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 LOVE THE DEBT 
 
 I.
 
 LOVE THE DEBT 
 
 
 By basil 
 
 (Lit ^^^^^ 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ^t^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1S82 
 
 All rights reserved
 
 ^ 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 \ 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 i^. VANESSA
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIKST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. In a Temper 1 
 
 II. Revenge 21 
 
 III. Rev. Geoege Kneeshaw .... 41 
 
 IV. Mabh^l— Childhood 66 
 
 V. Mabel — Girlhood 87 
 
 VI. Squire . . 105 
 
 VII. Barney McGrath 125 
 
 VIII. Miss Masters . 150 
 
 IX. Mabel to the Rescue 171 
 
 X. ' In the Net ' 193 
 
 XI. Reparation 214 
 
 XII. Drifting . . 235 
 
 XIII. A Proposal 258 
 
 XIV. Guardians 280
 
 #
 
 V 
 
 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 «0i 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN A TEMPER. 
 
 ' You were never asked to the Pickleses before, 
 Mabel ? ' in the assured tone of a question with 
 but one answer. 
 
 ' No, Aunt; 
 
 Miss Masters nodded, ' I thought so,' as 
 plainly as if she had said it, and then read out 
 the invitation she held in her hand. Havingr 
 
 o 
 
 read it, folded it up, and put it carefully away, 
 she accounted for it. ' I sat beside Mr. Pickles 
 at the Sugdens' the other evening.' 
 
 ' Yes ; he's your conquest. Aunt,' answered 
 Mabel, nodding and smiling. ' At least, he's 
 not mine. He was downright rude to me that 
 evening.' Miss Masters was still more gratified. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 The invitation to her niece was, therefore, the 
 higher compUment to herself. She appropri- 
 ated it at once without doubt or disguise. 
 
 ' My dear, he didn't know who you were. 
 You see he's included you in the invitation.' 
 
 ' Because he doesn't know who I am ? ' 
 
 Miss Masters would no more take a joke 
 than a counterfeit coin. She nailed this to the 
 counter at once. ' Because you are my niece, 
 my dear. I meant that he didn't know you 
 were my niece.' 
 
 ' If I go with you, he'll know it, Aunt. 
 Hadn't I better stay at home and not discredit 
 
 you?' 
 
 ' I can't go by myself, Mabel.' 
 
 ' No, Aunt, certainly not. I couldn't per- 
 mit you. It wouldn't be proper. And if you're 
 bent on going, I suppose I must chaperon 
 you ; though I like Mr. Pickles as little as he 
 likes me.' 
 
 'We must make allowances for him, my 
 dear. He's self-made, you know.' 
 
 ' Then he doesn't do himself credit, Aunt. 
 He's like Margaret's home-made wine — no one 
 but herself can endure it.' 
 
 ' My dear, he's your member ! ' in the
 
 IN A TEMPER. 6 
 
 shocked tone in which an old lady, who gave 
 religion the place Miss Masters gave society, 
 would say, ' My dear, he's your clergyman ! ' 
 
 ' That's just why he should be civil, Aunt. 
 You expect your member, like your grocer, to 
 be civil for the sake of your patronage.' 
 
 ' Not in the South, Mabel. Never in the 
 South.' 
 
 ' Are thev never civil in the South, Aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Never grocers, my dear, or people of that 
 kind ; never. I didn't know Mr. Pickles was a 
 grocer,' with a shudder in her voice ; ' I 
 thought he was a dyer.' Miss Masters' stupid 
 mistakes were made, not from mere stupidity, 
 but from inattention also. She never gave 
 more than half of her not very large mind to a 
 subject in which she had no personal concern. 
 
 ' It's his brother who's the dyer, Aunt. 
 Mr. Pickles is a brewer.' 
 
 ' Oh, a brewer,' much relieved. ' I thought 
 Mrs. Eoxby said a dyer. But brewers are 
 always members, my dear. No one objects to 
 a brewer sitting for anywhere.' 
 
 ' And I don't. Aunt. I only object to his 
 sitting on me. He's welcome to any other seat 
 in England as far as I am concerned. And 
 
 B 2
 
 4 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 I should'nt mind his snubbing so much if he 
 would be snubbed. But he won't,' in a lament- 
 able voice. 'You might as well prick a rhino- 
 ceros with a pin. I wasted the most stinging 
 sarcasms on him the other night when he put 
 his great clumsy foot down on me.' 
 
 ' It's those long skirts, my dear ; no one can 
 help treading on them. I think I shall wear 
 my black silk.' 
 
 ' Do, Aunt,' persuasively ; for her aunt was 
 given to outraging propriety by light, bright 
 and juvenile costumes. 
 
 ' Yes ; I think I shall. I wonder who will 
 be there.' 
 
 ' The Deardens and Matchlocks are sure to 
 be there ; and, of course, Mr. Augustus Minnit. 
 He's hke that book no gentleman's library 
 shoukl be without, dull and indispensable. 
 And the Milligans, I think; and I hope Miss 
 Menzies.' 
 
 * What ! that plain girl with red hair ? ' 
 
 'Plain, but wholesome. Aunt. Doesn't 
 agree with you like Miss Sugdeu, the heiress, 
 who does nothing else. There's no doubt 
 about her being tliere, for Mr. Clarence Tickle's 
 nveet sake.'
 
 IN A TEMPER. 5 
 
 ' My dear, lie hardly spoke to her in her 
 own house the other night. I thought it was 
 yoii he was paying attention to.' 
 
 ' My dear Aunt, you don't talk of people 
 paying attention to a moth or a beetle. Mr. 
 Clarence Pickles looked at me so through his 
 eyeglass, as through a microscope, and asked 
 such superior questions about my haunts and 
 habits, that I think he would have stuck a pin 
 through me and put me in a glass case, if his 
 father hadn't set his foot upon me and crushed 
 me.' Miss Masters gathered dimly and not 
 without complacency that both father and son 
 had been uncivil to Mabel — ' dans I'adversite 
 de nos meilleurs amis nous trouvons souvent 
 quelque chose qui ne nous deplait pas ' — espe- 
 cially when their ill-luck is a foil to our better 
 fortune. Miss Masters' vanitv, absorbed and 
 busy as a bee, ' gathered honey from the 
 weed.' 
 
 ' He made hmiself very agreeable to me, 
 my dear.' 
 
 ' Then it was to you he was paying atten- 
 tion. Aunt.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Mabel. I might be his mother, 
 speaking with perfect seriousness.
 
 6 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' So you might, Aunt. Mr. Pickles is a 
 widower.' 
 
 ' Mabel, I shall never marry,' slowly and 
 solemnly, as if all her life lay before her 
 instead of behind her. 
 
 ' Well, Aunt, I shan't press it. I should be 
 the last person to urge you to marry them if 
 you think they wouldn't make you happy. 
 And, after all, rank isn't everything. " Josiah 
 Pickles and Son " sounds very well, but it's only 
 a title. What's in a name ? ' 
 
 Miss Masters was little likely to understand 
 irony, especially coming from Mabel, with 
 whom bitterness of any kind was uncommon. 
 What was her horror, then, to hear a scion of 
 the noble stock of Masters talk in this way of 
 people who had sprung out of the mud, and the 
 mud of Wefton ! Pah ! 
 
 ' My dear Mabel ! Do you know what you 
 are talking about, child ? Eank ! Who was 
 Mr. Pickles' father ? ' 
 
 ' I give it up. Aunt,' shaking her head as at 
 a desperate riddle. 
 
 ' I believe his father w^as a draper — a linen- 
 draper,' emphatically, as if this was the lowest 
 of a large assortment of kinds of drapers. ' So
 
 IN A TEMPER. 7 
 
 Mrs. Eoxby told me. A linendraper in a very 
 small way in Shrimp Lane. I think it's a pity 
 Mrs. Eoxby should rake up this old scandal, 
 but there it is. Mrs. Eoxby has got a piece of 
 his signboard, she tells me, with Peter Pickles 
 on it. " Peter Pickles, Linendraper ! " ' in a 
 low voice of horror. 
 
