tom?' 
 
 " How can I guess, Mrs. Shelfer ? " 
 
 " No, no, to be sure not. I forgot, my good friend. 
 Why, they knowed him well it seems, because he 
 had been there in dear Miss Minto's time, for a 
 salmon bone that had got crossways in his cesop, so 
 they said at least, but they are the biggest liars — so
 
 266 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 only a year ago come next Boxing-day, here comes to 
 the door half a dozen of them, bus-cad and coachman 
 all in one, all looking as grave as judges. A\Tien I 
 went to the door they all pulled their hats off, as if I 
 had been the Queen at the very least. ' What can I do 
 for you, my good friends ? ' says T ; for Shelfer was out 
 of the way, and catch me letting them in for all their 
 politeness. No, no, thank jou. ' Mrs. Shelfer,' says 
 the biggest of them, a lantern-jawed young fellow with 
 covers over his pockets, ' Mrs. Shelfer, jovl are possessed 
 of a most remarkable cat. An animal, ma'am, of un- 
 paralleled cemetery and organic dewelopment. Our 
 Professor, ma'am, is delivering a course of lectures on 
 the Canonical Heapatightness of the Hirumbillycuss.'" 
 
 " Well done, Mrs. Shelfer ! Wksit sl memory you 
 must have!" 
 
 " Pretty well. Miss, pretty well. Particular for long 
 words, when I likes the sound of them. 'Well sir,' 
 I says, feeling rather taken aback, ' thank God I haven't 
 got it.' ' No, ma'am/ says he, ' your blooming coun- 
 tenance entirely negatives any such dyingnoses. But 
 the Professor, in passing the other morning, observed 
 some symptoms of it in your magnificent cat, for wdiom
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 267 
 
 he entertains the most sincere attachment, and whom 
 he will cure for our advancement and edification upon 
 the lecture table. And now, ma'am, Professor Sallenders 
 desires his most respectful compliments, and will you 
 allow us to take that dear good cat to be cured. The 
 Professor was instrumental once in preserving his 
 honoured existence, therefore he feels assured that you 
 "Nvill not now refuse him.' Well you see, ^liss, I didn't 
 half like to let him go, but I was afraid to offend the 
 Professor, because of all my animals, for I knew that 
 he could put a blight upon them, birds and all, if he 
 chose. Old Tom was lying roasting his back again the 
 fender, the same as you see him now, poor soul ; so I 
 catched him up and put him in a double covered basket, 
 with a bit of flannel over him, because the weather was 
 cold ; and he was so clever, would you believe it, he put 
 up his old paws to fight me, he knew he was going to 
 mischief, and that turned me rather. ' Now will you 
 promise to bring him back safe ? ' I says. ' ^la'am,' says 
 the lantern-jawed young man, bowing over liis heart, 
 and as serious as a pulpit, ' ^la'am, in less than an hour. 
 Rely upon the honour of a Weteran Arian Gent.'" 
 
 " Well, ]Mrs. SheKer, I am astonished. Even I should
 
 268 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 never have been so silly. Poor old Tom among the 
 Philistines ! " 
 
 " Well, Miss, I began to feel very uneasy directly they 
 was gone. I thought they looked back so queerly, and 
 old Tom was mewing so dreadful in the basket. Pre- 
 sently I began to hear a mewing out of the cupboard, 
 and a mewing out of the clock, and even out of the 
 dripping-pan. So I put on my bonnet as quick as I 
 could, and ran right away to the College, and somehow 
 or other by the time I got there, I was in a fright 
 all over. As good luck would have it, the man was at 
 the gate ; a nice respectable married man, and a friend 
 of Charley's. ' Curbs,' I says, ' where is Professor 
 Sallenders?' 'Down in the country,' says he, 'since 
 last Friday. He never stops here at Christmas, Mrs. 
 Shelfer, he's a deal too knowing for that.' My heart 
 w^ent pop. Miss, like an oyster shell in the fire. I held 
 on by the door, and I thought it was all up ^^^th me. 
 * Don't take on so, Missus,' says Curbs, ' if any of your 
 museum is ill, there's half a dozen clever young coves 
 in the operating room over there, only they're busy just 
 now, cutting up a big black cat. My eyes, how he did 
 squeal ! ' I screamed out and ran — Curbs thought I
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 269 
 
 was mad, and he was not far out — bang went the door 
 before me, and there on the table, with the lantern- 
 jawed young man flourisliing a big knife over him, there 
 lav my precious old Tom strapped down on his back, 
 with his mouth tied up in wliite tape, and leather gloves 
 over his feet, and sticks trussed across him the same as 
 a roasting rabbit, and a streak of white all along his 
 blessed stomach — you know. Miss, he hadn't got one 
 white hair by rights — where the niggers had shaved and 
 floured him, to see what they were about. He turned up 
 his dear old eyes when he saw me ; it would have made 
 you cry, and he tried to speak. Oh you precious old 
 soul, didn't I scatter them right and left ? I scratched 
 that lantern-jawed hypocrite's face till I gave him the 
 hirumbillycuss and hirumtommycuss too, I expect. I 
 called a policeman in, and there wasn't one of them 
 finished his Christmas in London. But the poor old 
 soul has never been the same cat since. The anxiety he 
 was in, turned his hair white on both sides of his heart 
 and all round the backs of his ears. He wouldn't come 
 to the door, he shook so, at the call of the cat's-meat man 
 for better than a month, and he won't look at it now, 
 while there's a skewer in it."
 
 270 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 The poor little woman was crying with pity and rage. 
 Old Tom looked up all the time as if he knew all she 
 said, and then jumped on her lap, and showed his paws, 
 and purred. 
 