 ' But is it safe, Aunt ? ' 
 
 ' What, dear ? ' 
 
 ' Is it safe to keep evidence like that in the 
 house ? Mightn't Mrs. Eoxby be taken up at 
 any moment as an accessory after the fact, I 
 think they call it, if the signboard was found in 
 her possession ? If I were she I should burn 
 it, unless she keeps it as a relic to cure rheu- 
 matism.' 
 
 ' What nonsense, Mabel ! You know as 
 weU as I that Mrs. Eoxby can't bear the 
 Pickleses because they won't know her.^ 
 
 ' It's charitable of Mrs. Eoxby, then, to be 
 at such pains to know them. It is enough for 
 most people to know Josiah Pickles and Son 
 without going farther back.' 
 
 'But she doesn't know them, my dear. 
 That's it. It's spite, don't you see ? * 
 
 'Well, Aunt, it's very bad ; but, after all,
 
 8 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 it was Mr. Pickles' father who so disgraced 
 himself. Mr. Pickles himself has brokeu with 
 this bad past and become a brewer, and may 
 sit for anywhere, and so we find the noble clay 
 of the linendraper stopping a bunghole. Don't 
 you think, Aunt, Mrs. Eoxby had better let 
 bygones be bygones ? ' 
 
 ' I quite agree with you, my dear. It's not 
 a thing to talk about. We should be only too 
 thankfid that there's nothing of the sort in our 
 family,' as though it was epilepsy or insanity of 
 which she was speaking. } 
 
 'I don't know, Aunt. If we cut LIrs. 
 Eoxby I fear she'd find some horrible ancestor 
 for us, " who disappeared about the time of the 
 assizes." We all have so many ancestors, you 
 know, if you go a bit back ; and do what you 
 can you can't keep them all select. There 
 might be even a hnendraper amongst them. I 
 mean,' correcting herself at a shocked look 
 from her aunt, ' I mean in the old days, when 
 the business wasn't so dreadful. Izaak Walton 
 for instance, was a linendraper/ 
 
 'A linendraper! Certainly not. Not 
 among the Masterses, at least. This Mr. Wal- 
 ton must have been on your mother's side,
 
 IN A TEMPER. 9 
 
 Mabel. I know nothing about her family. I 
 believe they were in trade, but I never in- 
 quired,' with an air of immense magnanimity. 
 
 ' Aunt, I can conceal it from you no longer. 
 My grandfather was a coal-merchant ! ' 
 
 ' My dear,' said Miss Masters, after a pause, 
 speaking slowly, and as one who weighed well 
 weighty words. ' My dear, I don't think coal 
 is such a disgrace. It's better than soap — a 
 good deal better than soap — and nearly as 
 good as sugar.' 
 
 ' But not as good as beer, Aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Beer ! My dear, beer comes very near 
 land ! ' 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 ' Yes, very near land, and marries into the 
 peerage.' Miss Masters, after the fashion of 
 her sex, was generalising from a single instance 
 — that of one of the members for her own 
 county. 
 
 ' That's unfortunate for Miss Sugden. 
 With Mr. Clarence Pickles she has no chance 
 against the peerage.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Pickles ! I was speaking of very 
 big brewers, Mabel.' 
 
 ' Not of very small beer, Aunt? There is
 
 10 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 hope still, then, for the heiress. I have set my 
 heart upon her marrying Mr. Clarence Pickles/ 
 
 ' Why, dear ? ' 
 
 ' To kill two birds with one stone, Aunt.' 
 Leaving her aunt to digest this bloodthirsty 
 sentiment, the young lady — who all this time 
 had been standing, dressed for going out — took 
 up a bulky satchel from the table and quitted 
 the room. 
 
 Our heroine is unfortunate in the moment 
 of her introduction — one of the rare moments 
 in which she could even appear to be flippant 
 and ill-natured. No doubt her banter of her 
 aunt appears unbecoming, and her bitterness 
 against Messrs. Pickles and Son unamiable ; 
 but it really was not possible to be serious with 
 Miss Masters ; while the Pickleses — father and 
 son — had been exasperating. The father liad 
 been insolently uncivil, because the son had 
 been insolently civil, to Mabel, and because he 
 thought, and let her see he thouglit, tliat she 
 had encouraged the young gentleman's intoler- 
 able attentions. And this was not the sole or 
 chief cause of her disgust with them. The 
 satchel she has just carried out with her was 
 bulky with supplies for the sick child of Mr.
 
 IX A TEMPER. 11 
 
 Pickles' niece. This poor woman had been 
 left destitute by the death of her husband of 
 ' woolsorter's disease ' — a common and sudden 
 form of death in Wefton — and, after a vain 
 appeal for help to her uncle, had been forced 
 to go to the mill, to the neglect of her child, 
 who thus became one of Mabel's little patients. 
 Mabel, therefore, was wroth with Mr. Pickles 
 — most unreasonably, as that gentleman's reply 
 to the appeal for help showed. He refused 
 simply on principle. His niece's father had 
 drunk himself to death, and he had not the 
 least doubt that her husband had hastened his 
 death by drinking ; and therefore he Mr. 
 Pickles — the brewer who owned all the lowest 
 pubhc-houses in Wefton — could not encourage 
 intemperance by relieving the widow and 
 daughter of drunkards. He refused, in fact, 
 on high moral grounds. But women, it is well 
 known, have no conception of justice or 
 principle, but are creatures of feeling alone ; 
 and Mabel, therefore, was rather disgusted 
 than delighted with tlie admirable morality of 
 the letter. She forgot, too, that Mr. Pickles, 
 since his candidature, was a philanthropist ; 
 and that, as cosmopohtans are lovers of every
 
 12 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 country but their own, so philanthropists, since 
 the days of Eousseau, have been lovers of 
 every family but their own. Indeed, at this 
 very time Mr. Pickles was building a Working 
 Men's Institute, at a cost of 3,000/. ; and was, 
 therefore, little likely to be heartless — unless 
 on principle. 
 
 Mabel, then, was not in charity with the 
 Pickleses, and was put as much out of temper 
 as she could be by the prospect of having to 
 accept their invitation. She knew her aunt 
 too well to have a hope of escaping it. Go 
 she must ; and, as the leek was to be eaten, it 
 was only human nature to swear. We should 
 be sorry, however, if our readers started with 
 the impression, which her caustic wit and keen 
 sense of the ridiculous gave many of her 
 friends, that there was nothing serious in her 
 or to her. Beneath the rippling surface lay 
 unsuspected feelings, secret from their sacred- 
 ness and silent from their depth. The girl, for 
 instance, was religious in her own peculiar 
 way. She did not, indeed, attend daily 
 services, or embroider stoles, or distribute 
 tracts ; but, from a religious motive, she often 
 bridled a restive ton<:jue, and alwavs felt
 
 IN A TEMPER. 13 
 
 remorse if it ran away with her ; and she 
 visited the sick children of the poor in her 
 neighbourhood in a manner so furtive and 
 felonious that her nearest friends had no sus- 
 picion of her eccentricity. In extenuation of a 
 taste which may be thought morbid in a girl of 
 nineteen, we must explain, in the first place, 
 that she had no brothers or sisters, no mother, 
 and, to all intents and purposes, no father — for 
 the gentleman who stood to her in that relation 
 took less interest in her than in any of the 
 many pamphlets of which also he was the 
 author ; and, in the second place, she did not 
 allow these visits to interfere with her proper 
 work in the world ; for she played, sang, and 
 went to balls, pic-nics, and parties, as assidu- 
 ously as the most exemplary young lady in 
 Wefton. 
 