 Meanwhile, a change had come over my intentions. 
 Perhaps all the rudeness I had met with that day had 
 called my pride into arms. At any rate, much as I liked 
 pretty Isola, and much as I longed for her fresh warm 
 kindness, I now resolved to wait until she should choose 
 to seek me. So I did not even a.sk Mrs. Shelfer whether 
 she knew the College where the Professor lectured. What 
 were love and warm young hearts to me ? I deserved 
 such a rebuff for swerving so from my duty. Now I 
 would give all my thoughts to the art, whence only 
 could spring any hope of attaining my end, and the very 
 next day I would follow the picture-dealer's advice.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAIT. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Theke was a school of design not very far from my 
 lodgings, and thither I went the next morning. My 
 landlady offered to come with me and see me safe in the 
 room ; and of course her Charley, who seemed to know 
 everybody, knew some one even there, to whom she 
 kindly promised to recommend me. So I gladly accepted 
 her offer. 
 
 In some respects, Mr. Shelfer was more remarkable 
 than even his wife. He was so shy, that on the rare 
 occasions when we met, I never could get him to look 
 at me, except once when he was drunk ; yet by some 
 mysterious process he seemed to know everything about 
 me — the colour of my eyes, the arrangement of my hair, 
 the dresses I put on, the spirits I was in — a great deal 
 more, in fact, than I ever cared to know. So that some- 
 times my self-knowledge was largely increased, through 
 his observations repeated by his wife. But I was not
 
 272 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 
 
 allowed to flatter myself that this resulted from auy 
 especial interest ; for he seemed to possess an equal 
 acquaintance with the affairs of all his neighbours. 
 Mention any one anywhere around, and he, without 
 seeming to mean it, would describe him or her un- 
 mistakably in half a dozen words. He never praised 
 or blamed, he simply identified. He must have seen 
 more with a blink of his eye, than most people see in 
 five minutes of gazing. He seldom brought any one 
 home with him, though he often promised to do so ; he 
 never seemed to indulge in gossip, at any rate not with 
 his wife. " Cut it short, old 'ooman," was all the 
 encouragement he ever gave her in that way. When 
 he was at home — a thing of rare occurrence — he sat 
 with his head down and a long pipe in his mouth ; he 
 walked in the street with his head down, and never 
 accosted any one. Where did he get all his knowledge ? 
 I doubt if there were a public-house in London, but 
 what Shelfer knew at the furthest a cousin of the land- 
 lord, and a brother of one of the potboys. " Charley 
 Shelfer " everybody called liim, and everybody spoke of 
 him, not with distinguished respect, but with a kindly 
 feeling. His luck was proverbial ; he had a room full
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 273 
 
 of things which he had won at raffles, and he was in 
 constant requisition to throw for less fortunate people. 
 As for his occupation — he called himself a nurseryman, 
 but he had no nursery that I could discover. He 
 received a pound a week for looking after the garden 
 in the great square ; but when any one came for him, 
 he was never to be found there. I think he spent most 
 of his time in jobbing about, and " swopping " (as Mrs. 
 Shelfer called it) among his brother gardeners. Some- 
 times, he brought home beautiful plants, perfectly lovely 
 flowers, unknown to me even by name, and many of 
 these he presented to me by Mrs. Shelfer's hands. Every 
 Sunday morning he was up before the daylight, and 
 away for an excursion, or rather an incursion, through 
 the Hampstead, Highgate, and Holloway district. From 
 these raids he used to return as I came home from the 
 morning service. By the way, if I had wanted to 
 puzzle liim and find a blank in his universal acquaint- 
 ance, the best chance would have been to ask him about 
 the clergyman. He never gave the pew-openers any 
 trouble, neither indeed did Mrs. Shelfer, who called 
 herself a Catholic ; but the lively little woman's chiefest 
 terror was death, and a parson to her was always an 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 CLARA YAUGHAX. 
 
 undertaker. If Mr. Shelfer had not spent the Sunday 
 morning quite so well as I had, at any rate he had not 
 wasted his time. I think he must have robbed hen- 
 roosts and allotment grounds ; and yet he was too 
 respectable for that. But whence and how could he ever 
 have come by the gipsey collection he always produced 
 from his hat, from his countless pockets, from his red 
 cotton handkerchief, every Sunday at 1 p.m. ? Eggs, 
 chickens, mushrooms, sticks of horseradish and celery, 
 misletoe-thrushes, cucumbers, cabbages red and white, 
 rabbits, watercress, Aylesbury ducks — I cannot remem- 
 ber one quarter of his manifold forage. All I can say 
 is, that if these things are to be foimd by the side of the 
 road near London, Middlesex is a far better field for the 
 student of natural history than Gloucestershire, or even 
 beloved Devon. Mrs. Shelfer said it was all liis luck ; 
 but I hardly think it could have rained Aylesbur}^ ducks, 
 even for Mr. Shelfer. 
 
 All the time he was extracting from his recesses this 
 multifarious store, he never once smiled, or showed any 
 symptoms of triumph, but gravely went through the 
 whole, as if a simple duty. 
 
 How was it such a man had not made his fortune ?
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 275 
 
 Because he had an incurable habit of " backing bills " 
 for any one who asked him ; and hence he was always 
 in trouble. 
 
 Mrs. Sheifer and I were admitted readily into the 
 school of design. It was a long low room, very badly 
 lighted, and fitted up for the time until a better could 
 be provided. It looked very cold and comfortless ; 
 forms instead of chairs, and desks like a parish ,school. 
 The whitewashed walls were hung with diagrams, 
 sections, tracings, reductions, most of them stiff and 
 ugly, but no doubt instructive. At one end was a 
 raised platform, reserved for lecturers and the higher 
 powers. Shelves round the wall were filled with casts 
 and models, and books of instruction were to be had out 
 of cupboards. Of course we were expected to bring 
 our own materials, and a code of rules was exhibited. 
 The more advanced students were permitted to tender 
 any work of their own which might be of service to 
 the neophytes. From no one there did I ever receive 
 any insolence. At first, the young artists used to look 
 at me rather hard, but my reserved and distant air was 
 quite enough to discourage them. 
 
 After the introduction, which Mrs. Sheifer accom- 
 
 t2
 
 276 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 plislied in very great style, I dismissed her, and set to 
 in earnest to pore once more over the rudiments of 
 perspective. One simple truth as to the vanishing point 
 struck me at once. I was amazed that I had never 
 perceived it before. It was not set forth in the book 
 I was studying ; but it was the sole key to all my 
 errors of distance. At once I closed the book ; upon 
 that one subject I wanted no more instruction, I had 
 caught the focus of truth. Books, like bad glass, would 
 only refract my perception. All I wanted now was 
 practice and adaptation of the eye. 
 
 Strange as it seemed to me then, I could draw no 
 more that day. I was so overcome at first sight by the 
 simple beauty of truth, mathematical yet poetical truth, 
 that error and obscurity (for there is a balance in all 
 things) had their revenge for a while on my brain. 
 But the truth, once seen, could never be lost again. 
 Thenceforth there were few higher penances for me, in 
 a small way, than to look at one of my early drawings. 
 
 When my brain was clear, I returned to do a real 
 day's work. For the cups, and vases, and plates, and 
 things of " aesthetic art " (as they chose to call it), I did 
 not care at all ; but the copies and models and figures
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAK. 277 
 
 were most useful to me. Unless I am much mistaken, 
 I made more advance in a fortnight there, than I had in 
 any year of my life before. 
 
 With my usual perseverance — if I have no other 
 virtue, I have that — I worked away to correct my many 
 shortcomings ; not even indulging (much as I wanted 
 the money) in any attempts at a finished drawing, until 
 I felt sure that all my foundations were thoroughly laid 
 and set. " And now/' I cried towards Christmas, " now 
 for Mr. Oxgall; if I don't astonish him this time, my 
 name is not Clara Vaughan ! " It did me good when I 
 was alone, to call myself by my own name, and hug 
 my right to be my father's daughter.
 
 278 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 Meanwhile old Christmas was come, and all I was 
 worth in the world was change for half a sovereign. 
 True, my lodgings were paid for, a fortnight in advance, 
 because good Mrs. Shelf er wanted to treat all her pets 
 to a Christmas dinner ; but as for my own Christmas 
 dinner — though I can't say I cared much for it — if I 
 got one at all, it must be upon credit, since my drawing 
 would not be finished for another week. Credit, of 
 course, I would not think of. Any day in the week or 
 year, I would rather starve than owe money. However, 
 1 was not going to cry about plum-pudding, though 
 once or twice it made me hungry to think of the dinner 
 in the great hall at Vaughan Park on the Christmas 
 eve ; a much more elaborate matter in the old time, 
 than the meal served in the dining-room next day. 
 
 Now T sat in my little room this dreary Christmas 
 eve ; and do what T would, I could not help thinking a
 
 CLARA YAUGHAN. 279 
 
 little. It was a giisty evening, cold and damp, with 
 scuds of sleet and snow, as yet it liad not made up its 
 mind whether to freeze or thaw. Nevertheless, the 
 streets were full of merry laughing parties, proud of 
 their bargains for the Christmas cheer ; and as they 
 went by, the misletoe and the holly glistened in tlie 
 flickering gaslight. 
 
 For old recollection's sake, I had made believe to dress 
 my little room with some few sprigs of laurel and 
 unberried holly ; the sceptre branch, all cobbed with 
 coral beads, was too expensive for me. Misletoe I 
 wanted not. AVlio was there now to kiss me ? 
 
 From the sheer craving of human nature for a word 
 of kindness, I had called, that afternoon, upon Mrs. 
 Elton. But good as she was and sweet to me, she had 
 near relatives coming; and I saw or fancied, that I 
 should be in the way. Yet I thought that her mother 
 heart yearned toward me as she said " Good bye," and 
 showed me out by the Christmas tree, all trembling to 
 be lighted. 
 
 Now I sat alone and lonely by the flickering of three 
 pennyworth of wood which I had bought recklessly, for 
 the sake of the big ash-tree that used to glow with the
 
 280 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 lichen peeling round it on the old Christmas hearth, 
 where I was believed the heiress. The little spark and 
 sputter of my sallow billet (chopped by the poor old 
 people at St. Pancras workhouse) led me back through 
 eight sad years to the last merry time when my father 
 was keeping his latest Christmas, and I his pride and 
 liope was prouder than all, at being just ten years old. 
 
 How he carved and ladled the gravy ; how he 
 flourished his knife and fork with a joke all hot for 
 every one ; how he smiled when the thrice-helped far- 
 mers sent for another slice, and laughed when the 
 crow-boy was nearly choked with plum-pudding ; how 
 he patted me on the head and caught me for a kiss, 
 when I, dressed up as head-waitress, with my long hair 
 all tied back, pulled his right arm and pointed to 
 widow Hiatt's plate — the speech he made after dinner, 
 when I was amazed at his eloquence and clapped 
 my little hands, and the way he made me stand up on 
 a chair and drink the Queen's health first — then the 
 hurrahs of the tenants and servants, and how they 
 kissed me outside — all this goes through my memory 
 as the smoke of the billet goes up the chimney, and the 
 tears steal under my eyelids.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 281 
 
 Then I see the long haU afterwards, with the tables 
 cleared away and the lights hung round the tapestry, 
 and the yule log roaring afresh ; my father (a type of 
 the true English gentleman, not of the past but the 
 present century), holding the hand of his wife (a lady 
 of no condescending airs, but true womanly warmth 
 and love) — both dressed for the tenants' ball as if for 
 the lord-lieutenant's ; both eager to lead off the country 
 dance, and beating their feet to the music. Kext them, 
 a laughing child in a little white frock and pink slip 
 (scarce to be known for myself), hand-in-hand with my 
 brave chevalier. Master Eoderick Blount, accounted by 
 Cooky and both lady's-maids, and most of all by him- 
 self, my duly afi&anced lord. 
 