 There was one other singularity of hers, due 
 also to her isolated life, of which her Wefton 
 friends had as little suspicion. She was por- 
 tentously learned. The number and kind of 
 books she read to please her father would have 
 satisfied a Civil Service Commissioner ; yet she 
 so concealed her learniniz as to seem, to all of 
 one sex, and some even of the other, the most
 
 14 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 agreeable and accomplished young lady in 
 Wefton. How far this estimate of her mind 
 was affected by her face we shall not undertake 
 to say. It was a singularly interesting face ; 
 in repose restful, thoughtful, truthful, like the 
 ideal quaker face. Her clear grey eyes seemed 
 to look straight through you, and you seemed 
 to look straight through them to the pure soul 
 behind. It was a face in which sweetness and 
 light shone together, and her little patients 
 seemed to read in it, as in a commentary, the 
 meaning of the Gospel stories she told them : 
 
 A sweet attractive kind of grace, 
 A full assurance given by looks : 
 Continual comfort in a face, 
 The lineaments of gospel books. 
 
 As she left the house, Mabel, after her 
 manner, was moved with remorse for her 
 bitterness of speech — a remorse which was 
 somewhat quickened on her reaching Mi's. 
 Mathers' and learning that Mr. Pickles had sent 
 her a load of coals, which she had never got. 
 It had been shot into the cellar of a Mrs. 
 Flaherty, an Irish widow and washerwoman, 
 who lived in the next house but one above. 
 Mrs. Flaherty ascribed the miscarriage to
 
 m A TEMPER. 15 
 
 Providence ; saying witli much unction, that 
 ' if Mr. Pickles didn't know where to send a 
 load of coals, God did.' Her offensively defen- 
 sive manner, however, suggested that it was 
 one of those cases to which Joan of Arc's 
 proverb applies — ' Ayde-toi, Dieu te aydera.' 
 Indeed, there was little doubt that Mrs. 
 Flaherty had misled the carter by taking the 
 name, for the nonce, of Mrs. Mathers. But 
 the thing was done, and couldn't be undone, 
 at least, according to the disinterested Mrs. 
 Flaherty. For, in the first place, the coals 
 were all gone ; in the second place, they were 
 all dust and would blow away if they were 
 stirred ; in the third place, they were all slates, 
 and went off up the chimney like the crack of 
 a gun — and small blame to them, since, as 
 slates, they were more at home on the roof 
 than in the grate. These reasons seemed to 
 cover the case pretty completely ; but, never- 
 theless, Mrs. Flaherty thought it necessary to 
 reinforce them by adding significantly, and 
 with arms akimbo, that if there was no coal in 
 her cellar, there was a coal-hammer there, and 
 any one was welcome to it who came prying 
 and prowling about her premises. Mrs,
 
 16 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mathers, being a meek person, and preferring 
 to have rather her coals than her brains 
 scattered about Mrs. Flaherty's cellar, made 
 no more ado about the matter except to Mabel. 
 Mabel, however, who was not a meek person, 
 was so moved by the double motive of anger 
 and pity, that she set out at once to see Mr. 
 Pickles' agent, by whom, it seemed, the coals 
 had been sent — one among many hundreds of 
 loads which were distributed among the poor, 
 because of the approach of winter, according 
 to Mr. Pickles — of the elections, according to 
 every one else. Only the outrageous Mrs. 
 Flaherty could have roused Mabel to this 
 enterprise, from which she shrank more and 
 more as she drew nearer the accent's office. 
 At the door she hesitated for full a minute, 
 but at last mustered courage to ring. In 
 another minute she found herself in the 
 office and face to face with Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles ! 
 
 Mr. Clarence Pickles seemed somehow all 
 eyeglass. It gave his face all the expression it 
 had, and, indeed, all it had any title to have, 
 for it expressed the dominant idea of his mind 
 — contemptuous wonder at the existence of
 
 IN A TEMPER. 17 
 
 any one else in the world besides himself. He 
 used it, as Mabel suggested, as an entomologist 
 uses a microscope — to examine creatures infi- 
 nitely below himself in the scale of creation ; 
 and he looked through it now at Mabel as she 
 entered as at a more than usually mteresting 
 specimen. He had no doubt at all — not the 
 least — that, whatever her ostensible errand to 
 his agent's, the real motive of her visit was the 
 hope of seeing himself. He had fascinated her 
 the other evening, and filled her with the fond 
 hope of fascinating him. And so she had, 
 too; the finest girl in the West Eiding, by 
 Jove, bar none. And here she was, fluttering 
 after him, like a moth about a candle ! She 
 had watched him into the office — not a doubt 
 of it — and had followed for a little flirtation. 
 And she should have it too, egad ! 
 
 A single look in Mabel's face would have 
 satisfied any one in the world but Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles that such a motive or action was as 
 infinitely beneath her as — Mr. Clarence Pickles 
 himself. But there are people who, like 
 Xarcissus, can look into the purest fountain 
 and see — not all heaven reflected — but only 
 the image of themselves. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Miss Masters ! Come in. How do ? Gad, 
 I was ill luck to turn in here this morning. 
 Come in. Take a seat.' 
 
 ' Isn't Mr. Long in ? ' faltered Mabel. 
 
 ' Long ? No, he isn't. Won't I do ? ' with 
 a self-complacent grin that was nauseous to 
 Mabel. 
 
 ' No, thank you. Good morning.' 
 
 ' No, but I say, you're not going ? It's all 
 right ; Long will be here presently ' — standing 
 between her and the door. 
 
 ' Thank you, I can't wait.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, you can, for a minute — eh ? ' 
 Mr. Clarence Pickles' manner was insufferably 
 familiar, but Mabel thought it ridiculous to put 
 on tragedy airs with such a creature. 
 
 ' May I trouble you to open the door, IVIr. 
 Pickles ? ' 
 
 ' Come, I say. Miss Masters, you can't be so 
 cruel. To come in only to go out, you know. 
 Such a disappointment, you know. You forget 
 me.' 
 
 ' I think you forget yourself, Mr. Pickles. 
 Allow me to pass.' 
 
 ' Here's Long,' said Clarence, sulkily, as the 
 outer door was lieard to open. In another
 
 IN A TEMPER. 19 
 
 moment Mr. Pickles senior entered. He took 
 in the situation at a glance. It was an assigna- 
 tion, that was plain enough, and Long had 
 been got rid of as de trop. He looked from 
 one to the other — savagely at Clarence, inso- 
 lently at Mabel. She felt her cheeks burn 
 with a blush of indignation, which made Mr. 
 Pickles' assurance doubly sure. 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Masters ! You've come on 
 business ? ' 
 
 ' I came to see Mr. Long.' 
 
 ' It's very unfortunate he should happen to 
 be out,' with an undisguised sneer. ' On busi- 
 ness, of course ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, on business,' looking Josiah straight 
 in the face with a fearless defiance that exaspe- 
 rated him. Anv kind of contradiction, or 
 opposition, or exhibition of spirit was intoler- 
 able to him. 
 
 ' No doubt my son did as well ; better 
 perhaps. As a principal in the firm, it would 
 be more his business than Mr. Long's, I dare 
 say.' 
 
 ' Certainly, it was more his business than 
 Mr. Long's. It was about the relief of his 
 cousin, Mrs. Mathers.' Mabel, though at white 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 heat at Josiah's transparent insinuations, spoke 
 with a cutting calmness. But Josiah, so far 
 from seeming disconcerted, turned savage. 
 
 ' It may be his business, but it's hardly 
 yours. Miss Masters. Perhaps you will permit 
 us to look after our relatives ourselves.' 
 
 ' It's just what I came to ask you to do, 
 Mr. Pickles. Your agent sent Mrs. Mathers a 
 load of coals, which was delivered at the wrong 
 house. I came to ask Mr. Long to see the 
 mistake set right. It was hardly my business, 
 as you say; but Mrs. Mathers had no idea 
 you were looking after her yourselves. Good 
 morning, Mr. Pickles.*
 
 21 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 KEVENGE. 
 
 When Mabel had swept out of the office, the 
 torrent of Josiah's wrath was turned upon 
 Clarence. 
 