 Then the housekeeper, starched beyond measure, yet 
 not too stiff to smile, and open for the nonce even to 
 jokes about courtsliip, yielding her gracious hand for 
 the dance to the senior tenant, a man with great 
 calves, red face, and snow-white hair. After them 
 come — 
 
 Hark ! a loud knock and a ring. It is just in time 
 before I begin the palinode. Who can want me to- 
 night ? I want no one but those I cannot have, whom
 
 ^82 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 the fire has now restored me, though the earth has 
 hidden them. 
 
 Mrs. Shelfer is hard at work in the kitchen, preparing 
 a wonderful supper for Charley, who has promised to 
 come home. She has canvassed the chance of his keep^ 
 ing this promise fifty times in the day. Hope cries 
 '' yes ; " experience whispers " no." At any rate the 
 knock is not his, for he always carries a latch-key. 
 
 She calls up the stairs " Miss Valence ! " before she 
 goes to the door, for who knows but she might be 
 murdered in the midst of her Christmas pudding ? I 
 come out to prove my existence and stand in the dark 
 on the landing. She draws back the bolt ; I hear a 
 gruff voice as if it came throuo^h a hat. 
 
 ''Young 'ooman by the name of Clara Waun live 
 here ? " 
 
 '' Yes to be sure ; Miss Valence you mean, my good 
 friend." 
 
 " The name on this here ticket ain't Walence, but 
 Waun." 
 
 "All right, my good friend. All right. It's just the 
 same." 
 
 " Hor, I don't know that though. Jim, the name
 
 CLARA VAUGHAX. 283 
 
 of the party here ain't AYaun after all. It be Walence. 
 And three blessed days iis has been all over London ! " 
 
 Jim, from the top of the van, suggests that, after all, 
 Walence and "Waun be much of a muchness. For his 
 part, he'll be blessed if he'll go any further with it. 
 Let him and Ben look at the young lady, and see if she 
 be like the card. Meanwhile, of course, I come forward 
 and claim the parcel, whatever it is. Mrs. Shelfer 
 redoubles her assurances, and calls the man a great oaf, 
 which has more effect than anything. 
 
 " Why, Jim, this must be Charley's missus ; Charley 
 Shelfer's missus ! Him as beat you so at skittles last 
 week, you know." 
 
 " Ah, he did so. And I'd like to back him again you, 
 Ben, for a quart all round." 
 
 This fact is decisive. Who can doubt any more ? 
 But for all that, the book must be signed in the name of 
 "Waun," wdth which of course I comply. When the 
 two strong men have, with much difficulty (of which 
 they made much more), lowered the enormous package 
 from the van, Ben stands wiping his forehead. " Lor, 
 how hot it be to-night to be sure ! And the job us has 
 had with this big lump smelfj / Both the handles
 
 284< CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 come off long ago. I wish my missus had got a feather- 
 bed half the weight of that. Five-and-twenty year 
 I've been along of this company, man and boy, but 
 I never see such a direction as that there in all my 
 born days. Did ever you, Jim ? " 
 
 " AVell," replies Jim, " I've seed a many queer ones, 
 but none as could come up to that. And who'd a 
 thought after all their trouble — for I'm blessed if they 
 wrote that there under a week — who'd a' thought they'd 
 a put 'Waun' on it when they meant 'Walence.' 
 But the young lady is awaiting for us to drink her 
 health, Ben, and a merry Christmas to her." 
 
 ''How much is the carriage?" I ask, trembling for 
 my change of the half-sovereign. 
 
 "Nothing, miss. Only eightpence for delivery. It 
 be paid to Paddington, and if ever our Company aimed 
 eightpence, I'm blessed if they haven't aimed it now. 
 Thank you. Miss, and worry handsome on you, and 
 us hopes the contents will prove to your liking, J\Iiss, 
 and make you a merry Christmas." 
 
 Away they go with the smoking horses, after carrying 
 into the little kitchen the mighty maun, which Mrs. 
 Shelfer, with my assistance, could not stir.
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 285 
 
 " Bless me, Miss Valence, what a direction ! " cries 
 Mrs. Slielfer, when the full light falls upon it. 
 
 Tlie direction was written in round hand upon a strip 
 of parchment, about four inches wide and at least eight 
 feet in length. It came from the bottom all up over 
 the cover and down upon the other side, so that no 
 one could open the basket without breaking it asunder. 
 It was as follows : — 
 
 *' Miss Clara Vaughan lodges at number seven in 
 Prince Albert Street in London town near Windsor 
 Castle in Gloucestershire the daughter of Mr. Henry 
 Valentine Vaughan Esquire a nice tall young lady 
 her always wears black things and walks very peart 
 pale with a little red on her cheeks when the}^ lets her 
 alone can't be no mistake without it be done a purpose 
 If so be this here little maun hain't brought to her safe 
 and sweet and wholesome will be prosecuted with the 
 utmost rigour of the law signed John Huxtable his 
 mark x witness Timothy Badcock his'n x." 
 
 I wondered much wliether ^Ir. Beany Dawe had been 
 called in to achieve this masterpiece of manuscript, 
 which was all in large round hand, but without any 
 stops. It seemed beyond poor Sally's art, yet there
 
 286 CLAEA VAUGHAX. 
 
 were some loops and downstrokes that must be dear 
 little Sally's. I took it off with much trouble — the 
 parchment was joined in four places — and I have it 
 now. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Shelfer was dancing around it, 
 neglecting her supper in the wonder of this gigantic 
 hamper. " Let me get a chopper, Miss, you'll never get 
 it o])en. Why it's sewed as tight as an oyster." 
 
 However, I did get it open at last, and never shall I 
 forget the contents. There was a month's food for a 
 family of twelve. First came hay, such as I never 
 smelt out of Devonshire ; then eighteen rolls of butter, 
 each with a snowy cloth around it ; the butter so golden 
 even at that time of year, that Mrs. SheKer compared 
 it to the yolk of an egg looking out of the white. 
 Then a storey of clotted cream and beautiful lard and 
 laver, which they knew I loved. Then a floor of ha}'. 
 Below it a pair of guinea fowls, two large turkeys, and 
 most carefully wrapped from the rest a fine hare filled 
 with dried sweet herbs. Below these a flitch of bacon, 
 two wood-smoked hams, a pair of tongues, a leg of 
 Exmoor mutton, and three bottles of best elder wine. 
 Then a brown paper parcel containing Sally's last copy-
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 287 
 
 book (I had set her copies for half a year to comej and 
 a long letter, the first I had ever received from Tossil's 
 Barton. 
 
 When all was out at last, after the greatest delight 
 and laughter as each thing appeared, I fell back in 
 utter dismay at the spectacle before me. Mrs. Shelfer 
 sat on the floor unable to find her way out, she was 
 so flounced and tippeted with good things. When I 
 came to her relief, she did nothing but go round and 
 round what was left of the little room, humminjx a 
 Catholic hymn, and pressing both hands to her side. 
 
 Eut something must be done at once. Waste is 
 wickedness; how could we stave it off? Everything 
 would depend upon the weather. At present all was 
 beautifully fresh, thanks to the skilful packing and the 
 frost, albeit the mighty package had made the round 
 of all the Albert Streets in London. Mrs. Shelfer 
 would have looked at it for a month, and at interv^als 
 exclaimed, "Bless me, my good friend, that beats 
 Charley's pockets. How they must eat in Devonshire!" 
 
 " Come, Mrs. Shelfer, what good are you at house- 
 keeping ? You don't help me at all. Let us put most 
 of it out of doors at once. You have no cellar, and
 
 288 CLARA YAUGIIAN. 
 
 I suppose they have none in London. At least we can 
 give it the chance of the open air, and it is not snowing 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, but the cats, Miss ! " 
 
 " Well, I must find some plan for them before Ve 
 go to bed. Now come and help, that's a good little 
 creature, and I'll give you some elder wine when we 
 have done." 
 
 So we got all that was taintable into the little yard, 
 while Tom, who never stole, except when quite sure of 
 impunity, looked on very sagely. There we fixed it all 
 up to the wall secure, except from cats, of whom a 
 roving band serenaded me every night. I presented 
 Mrs. Shelter at once with a turkey — a specimen of 
 natural history not found by the roadside, even on 
 Mr. Shelf er's Sabbath journey — also a ham, and three 
 rolls of butter. As to the rest, I would think what to 
 do with it afterwards. 
 
 Mrs. Shelfer kept off the cats until midnight, after 
 which I held them at bay by the following means. 
 With one of my mineral paints mingled with some 
 phosphorus, I drew upon a black board a ferocious 
 terrier, the size of life, with fangs unsheathed, bristles
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 289 
 
 erect, and eyes starting out of his head. We tried the 
 effect in the dark on poor Tom, who arched his back, 
 and sputtered with the strongest execration, then turned 
 and fled ignobly, amid roars of laughter from Mr. 
 Shelfer, who by this time was come home. This one- 
 headed Cerberus being hung so as to oscillate in the 
 wind, right across the cat-leap, I felt quite safe, so long 
 as my chemical mixture should continue luminous. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 290 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Dear little SaEy's letter gave me the greatest delight 
 It was all in round hand, and had taken at least a week 
 to write, and she must have washed her hands almost 
 every time. There were no stops in it, but I have put 
 some. The spelling was wonderfully good for her, but 
 here and there I have shaped it to the present fashion. 
 
 "Please Miss Clara dear, father and mother and I 
 begs their most respectable duty and love and they 
 hopes no offence and will you be so kind as to have 
 this here little hamper and wishes it was ten times as 
 much but hopes you will excuse it and please to eat 
 it all yourself Miss. All the pegmate be our own 
 doctrine, and very wholesome, and we have took all 
 the hair off, please Miss, because you said one time you 
 didn't like it. Likely you'll remember. Miss, the young 
 black sow as twisted her tail to the left, her as Tim was 
 ringing the day as I wrote first copy, and the other
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 291 
 
 chillers ran out, well most of it be she, Miss. Father 
 say as he don't think they ever see butter in London 
 town, but Beany Dawe says yes for they makes a plenty 
 out of red herrings and train oil 
 
 Please Miss, Tabby Badcock would go on the ice in 
 the old saw-pit last Sunday, by the upper linhay when 
 I told her it would not bear, and so her fell through 
 and would have been drownded at last, only our little 
 Jack crawled over the postesses and give her his heel 
 to hold on by, and please Mss it would have done your 
 heart good, mother says, to see how Tim Badcock 
 dressed her when he come home from church for getting 
 her best frock all of a muck. 
 