 ' Look here, Clarence, this is no place for 
 assignations.* 
 
 ' No, it's too public,' in the languid drawl 
 he found most effective with his father, who 
 thought its insolence the essence of gentleman- 
 liness. 
 
 ' Public or private, it's not the place for 
 them, and they musn't be made again ; do you 
 hear ? ' 
 
 ' Better tell Long, eh ? ' 
 
 ' What's Long to do with it ? ' 
 
 ' More than I have, I should say.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you made no assigna- 
 tion with that girl ? ' 
 
 ' Gad, she's a Hkely girl to make an assig-
 
 22 LOVE THE DEBT. ' 
 
 nation with,' exclaimed Clarence with unusual 
 vivacity. He was beginning to get a dim idea 
 of Mabel. 
 
 ' What brought her here, then ? ' asked 
 Josiah, whose suspicions were shaken, not by- 
 Clarence's words, but by his manner. 
 
 ' She's told you, hasn't she ? She came 
 about that Mrs. What-you-call-her. Here's 
 Long ; you'd better send him to see if she 
 hasn't come straight from there ; ' for Clarence 
 was curious upon this point himself. 
 
 Long was accordingly despatched to make 
 inquiry into this matter and redress ]\Irs. 
 Mathers' grievance, if there was one. Mr. 
 Pickles had now no doubt that the meeting of 
 Mabel and Clarence was an accident. 
 
 ' Clarence, 111 treble your allowance if you 
 marry with my approval. Blood or money, 
 you can have the pick of the market. Whom 
 Las your aunt asked for the sixteenth ? ' Josiah 
 regarded parties as markets where his son was 
 to pick up a bargain if he could. 
 
 ' Oh, the Deardens, Matchlocks, Mlligans, 
 and that lot, I believe.' 
 
 'Deardeu is too high-stepping. He'll be 
 down some day, mark my words. That girl
 
 REVENGE. 23 
 
 will be in the gutter again. Is Miss Sugden 
 coming ? ' 
 
 ' She's sure to come. She's everywhere,' 
 in an aggrieved tone. 
 
 ' Fifty thousand pounds safe isn't every- 
 where, I can tell you. A good figure, too,' 
 speaking of her fortune. 
 
 ' I don't know what you call a good figure,' 
 exclaimed Clarence, roused to animation by 
 this outrageous statement. ' She's as broad as 
 she's long.' 
 
 ' What's her length or breadth got to do 
 with it ? ' cried Josiah, exasperated by the intro- 
 duction of this irrelevant consideration. ' She's 
 the safest fortune in Wefton.' 
 
 ' I don't think her fortune's as safe as you 
 imagine. Mattock says there's not half of it in 
 safe bottoms.' 
 
 ' Mattock's an ass. I know where every 
 penny of it is ; and I can tell you, you might 
 do a deal worse than Miss Sugden — a great 
 deal worse. Is that Miss Masters coming ? ' 
 
 ' She's likely to come now ! ' growled 
 Clarence sulkily. 
 
 ' There's an end to that business, then,' 
 rejoined Josiah with much complacency. 
 
 \
 
 24 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 * I don*t think there's an end to the business 
 at all. Her father is one of those writing 
 fellows, and he'll have us in all the papers.' 
 
 ' I thought he was a half-pay colonel.' 
 
 * Yes, he's a half-pay colonel, but he writes 
 for all that. He's always writing some rot or 
 other in the " Wefton Witness." He'll be glad 
 to get hold of this, you may be sure,' 
 
 This was a palpable hit of Clarence's, for 
 Josiah was not safe in his seat, and a little 
 thing this way or that would upset him at the 
 next election. He had lost ground with the 
 Liberal party (which had returned him) 
 because he was too large-minded a man to 
 represent a single party, or even a single con- 
 stituency. What he set himself to represent 
 was the country at large. When the country 
 at large wavered between the Liberals and 
 Conservatives, Josiah wavered ; but when the 
 country at large inclined decidedly to the 
 Conservatives Josiah took up a decided Con- 
 servative stand. The local Liberals, who sent 
 Josiah to Parliament, are too narrow to see 
 things from this imperial standpoint, and 
 threaten to unseat him at the next election. 
 Let us hope that in the meantime those in high
 
 KEVEXGE. 25 
 
 places who look on things ' with larger, other 
 eyes than ours,' and can appreciate Josiah's 
 sacrifice of party to patriotism, will honour liis 
 disinterestedness with the baronetcy it has 
 earned. 
 
 Josiah, therefore, through not being the 
 man 
 
 To narrow his mind, 
 And to party give up what was meant for mankind, 
 
 lost favour with the Liberals, who were the 
 majority in Wefton, and had a very precarious 
 hold on his seat. A slight access of unpopu- 
 larity, such as would be caused by the publica- 
 tion of this scandal of the neglect of his niece, 
 would ensure his defeat at the next election. 
 
 ' I don't know what business it is of hers 
 or his,' snarled Josiah, with much asperity. 
 Clarence maintained a discreet silence. He 
 was very anxious that this pretty quarrel 
 should be made up, but he knew that to betray 
 his anxiety would be to ensure what it feared. 
 
 ' That fellow King has been going right 
 round, lately,' resumed Josiah. King, the 
 editor and proprietor of the * Wefton Witness,' 
 had stuck staunchly to his colours ; but Josiah 
 was under a like delusion to that which makes
 
 26 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 the sun seem to us to be going right round — 
 he was going right round himself. ' Tell Long 
 to make the woman an allowance of ten 
 shillings a week,' he growled at last, going 
 towards the door. 
 
 ' And these Masterses ? Hadn't we better 
 let her hear of it from them, to stop their 
 tongues ? ' 
 
 'No, confound them, let them do their 
 worst now,' slamming the door behind him. 
 
 Nevertheless Clarence sat down forthwith 
 and penned an ample and all but abject 
 apology in his father's name to Miss Masters ; 
 thanking her for bringing the case under their 
 notice, and begging her to be ' good enough to 
 inform Mrs. Mathers of the allowance she was 
 to have weekly from Mr. Long.' 
 
 Clarence was proud of his diplomacy, and 
 with some reason ; for there was not the least 
 foundation for the fear with which he influ- 
 enced his Hither. It is true that Colonel 
 Masters ' misused King's press damnably,' but 
 only for dreary discussions on scientific sub- 
 jects. He cared no more for politics than a 
 Laputan. Besides, even Clai'ence felt that 
 Mabel was above the meanness of the revenge
 
 REVENGE. 27 
 
 he had suggested. So Clarence was proud of 
 his diplomacy, and of his letter too — not a 
 brilliant production — which he forwarded 
 forthwith by special messenger. Thus it came 
 about that a little more than an hour after her 
 return home Clarence's apology came into 
 Mabel's hands. She had returned mortified 
 and humiliated, not least for her own part in a 
 scene which seemed to her simply degrading. 
 And there was still further humiliation in store 
 for her when she attempted to induce her aunt 
 to decline the invitation. Her aunt had no 
 notion of declining an invitation from an M.P., 
 even though his father had been a linendraper. 
 It was little use for Mabel to say generally that 
 both father and son had again been grossly 
 rude to her; she had to come down to particu- 
 lars and go over a scene, which, to go over 
 even in thought, was like holding a burn to 
 the fire. The only point in the story, however, 
 which fascinated Miss Masters' attention was 
 that with which Mabel started, that Mr. Pickles' 
 niece was a factory hand. At this point she 
 made a dead set and followed Mabel no 
 farther. 
 
 ' He has asked her ? ' — aghast.
 
 28 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Whom, Aunt ? ' 
 
 ' This niece. My dear, you are quite right, 
 it is most insulting. I shall certainly not go to 
 meet such people.' 
 
 Mabel sat silent. What hold could she get 
 on a mind like this ? 
 
 'Eeally it is not safe to go anywhere in 
 these towns, not anywhere — not even to the 
 house of the member,' Miss Masters resumed in 
 a fume. 
 