 Please Miss, Beany Dawe come when you was gone, 
 and made a poem about you, and father like it so much 
 he give him free of the cider and as he was going home 
 he fell into a bit of a ditch down Breakneck hill, and 
 when he come to liimself the road had taken to run 
 the wrong way Beany don't know how for the life of 
 him, so he come back here * nolus wolus ' he saith and 
 that be the way to spell it and no mistake, and liere 
 he have been ever since a-making of poems and sawing 
 up heliums out of the lower cleeve, and he sleepth in 
 
 u 2
 
 292 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 the onion loft and Suke can't have no rest of nights 
 for the noise he makes making verses. Mother tell 
 Suke to pote him down stairs and too good for him, 
 but father say no, he be a fine chap for sure and airneth 
 his meat and drink, let alone all the poetry. 
 
 Please Miss he wanted to lam me to write, but 
 father say no I had got better learning than hisn, and 
 I say he may learn Tabby Badcock if he will, but he 
 shan't learn me. No tino." 
 
 How she tossed her pretty curls when she wrote this 
 I'll be bound. I wished that I could see her. 
 
 " Please Miss I be forced to write this when he be 
 away, or he'd a made it all in poetry ; and Tim Badcock 
 tell me to be sure to tell you as how at the wrastling 
 to Barnstaple fair, week after you was gone, father was 
 so crule unkid that in playing off the ties he heaved 
 a Cornisher up through the chandelier, and a come 
 down with a candle stuck so fast down his throat doctor 
 was forced to set it a-fire and blow with a pair of 
 belli^es afore he could put him to rights. Cornisher 
 be all right again now, Tim saith, but he have a made 
 up his mind not to wrastle no more in Devonshire. 
 
 Please Miss, father saith before this here goes he'll
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 293 
 
 shoot the old hare as sits in the top of the clee-ve 
 if Queen Victoria transports him for it with hard 
 lahour. Tim have made four pops at her, but he say 
 the powder were crooked. 
 
 Please Miss Clara, all the eggs as my little black 
 hen have laid, since the last of the barley was housed, 
 is to be sewed up inside the Turkey with the black 
 comb ; he be strutting about in the court and looking 
 at me now as peart as a gladdy ; but her have not laid 
 more than a dozen to now, though I have been up and 
 whistled to her in the tall at every morning and evening 
 same as we used to do when you was in good spirits. 
 But the other hens has not laid none at all. 
 
 Please Miss, father say as how he have sold such a 
 many beasties, he be afeared to keep all the money in 
 the house, and he have told mother to sew up the rent 
 for next Ladyday in the turkey with the white comb 
 when he be killed and he humbly hope no offence. 
 
 Please IMiss Clara, us has had three letters from 
 you, and I reads them all to father and mother every 
 Sunday evening, and Joe the Queen's boy don't know 
 but what he lost another one in leathering the jackass 
 across the brook after the rain. Joe tells as he can't
 
 294 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 say for certain, because why he baint no scholar the 
 same as us be, and Joe only knows the letters by the 
 pins they sticks in his sleeve afore he leaves Martin- 
 hoe. Whoever 'twas for he thinks there was crockery 
 in it by reason it sunk so quick. Anyhow mother give 
 him a little tap with a mop on the side of his head, 
 to make him mind the Queen's business, and didn't he 
 holler a bit, and he flung down the parson's letters all 
 in the muck, but us washed them in a bucket and let 
 parson have them on Sunday. Joe Queen's boy haven't 
 been nigh us since, and they did say to Martinhoe us 
 shouldn't have no more letters, but father say if he 
 don't he will show the man there what a forehip mean 
 pretty smart. 
 
 Please Miss Clara, us would have written afore, but 
 mother say no, not till I finish twelve copybooks one 
 every week, that the folks to London town might see 
 the way as they ought to write and spell. Father say 
 London be in Gloucestershire, but I am most sure it 
 baint, and Beany Dawe shake his head and won't tell, 
 and mother believe he don't know. 
 
 Please Miss, there be a new babby come a month 
 agone and better, and mother find out as how it be a
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 295 
 
 girl, and please if you have no objection ^liss, and if 
 you don't think as it would be a liberty, us has all 
 made up our minds upon having it christened Clara, 
 and please to say Miss if it be too high, or any way 
 unfitty. Father be 'most afeared that it sound too 
 grand for the like of us, but mother says as the Hux- 
 tables was thought brave things on, to Coom and 
 Parracombe a hundred years agone. 
 
 Please Miss, father heard to Coom market last 
 week, as there's going to be a French invasion, and 
 they be sure to go to London first, and he beg you to 
 let him know as soon as ever there be one, and he come 
 up at once with the big ash-stick and the ivy on it as 
 growed in Challacombe wood, and see as they doesn't 
 hurt you. Miss. 
 
 Please Miss, the young chap as saved you from the 
 great goyal come here to ask for you, day after you was 
 gone, and mother believes he baint after no good, by 
 token he would not come in nor drink a drop of cider. 
 
 Please Miss, father say it make his heart ache every 
 night, to think of you all to yourself in the wicked 
 London town, and he go down the lane to the white 
 gate every evening in the hope to see you acoming,
 
 296 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 and mother say if you be a selling red and blue picturs 
 her hope you will send for they as father gave the hog's 
 puddens for, and us wont miss them at all. 
 
 And Miss Clara dear, I expect you'll be mazed to 
 see how I writes and spells, father say it must be in 
 the family, and I won't write no more tOl I have 
 finished another dozen of copy books ; and oh dear 
 how I do wish that you were come back again, but 
 father say to me to say no more about it for fear to 
 make you cry. Miss. All the little childers except the 
 new babby who have not seen you yet, sends their 
 hearts' loves and duty and a hundred kisses, and father 
 and mother the same, and Timothy Badcock, and Tabby, 
 and Suke, and Beany Dawe, now he knows it. 
 
 I remain. Miss Clara dear, your thankful and loving 
 scholar to command, 
 
 Sarah Huxtable. 
 Signed all this here papper scrawl in the settle 
 
 by the fire. 
 