 ' He has not asked his niece, Aunt. You 
 will meet no one there lower than Mr. Pickles 
 himself.' 
 
 'My dear Mabel, you said this moment that 
 Mr. Pickles had sent her and some low Irish- 
 woman an invitation.' 
 
 ' Xot exactly an invitation, Aunt — a load 
 of coals.' 
 
 ' Oh ! But why should we cut him for 
 that? He has to do somethini]^ for these 
 people to keep them quiet and hush the 
 scandal up. You are too particular, my 
 dear. It doesn't do to be too particular in the 
 North.' 
 
 ' I was trying to explain. Aunt,' said Mabel 
 after a pause of despair, ' that Mr. Pickles and
 
 KEVEXGE. 29 
 
 his son were very rude to me when I went to 
 their office.' 
 
 ' To their office ! But what took you to 
 their office, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' I went to set right this mistake about the 
 load of coals.' 
 
 ' I must say, then, Mabel, that you de- 
 served it. Why shouldn't Mr. Pickles send 
 her a load of coals, even if she was his niece ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear,' groaned Mabel, yet laughing in 
 spite of herself. ' The mistake was not in send- 
 ing the coals, but in delivering them. They 
 were delivered at the wrong house, and I went 
 to see Mr. Long to have the mistake set right, 
 and found only Mr. Clarence Pickles in the 
 office, and his manner wasn't j)leasant ; and 
 then Mr. Pickles himself came in — But I can't 
 go over it all again ; ' flushing at the recollec- 
 tion of the scene. 
 
 It was as well that Mabel didn't put herself 
 to the pain of going over it all again, for Miss 
 Masters' mind, being slow working and given 
 to hanging fire, was still stuck dead at the load 
 of coals. It was busy and perplexed about 
 Mabel's fervent interest in it, and in low 
 things and persons generally. She had a kind
 
 30 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 of dim idea that Mabel, tliroufrh her errand- 
 father, must have coal in the blood. 
 
 ' I still think, Mabel ' — with the air of 
 having given the most patient and dispassionate 
 attention to Mabel's statement of her side of 
 the question — ' I still think, Mabel, that Llr. 
 Pickles wasn't to blame for sending a load of 
 coals to his niece, whatever she was/ 
 
 ' Well, perhaps not. Aunt. He may have 
 meant it kindly,' giving up the hopeless battle 
 for the present. ' Mit der Dummheit kiimpfen 
 G otter selbst vergebens.' 
 
 Before she could renew it on a more 
 favourable field, Clarence's letter came, and 
 she hurried off at once to tell the good news 
 to Mrs. Mathers ; while Miss Masters had the 
 presence of mind to take the opportunity of 
 her absence to write and send to post her 
 acceptance of the invitation. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, I have written to accept 
 the invitation,' she said, with perfect com- 
 placency, on ]\Iable's return. 
 
 ' Has it gone ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; Jane took it to the post. I was 
 very glad, dear, that I got you to agree with 
 me about it.'
 
 REVENGE. 31 
 
 Mabel took this thing characteristically. 
 She had brought it on herself, and richly 
 deserved it. Mr. Pickles had done his pen- 
 ance, and she had to do hers. Besides, not to 
 have accepted the invitation would have been 
 construed into not accepting what was certainly 
 a most ample apology. So Mabel tried to 
 reason herself into resignation — not success- 
 fLiUy. She looked forward to this dread party 
 with a mixed feeling of disgust and dismay. 
 And yet, as so often happens, it turned out to 
 be one of the pleasantest parties she ever 
 enjoyed, though from no fault of her hosts. 
 They were not'^pleasant hosts. They were too 
 conscious, and made their guests too conscious, 
 of their being superior beings. Josiah, for 
 instance, is, we will not say overbearing, but 
 overpowering, in conversation. He divides 
 human knowledge exhaustively into two cate- 
 gories — things he knows, and things not worth 
 knowing. If you talk to him upon things he 
 knows, he cannot help showing you that your 
 opinion is worthless ; if you talk to him upon 
 things he does not know, he cannot help show- 
 ing you that your knowledge is worthless ; so 
 that he is not a social success. Nor is Clarence.
 
 32 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 He is as like his father as a photograph of a 
 portrait in oils is Hke the original — that is, a 
 mechanically correct, but vacant copy, all the 
 colour, expression, life and soul wanting. 
 Clarence's idea of gentlemanliness was con- 
 tempt. It had been shown to him by the 
 acknowledged leaders of fashion in Oxford 
 (where he stayed to be plucked for his Smalls), 
 and he showed it in Wefton, bettering the 
 instruction. This made him an even more 
 unsatisfactory host than his father. As for 
 Miss Pickles, tlie aunt, an entertainment meant 
 to her just what it means on a signboard — 
 provision for man and beast. Her work began 
 and ended with the kitchen, and when she w^as 
 not in the kitchen, or its purlieus, in person, 
 she was there in thought, wdiich made her 
 absent-minded and given to answer in mono- 
 syllables, and at random in the drawing-room. 
 It was through no fault of her hosts, therefore, 
 that Mabel enjoyed this party ; for Mr. and 
 Miss Pickles paid her no attention at all, and 
 Clarence too much. Nevertheless, she did 
 enjoy it greatly, owing not a little to the pre- 
 sence at it of a young divine — Eev. George 
 Kneeshaw. He was one of the curates of the
 
 REVENGE. 33 
 
 parisli church, but not in the least hke other 
 curates of Mabel's acquaintance. He was 
 neither prig, priest, nor coxcomb — the three 
 varieties she had hitherto known (for Wefton 
 was not fortunate in its curates) — but just a 
 gentleman who happened to be a clergyman. 
 
 Mabel thought him clever and amusing, 
 perhaps, in some degree, because he plainly- 
 thought her so ; for even the least vain prefer 
 the friends, as they prefer the mirrors, that 
 give back the most flattering reflections of 
 themselves. And the sweet and subtle flattery 
 of the deference of Mr. Kneeshaw's manner 
 was the more attractive by contrast with Mr. 
 Clarence Pickles' patronage. Mr. Kneeshaw, 
 on his part, encountered Mabel with a surprise 
 not flatteriog to the daughters of the land. 
 
 'Have you been long in Wefton, Miss 
 Masters ? ' 
 
 ' That's a disingenuous way of asking my 
 age, Mr. Kneeshaw. I shall not fall into the 
 trap.' 
 
 ' Lived all your life here r ' with unfeigned 
 surprise. 
 
 ' All that I remember of it. It's very 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 dreadful, I know,' with a shocked shake of the 
 head. 
 
 ' Very — for Wefton.' Mr. Knecshaw's elo- 
 quent dark eyes interpreted the irony of this 
 ungallant speech into the highest compliment. 
 It was a happy form of inoffensive flattery. 
 
 ' There's a great deal of pity wasted on 
 Wefton, Mr. Kneeshaw. We shouldn't have 
 known we were so WTctched if it wasn't for the 
 missionaries who are good enough to come to 
 enlighten us,' with a bow to Mr. Kneeshaw 's 
 cloth. 
 
 ' Ah, it's use ; you are so used to its 
 wretchedness you don't feel it, Miss Masters. 
 " Our torments in length of time become our 
 elements," you know.' 
 
 'Or is it " The mind is its own place," etc. ? 
 You might at least give us credit for being 
 jolly under difficulties.' 
 
 A young lady capping quotations from 
 ' Paradise Lost ' sounds formidable, but it is 
 more the manner than the matter of a quota- 
 tion which gives it an appearance of pedantry ; 
 and in Mabel's easy manner there was not 
 the least consciousness of learning or clever- 
 ness.
 
 REVENGE. 35 
 
 Mr. Clarence Pickles, who haunted Mabel 
 persistently, though he felt himself for the most 
 part ' out of ' the conversation, gathered 
 generally that Wefton was being abused by 
 Mr. Kneeshaw, and was wroth. It is true no 
 one abused the place so liberally as himself. 
 Like most Weftonians, in conversation with a 
 stranger he turned queen's evidence against his 
 native town to escape being confounded in 
 a common condemnation with it. Just as 
 Jimmy Button, the Fuegian, abused his 
 countrymen to Mr. Darwin : ' All bad men — 
 know nothing — d fools.' 
 
 But if Mr. Clarence Pickles' abuse of 
 Wefton was indirect exculpation of himself, 
 anyone else's abuse of it was indirect con- 
 demnation of him, and was resented accord- 
 ingly. Besides, his wrath had been gathering 
 blackly all the afternoon against this prig of a 
 curate, who had made himself most offensive 
 by his monopoly of Mabel. 
 
 ' If Wefton is such a hole, a feUow can 
 keep out of it, I suppose. He's not forced to 
 come here ; or stay here, eh ? ' 
 
 Here was a startling explosion from one's 
 host. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' We come as " missionaries," you know, 
 Miss Masters,' said Mr. Kneeshaw pleasantly, 
 tmiiing towards Mabel after an amazed look at 
 Clarence. Clarence's temper was not im- 
 proved by his being ignored. 
 
 ' To parties ? ' lie sneered ; for the curates 
 of Wefton were gay. 
 
 ' Well, one may meet savages who need 
 civilising even at parties ; ' this time addressing 
 himself directly to Clarence, but still keeping 
 to the tone of good-tempered banter. 
 
 ' They're not likely to be asked more than 
 once,' retorted Clarence with a readiness which 
 surprised himself. 
 
 'And don't deserve to be if they insult their 
 host intentionally, IVIr. Pickles,' said Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, who was ashamed for himself and 
 distressed for Mabel at this supremely silly 
 encounter. ' I'm sorry you took seriously a 
 little chaffing abuse of Wefton ; but, you know, 
 everyone abuses the town he's quartered in as 
 a matter of course; though, as you say, he 
 wouldn't stay here if he didn't like it.' Mr. 
 Kneeshaw's apology, which to Mabel seemed 
 magnanimous, seemed mean to Clarence, who 
 could imagine no other motive for stooping
 
 REVENGE. 37 
 
 than the hope of avoiding a blow. Having, 
 however, no sharper missile ready, he turned 
 on his heel, muttering, perfectly audibly, 
 ' Confounded cad ! ' 
 
 ' I think it's time for me to go/ said Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, turning to Mabel with a look of 
 mixed amusement and amazement. 
 
 ' And for me, too,' said Mabel, who did not 
 look either amused or amazed, but disgusted 
 merely. Mr. Kneeshaw saw her and her aunt 
 off, and then went home, thinking a good 
 deal about the quarrel, but this above all, 
 that it seemed to bring him nearer the most 
 charming girl he had ever met. He could 
 afford, therefore, to forgive Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles. Besides, he had his revenge the very 
 next day. 
 
 Next day, as he was going through one of 
 the narrow lanes of Wefton, he stopped to 
 make a ragged child he knew happy with one 
 of those gaily coloured balloons which are 
 hawked throuo^h low neio^hbourhoods. It was 
 an unlucky present. For, as the httle wretch 
 ran flaunting it in triumph up the middle of 
 the street, he frightened with it Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles' horse. It stopped, backed, turned half
 
 38 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 round, till a savage lash of the whip sent it 
 bounding in mad panic down the street. In a 
 moment it had knocked down and run over the 
 child, reached the corner of the street, and, 
 instead of turning with the road to the left, ran 
 straight on along a short cut for foot passengers 
 to the Lancashire and Yorkshire station. The 
 path was broad enough till it crossed the 
 railway cutting by a wooden bridge of three 
 planks forty feet above the line ; so that, 
 whether the horse took the bridge, or the 
 brow of the cutting at either side, destruction 
 was certain. The groom had the presence of 
 mind to leap off, and escaped with a couple of 
 broken ribs, but Clarence seemed too be- 
 wildered to do more than clingy to the broken 
 reins. Kneeshaw, who was on the bridge, 
 looked round when he heard the shout, and 
 saw the trap just as it was dashing from the 
 street into the footway. He ran back to leave 
 between him and the bridge a margin for the 
 struggle, and had a moment's pause for breath 
 before he sprang at the reins. He missed 
 them, was knocked down, but brought the 
 horse down too. It was not a romantic mode
 
 REVENGE. 39 
 
 of stopping a runaway horse, as by a stumbling 
 block, but it was effective. 
 
 Clarence was at first too unnerved to swear 
 at the officious crowd which gathered round 
 them in a moment, though he had the presence 
 of mind to intercept some brandy meant for 
 Kneeshaw. Indeed, he needed it the most of 
 the two. Kneeshaw, who had no bones- 
 broken, and did not yet feel his bruises, was 
 giving collected orders to the men who were 
 busy about the fallen horse, while Clarence was 
 shivering as in an ague. The brandy, however, 
 so restored him to himself that he was soon 
 able to abuse the men who were cutting the 
 traces as a set of bunglers, his groom as a con- 
 founded coward, and the child he had run over 
 as an infernal little beggar's brat. 
 
 A man has naturally a very kindly feeling 
 towards "anyone whose life he has just saved, 
 but this Clarence soon dissipated. 
 
 'Look here, Mr. Pickles,' said Kneeshaw, 
 quitting the horse's head to come up to the 
 side of the trap, ' if you can't thank God for 
 your life except by swearing, you'd better hold 
 your tongue.' And, without waiting to catch
 
 40 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Clarence's muttered reply, he walked back to 
 look after the child that was run over. 
 
 On the other hand, a man must be very- 
 generous to feel duly grateful for so big a debt 
 as his life ; and as Clarence's failing was not 
 generosity, it would surprise no one who knew 
 human nature to hear that he was not brought 
 to feel more kindly towards Kneeshaw through 
 the mortifying consciousness of owing him 
 what he never could pay.
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 
 
 ' Isn't Mr. Kneeshaw down yet ? ' asked Mr. 
 Gant, in an aggrieved voice. 
 
 * No, sir,' replied the little maid ; ' but I 
 think he is getting up, and will be down in a 
 few minutes. Will you step in, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, I shall go up to his room,' 
 said Mr. Gant curtly. 
 
 Mr. Gant, the senior ciurate of the parish 
 church of Wefton, was righteously enraged 
 with his colleague, whose weddings he had had 
 to take that morning. It was Mr. Kneeshaw's 
 week of surplice duty, but as he lived a mile 
 from the church, and did not turn up that 
 morning for the weddings, the clerk had 
 natural recourse to Mr. Gant, whose lodgings 
 were at hand. Now nothing tried Mr. Gant's 
 easily turned temper more than weddings as 
 they were conducted at the parish church. A
 
 42 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 marriage, which was a piece of business to the 
 clerk and an entertainment to the bridal party, 
 was a sacrament to him, and seldom was one 
 celebrated by him without the clashing of 
 these conflicting views. This morning, especi- 
 ally, the profanity of the clerk in treating the 
 weddings as a piece of business, and of the 
 bridal party in treating them as occasions of 
 unseemly rejoicing, had been flagrant and 
 exasperating. Therefore Mr. Gant spoke 
 sharply to the little maid, and strode sternly 
 upstairs. 
 
 ' Kneeshaw ! ' he cried aloud, as he 
 stumbled over the boots at that gentleman's 
 door. ' Kneeshaw, I say ! ' 
 
 A profound snore was the response. 
 
 Having knocked twice impatiently at the 
 door, with no better result, ]\Ir. Gant turned 
 the handle and entered the room. His fijst 
 step landed him in the bath, his next on a pile 
 of books. Eesting here for a moment till his 
 eye grew used enough to the dimness to steer 
 him clear through the confusion of books, 
 boots, bath, clubs, and dumb bells which 
 littered the floor, Mr. Gant picked his way to 
 the bedside. Here a chair, with a candle
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 43 
 
 burnt to the socket and a volume of natural 
 history upon it, showed for what Mr. Knee- 
 shaw had borrowed from sleep the hours he 
 was now paying back with interest. The truth 
 is, that, partly from the excitement and partly 
 from the pain of last night's adventure, Mr. 
 Kneeshaw couldn't get asleep till the small 
 hours of the morning. 
 