 John Huxtable his mark x 
 Honor Huxtable hern x/*
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 297 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 I WAS much grieved at the loss of my last letter to 
 Tossil's Barton, because it contained my little Christ- 
 mas presents for all the family. It was registered for 
 security, but I suppose they '* took no count " of that 
 where the delivery of letters depended so much upon 
 luck. Of their Christmas present to me I resolved to 
 give the surplus to those who would be the better for 
 it, and not (according to the usual law of such things) 
 to those who did not want it, and would make return 
 with interest. So on the Christmas mommg Mrs. 
 Shelfer and myself, each carrying a large basket, went 
 to the mews round the corner, and distributed among 
 the poor lodgers there, more Christmas dinners than 
 had ever entered those doors before ; and how gi'ateful 
 the poor things were, only they all wanted the best. 
 
 Now the school of design was closed for a while, and
 
 298 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 I worked hard for several days at the landscape for 
 Mr. Oxgall, though the store of provisions sent me 
 and the rent enclosed in the turkey had saved me from 
 present necessity. 
 
 On the day of all days in the year the saddest and 
 darkest to me, I could not keep to my task, but went 
 for a change of thoughts to the school, now open 
 again. 
 
 It was the 30th of December, 1850, and, though I 
 crouch not to the mumming of prigs scolloped out at 
 the throat, who block out with a patchwork screen the 
 simple hearth of religion, and kneel at an ashbin to 
 warm themselves ; though I don't care a herring for 
 small anniversaries dotted all over the calendar, and 
 made by some Murphy of old ; yet I reverence deeply 
 the true feasts of Church and Chapel, the refreshings of 
 faith and charity, whereupon we forgive and are sorry 
 for those who work hard to mar them. Neither does it 
 seem to me — so far as my timid and wavering judgment 
 extends — to be superstition or vanity, if we dare to 
 set mark by those dates in our own little span which 
 God has scarred on our memory. 
 
 In the long dark room so bare and comfortless, and,
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 299 
 
 to-day, so lonely and cold, I got my usual books and 
 studies, and tried, all in vain, to fix my attention on 
 them. Finding the effort so fruitless, I packed up my 
 things in the little black bag and rose to depart. 
 Turning round, I saw on the table, where students' 
 works were exhibited, a small object newly placed 
 there. It was a statuette in white marble of a mag- 
 nificent red deer, such as I had seen once or twice in 
 the north of Devon. The listening attitude, the turn 
 of the neck, the light poise of the massive head, even 
 the mild, yet spirited eye, and the quivering sensitive 
 lip, I could answer for them all, they were done to the 
 very life. Truth, power, and elegance triumphed in 
 every vein of it. For a minute I stood overcome with 
 wonder. If this were the work of a youtliful sculptor, 
 England might hope at last for something beyond the 
 grotesque. 
 
 Before me rose at once aU the woodland scenery, the 
 hill-side garbed with every shade of green, the brambled 
 quarry standing forth, the trees, the winding vales em- 
 Dosoming the light, the haze that hovers above the 
 watersmeet, bold crests of amaranth heath behind, and 
 far away the russet wold of Exmoor. The stag in the
 
 300 CLARA VAUGHAK 
 
 foreground of my landscape, I feel so grateful to him 
 for this expanse of vision that I stoop down and kiss 
 him, while no one can see me. As I bend, the gordit 
 drops from its warm home in my breast. By some 
 impulse undefined I lift the ribbon from my neck, and 
 hang the little fairy's heart on the antlers of the Devon- 
 shire deer. Out springs from behind a chest full of 
 casts and models — what model can compare with her ? 
 — the loveliest of all lovely beings, my little Isola 
 Eoss. 
 
 I hide the tears in my eyes, and try to look cold 
 and reserved. What use is it? One smile of hers 
 would have disarmed Belial. 
 
 " It isn't my fault, dear. It isn't indeed. Oh, please 
 give me that cordetto. No don't. That is why I 
 loved you so at first sight. And here is all my money 
 dear. I have carried it about ever since, though I 
 sewed up the purse not to spend it, and only once 
 cut it open. They made me promise, and I would 
 not eat for three days, and I tried to be sulky with 
 Pappy because he did not care ; they made me promise 
 with aU my honour not to go and see you, and Cora 
 came about with me so that I had no chance of
 
 CLAKA VAUGHAN. 301 
 
 breaking it. And I would not tell them where you 
 lived, dear; but I led old Cora a dance thi^ough your 
 street on the side you live, till she began to suspect. 
 But I could never see you, though I looked in at 
 all the windows till I was quite ashamed, and the 
 people kissed their hands to me." 
 
 Poor little dear ! I lived upstairs, and could not 
 have seen her without standing out on the balcony, 
 which was about the size of a chess-board. If she 
 had not been so simple as to walk on my side of the 
 street, she must have seen me ere long, for I sat all 
 day near the window to draw, when I was not away 
 at my school 
 
 I forgave her most graciously for having done me 
 no wrong, and kissed her with all my heart. Her 
 breath was as sweet as violets in Spring clover, and 
 her lips warm and soft as a wren's nest. On receiving 
 my forgiveness, away she went dancing down the long 
 room, mth her cloak thrown off, and her hair tossing 
 all out of braid, and her exquisite buoyant figure 
 floating as if on a cloud. Of course there was no one 
 there, or even impulsive Isola would hardly have 
 taken her frolic ; and yet I am not sure. She never
 
 »302 CLARA VAUGHAN. 
 
 thought harm of any one, and never imagined that 
 any one could think harm of her. 
 