 ' Kneeshaw ! ' cried Mr. Gant, shaking the 
 sleeper sharply by the shoulder. ' I say, Knee- 
 shaw ! ' 
 
 ' Is that you, Gant ? ' muttered Mr. Knee- 
 shaw sleepily. ' What's the matter ? ' 
 
 ' Matter ! Do you know what o'clock it 
 is.?' 
 
 ' I suppose a man must be wide awake to 
 know what o'clock it is,' growled Mr. Knee- 
 shaw, with mild but ill-timed facetiousness. 
 ' Do you want me to take your matins for 
 you ? ' 
 
 Now Mr. Gant's six-o'clock matins, as he 
 termed that mechanical monologue, which he 
 pattered over in an empty school-house at the 
 rate and with the expression appropriate to 
 ' This is the house that Jack built,' was'a sore 
 subject between these uncongenial colleagues.
 
 44 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' No,' said the exasperated Gant ; ' but I 
 don't want to take your weddings for you ; and 
 you must allow me to say that it is a scandal 
 and a disgrace to a priest to set such an 
 example of sloth.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know,' yawned the imper- 
 turbable Kneeshaw, as he sat up and stretched 
 himself. ' What saith the Psalmist, " Let the 
 saints rejoice in their beds " ? I don't call it 
 rejoicing m your bed to get up at five o'clock. 
 All the same, Gant, I am sorry I overslept my- 
 self, and let you in for the weddings. Pay you 
 in funerals next week. Stay and have some 
 breakfast, will you ? ' 
 
 'Thank you, I have breakfasted,' replied 
 Mr. Gant sourly, retreating before his col- 
 leaG^ue's coolness with an irritatinjr sense of 
 impotence. ' I have my sick to see after. 
 Good morning.' 
 
 ' Good morning. I say, would you mind 
 telling Fritters I shall be down in half an 
 hour ? ' 
 
 ' Fritters ' was Mr. Kneeshaw's name for 
 the little maid, in allusion to her person and 
 toilet generally, which were scant and snippety, 
 but especially to her mode of dressing her hair.
 
 EEV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 45 
 
 Fritters, by the way, a maid-of-all-work of 
 twelve years, took the name from him, as she 
 woiikl have taken anything from him, very 
 kindly, but resented its use by another. 
 
 Mr. Gant being gone, Mr. Kneeshaw lay in 
 bed a little with his thoughts turned naturally 
 upon his colleague. ' What a prig that fellow 
 is ! He has cultivated his natural dulness by 
 reading dull books till he has become so stulti- 
 fied as to think himself clever. Yet the fellow 
 never really thinks or studies. He cannot 
 maintain or even understand an argument, and 
 cannot construe correctly a chapter in the 
 Greek Testament. He crept through a theo- 
 logical college, was ploughed for deacon's 
 orders, and passed a year afterwards only by 
 cribbing and copying. Yet the bishop's hands 
 were no sooner off his head than he claimed a 
 reverence for himself that he would be the last 
 to yield the bishop. It is good to hear him 
 show up the ignorance of the chaplain who 
 plucked him, and the profanity of the bishop 
 who ordained him on the strength of an apos- 
 tolic succession that has changed nothing in 
 him but his dress. He may well hold on by 
 apostolical succession,' said Mr. Kneeshaw ;
 
 46 LOVE TUE DEBT. 
 
 ' it's all he has to boast of. K a man has no 
 natural claims on our respect, he must fall 
 back on supernatural claims. If the O'Mulh- 
 gan had been less out at elbows, he would 
 have bragged less of his descent from Brian 
 Boroo. That forged draft was all the cash he 
 had.' 
 
 Having thus established to his satisfaction a 
 natural connection between silliness and ritual- 
 ism, Mr. Kneeshaw addressed himself to his 
 toilet. 
 
 Meantime Mr. Gant, on his way to his work, 
 had his thoughts equally busy about Mr. Knee- 
 shaw. ' What made that fellow become a 
 priest? He laughs at our Holy Church, lier 
 orders, her sacraments, even her creeds. He 
 said to Mawson the other day that the Atha- 
 nasian Creed was like Temple Bar with the 
 skulls on it — out of date, either as a landmark, 
 a barrier, or a scarecrow, and the sooner it was 
 swept away the better ! Good Heavens 
 This man eats the bread of the Church, and 
 thus bites the hand that feeds him ! ' 
 
 The question that Mr. Gant asked himself, 
 ' What brought this Jonah into the ship of the 
 Church ? ' — ' Que diable allait-il faire dans cette
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 47 
 
 galere ? ' — will perhaps perplex our readers as 
 much as it did Mr. Gant. The truth is, George 
 Kneeshaw drifted into the Church. His father, 
 himself a clergyman, always intended him for 
 the ministry; his mother set her heart upon 
 his entering it, and he himself did not feel 
 himself at first unfit for it. But he soon began 
 to find out his mistake. 
 
 To begin with, he had a most uncomfort- 
 able curacy. Dr. Clancy, his rector, the Vicar 
 of Wefton, who originally was a missionary, 
 then an usher, then head master of the Hertford 
 Grammar School, and then Vicar of Wefton, 
 treated his curates as fourth-form schoolboys. 
 As a rule, therefore, no one who had any self- 
 respect could endure to serve under him. Nor 
 did he seek such to serve under him. He 
 preferred to justify the wide interval he main- 
 tained between himself and his curates by 
 choosing such as were far his inferiors in learn- 
 ing and intellect ; and as he was neither an 
 able man nor a profound scholar he had to go 
 low down for his recruits. These recruits were 
 promoted to all the livings in and about 
 Wefton of which the vicar had or obtained the 
 patronage ; and so it came about that the
 
 48 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 clergy of the town and neighbourhood were, as 
 a rule, of a very inferior class. George Knee- 
 shaw, however, though a gentleman and scholar, 
 and the last man the Doctor would have chosen 
 for curate, or w^ho would have chosen the 
 Doctor for rector, had accepted a nomination 
 to the parish church of Wefton on the recom- 
 mendation of his uncle, a college friend of the 
 vicar. Eector and curate were not long in 
 finding out their mistake, which could not now, 
 however, be rectified for two years, the term of 
 a first curacy. Kneeshaw was the three things 
 Dr. Clancy ' most highly held in hate ' in a 
 curate — able, independent, and Broad Church ; 
 while Dr. Clancy seemed to Kneeshaw, not 
 perhaps altogether justly, the incarnation of 
 cant — a man whose idea of religion was 
 unctuous talk, who beheved, so to speak, in 
 ' soft money ' — in an unlimited and irredeemable 
 issue of paper. 
 
 Thus, to begin w^ith, Kneeshaw had a very 
 uncomfortable curacy. But this was not all, 
 or nearly all, or anything indeed, compared 
 with another great and growing trouble of his 
 life. Less than a year after his ordination he 
 began to find that he had entered a haunted
 
 EEV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 49 
 
 house, or, rather, a house with a haunted room 
 in it. We cannot better express his position in 
 the Church. In most respects it was a very 
 pleasant position. It made him master of his 
 own time ; allowed him some leisure to read ; 
 gave him a choice of friends wide as the parish, 
 and brought him into a kindly relationship to 
 the poor that he thought more of and made 
 more of than most clergymen. But this position 
 he held on the terms of his acceptance of 
 creeds, articles, and doctrines that seemed to 
 him to conflict with each other and with reason. 
 At first he stilled his conscience with the thought 
 that, as beyond dispute the Articles looked to- 
 wards Geneva and the Liturgy towards Eome, 
 no clergyman could accept the two together 
 without reservation. But a slight acquaintance 
 with the clergy of Wefton — who, as we have 
 said, were, as a rule, of a very inferior class — 
 convinced him that they accepted absolute con- 
 tradictions in perfect good faith, their con- 
 sciences in this matter being much clearer than 
 their brains. In fact, his intercourse with the 
 Wefton clergy rather deepened than lightened 
 his sense of responsibility, for no reasonable 
 man could listen to their arguments without his 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 faith being shaken. Naturally, though illogically, 
 Kneeshaw's contempt for the advocates extended 
 to contempt for their cause, and his scepticism 
 imder their treatment became more confirmed 
 and profound. At first he faced and fought his 
 doubts fiercely. 
 