 After a dozen flits of some rapid elegant dance quite 
 unknown to me (who have never had much of dancing), 
 but which I supposed to be Scotch, back she came 
 out of breath, and kissed me ever so many times, and 
 kissed my gordit too, and told me never to part with it. 
 One thing she was sure of, that her Papa could not 
 resist me now, and when he was told of it I should 
 come to their house the next day. And she knew 
 I was dreadfully proud, but would I, for her sake, 
 forgive her Pappy ? Of course, he knew nothing about 
 me, and she had never told him my name, though 
 she could not help telling my story, at least all she 
 knew of it ; but he was so dreadfully jealous of her, 
 he did not want any one to have a touch of her 
 glove but himself. 
 
 Looking at her pure sweet face, I could well believe 
 it ; but how could he bear to see that dear little thing 
 go three days without food? Most likely she had 
 exaggerated. Although she was truthful as light, 
 sometimes her quick fancy and warmth, like the sun- 
 shine itself, would bring out some points too strongly.
 
 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 303 
 
 However, I was prepared, without that, to dislike the 
 Professor, for, as a general rule, I don't like men who 
 moralise ; at least if their philosophy is frigid. Kever- 
 Iheless, I promised very readily to forgive her Papa, 
 for I did so love that Isola. Her nature was so dif- 
 ferent to mine, so light and airy, elastic and soft; in 
 short (if I must forsake my language), the complement 
 of my own. We chatted, or rather she did, for at least 
 half an hour ; and then she told me old Cora was 
 coming to fetch her at three o'clock. Once more I 
 rose to depart, for I feared she might get into trouble, 
 if the old nurse should find her so intimate with a 
 stranger. 
 
 But Isola told me that she did not care for her a 
 bit, and she had quite set her heart on my meeting 
 her brother Conrad, the sculptor of that magnificent 
 stag. Perhaps he would come with Cora, but he was 
 so altered now, she could never tell what he would do. 
 Since the time she fii'st saw me, Conrad had come of 
 age, and she could not guess what it was all about, 
 but there had been a dreadful disturbance between him 
 and his father, and he had actually gone to live away 
 from the family. She thought it must be about money,
 
 304 CLAEA VAUGHAN. 
 
 or some sucli nasty thing; but even Cora did not 
 know, or if she did, the old thing would not tell. It 
 had made poor Isola cry till her eyes were sore, but 
 now she supposed she must make up her mind to it all. 
 But she would tell the truth, she did hate being treated 
 like a baby when she was a full-grown woman ; how 
 much taller did they expect her to be? And what 
 was much worse, she did want so to comfort them both, 
 and how could she do it without knowing what was 
 the matter? It was too bad, and she wished she was 
 a boy, with all her heart she did. 
 
 She went on talking lik^ this tiU her gentle breast 
 fluttered, and her coral lips quivered, and the tears 
 stole down her long lashes, and she crept to me closer 
 for comfort. 
 
 I was clasping her round little waist, and kissing the 
 bright drops away, when in burst a dark, scraggy woman, 
 who must, of course, be old Cora. She tore the poor 
 child from my arms, and scowled at me fiercely 
 enough to frighten a girl unacquainted with real 
 terrors. 
 
 I met her dark gaze with a calm contempt, beneath 
 which it quailed and felL She mumbled some words
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 305 
 
 in a language or patois, which I supposed to be Gaelic, 
 and led off her charge towards the door. 
 
 She had mistaken her adversary. AYas I to be 
 pushed aside, like a gingerbread woman tempting a 
 weak-stomached child ? I passed them ; then turned 
 and confronted the hag. 
 
 "Have the goodness, old woman, to walk behind 
 this young lady and me. When we want your society, 
 we will ask for it. Isola Eoss, come with me, unless 
 you prefer a rude menial's tyranny to a lady's affection." 
 
 Isola was too frightened to speak. I know not what 
 would have been the result, if the old hag, who was 
 glaring about, rather taken aback, but still clutching 
 that delicate arm, had not suddenly spied my fairy's 
 heart, as yet unrestored to its sanctuary. 
 
 She stared, for a moment, in wide amazement ; then 
 her whole demeanour was altered. She crinsed, and 
 fawned, and curtseyed, as if I had worn a tiara. She 
 dropped my dear Isola's arm, and fell behind like a 
 negress. My poor little pet was trembling and cold 
 with fright, for (as she told me afterwards) she had 
 never seen old Cora in such a passion before, and 
 the superstitious darling dreaded the evil eye. 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 CLARA VAUGHAK. 
 
 As we went towards Isola's home, I could not help 
 thinking how fine the interview would be between 
 Mrs. Shelfer and Cora, if I only chose to carry that 
 vanquished beldame thither ; but sage discretion (was I 
 not now eighteen ?), and the thought of that solemn day 
 prevented me. So I took them straight home, leading 
 Isola while she guided me, and turning sometimes, 
 with complacency, to encourage old Cora behind 
 us. 
 
 The house they lived in was a high but narrow one, 
 dull-looking and dark, with area rails in front. Some 
 little maiden came to the door, and I took my leave on 
 the steps. Dear Isola, now in high spirits again, kissed 
 me, like a peach quite warm in the sun, and promised 
 to come the next day, about which there could now 
 be no difficulty. 
 
 Old Cora bent low as she wished me good evening 
 and begged leave to kiss my cordetto. This I granted, 
 but took good care not to let it pass out of my hands ; 
 she admired it so much, especially when allowed to 
 examine it, and there was such a greedy light in her 
 eyes, that I was quite sure she would steal it upon 
 the first chance ; and therefore I went straightway and
 
 CLARA VAUGHAN. 307 
 
 bought a guard of thick silk cord, as a substitute for 
 the black riband, which was getting worn. 
 ' And so I came home before dark, full of wonder, 
 but feeling rather triumphant, and greatly delighted 
 at having recovered dear Isola 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, 
 
 BREAD STREET H/LL.
 
 
 
 /^ \