 He would not make his judgment blind ; 
 He faced the spectres of the mind 
 To lay them. 
 
 But they were not laid. When he seemed 
 to have exorcised them they returned sevenfold 
 and irresistible till he fled before them, and 
 lived now, as we have said, in a house with a 
 haunted room in it, whose door he shunned to 
 open and shuddered even to pass. He de- 
 clined controversy, put aside apologies and 
 aids to faith, where he found ' no light, but 
 rather darkness visible ' — which but manifested 
 the difficulties they were designed to clear — 
 and returned to his study of natural history, 
 in which he delii^hted most and found most 
 distraction. Lock the haunted chamber as he 
 would, however, he could not lock out the 
 horror of it from his mind. It was always 
 there, latent or evident, and affected his whole 
 life, in some respects, curiously enough, for
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 51 
 
 good. Practically, scepticism wrought in him 
 the zeal of a religion. It made him sometimes 
 sour and cynical in speech, especially in his 
 intercourse with his brother clergy, but in 
 act it seemed to double his natural kind- 
 liness. Naturally he was very generous — to 
 the weak and dependent generosity itself — 
 with women gentle as a woman, with children 
 childlike as a child, humble with the poor, 
 homely with the simple, kindly to every 
 creature with the claim of helplessness. Now 
 this natural kindliness was raised by his 
 scepticism into a religion, in part through his 
 eagerness to atone for the heterodoxy of his 
 thoughts by the orthodoxy of his life, and in 
 part through the hope that his life might re-act 
 upon his thoughts to their reconversion — a 
 hope founded on a text in the New Testament 
 and encouraged by the advice of his friend 
 Archer Lawley, Yicar of Fenton, a Broad 
 Churchman, with whom George spent every 
 spare hour. Those who think that he should 
 not have allowed his conscience to be so- 
 phisticated by this hope may have the satis- 
 faction of knowing that the sin brought its own 
 punishment with it. George was haunted and 
 
 E 2 
 
 Zi^ OF .aiNO.s
 
 52 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 unhappy, flying before a spectre he had not 
 the courage to face again, 
 
 Like one that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And having once turn'd round, walks on, 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 When he had dressed himself with some 
 difficulty — for he was badly bruised and could 
 not stir his right arm without pain — and had 
 got downstairs, he found Fritters in tribulation. 
 A meerschaum pipe had fallen upon a glass 
 case containing a loathsome array of specimens 
 of the British spider which George had collected 
 and arranged ; and Fritters, stooping over the 
 wreck, was divided between her horror of the 
 spiders and her desire to pick the pipe and the 
 shattered glass out from among them. 
 
 ' Oh, please, sir, I done it,' she cried, with 
 a fresh outburst of tears. ' I was standing on 
 a chair a-polisliing of the bookcase, when I 
 shook down the pipe from the top on to the 
 glass case. Eh, whatever maun I do ? ' 
 
 ' Pooh I ' said George, taking up the pipe 
 to find a hairy and hideous specimen crushed 
 out of all recognition under its bowl. * Don't
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 53 
 
 be a child, Fritters ' — Fritters was of the 
 mature age of twelve — ' there isn't much harm 
 done, and crying won't mend it, anyhow.' He 
 was under the fond delusion that Fritters was 
 bemoaning his loss and deprecating his anger, 
 though nothing could be farther from her 
 thoughts. 
 
 ' Eh ! but shoo will go on though,' said 
 Fritters, not in the least consoled. ' Ye mind 
 how shoo called me for a week for blackleading 
 of your boots, sir, and that was nowt to this,' 
 looking disconsolately at the shattered case. 
 
 George couldn't help a smile at his egotis- 
 tical delusion that Fritters' concern was about 
 him, while at the same time he was pleased by 
 her faith in his forgiveness. ' She'll think it 
 was I, Fritters,' said he, putting his hand kindly 
 on the girl's shoulder. 
 
 ' But, please, sir, if shoo ax you if I done 
 it ? ^ asked Fritters anxiously, knowing George 
 was a soft one and fearing he might not have 
 the strength of mind to tell a direct he. 
 
 ' She can't ask me if I say, " Miss Skinner, 
 I have had a misfortune ; would you kindly 
 send Fritters for the glazier ? " ' 
 
 Fritters was as much tickled as relieved by
 
 54 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 the idea of doing Miss Skinner in this ingenious 
 way ; and her crushing terror of that virago 
 having been removed, there was room in her 
 heart for hghter anxieties to stir. ' Please, sir, 
 was it a particular un ? ' she asked, looking at 
 the scrunched spider wdth an expression in 
 which natural abhorrence and an affectation of 
 interest struggled together ludicrously. 
 
 'It was a specimen of the Argyroneta 
 aquatica, Fritters,' said George solemnly. 
 
 ' Was it though ? ' exclaimed Fritters, look- 
 ing now with awe on the brute. 'And the 
 glass will be tenpence mayhap ? ' Here she 
 felt on surer ground, for tenpence was deducted 
 from her scanty last quarter's wages for a pane 
 she put her elbow through. Suddenly, to 
 George's surprise, she began to cry more 
 silently, but more profusely than ever. 'I'm 
 now't but trouble to you, sir,' she sobbed, ' but 
 I will learn them tables.' 
 
 This heroic resolution referred to tasks Mr. 
 Kneeshaw set her. He gave Flitters the only 
 thing he ever grudged to give — his time — bor- 
 rowing her from Miss Skinner for lialf an hour 
 of an evening to teach her to read, write, and 
 cipher. The girl was a foundling from the
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESIIAW. 55 
 
 workhouse, recommended to George by her 
 friendlessness, and as she took the opportunity of 
 her evening lesson to tell him her griefs and 
 grievances, she soon learned to look on him as 
 her Deus ex macJiind to get her out of scrapes^ 
 She felt besides that there was a bond between 
 them in their common awe of Miss Skinner, 
 who ruled George nearly as despotically as she 
 did Fritters. 
 
 ' Of course you'll learn the tables,' said 
 George soothingly, touched by the feeling she 
 showed ; ' but I'll tell you what. Fritters, if 
 Miss Skinner sees you've been crying, she'll 
 know you've been in mischief.' This was 
 effective, especially as it was reinforced by a 
 shrill cry from the kitchen. 
 
 ' Georgina ! ' — the workhouse mistress, who 
 was childless, had christened the foundling after 
 her husband — ' Georgina ! What-are-you-a- 
 doing- of -upstairs- and - not-a -hand -put - to - the- 
 boots -and -knives- when -it-is-a'most -time -to- be- 
 getting- dinner - ready- you - lazy- idle - gaumless- 
 good-for-nowt ! ' This discharge of shrapnell, 
 shot out as one word, was very effective, and 
 brought down Fritters instantaneously. George 
 also felt, as it was meant he should, the
 
 56 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 reproach of lateness and laziness, and sat down 
 to devour his breakfast and the We/ton 
 Witness simultaneously, after the manner of 
 bachelors. He soon came across a paragraph 
 of some interest, which he read with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 ' Our readers will be concerned to hear of 
 an accident, which was like to have had a fatal 
 termination, and which happened last evening 
 to Mr. Clarence Pickles, son of our respected 
 member. As Mr. Pickles was driving down 
 Sugg Lane — which it will be remembered is 
 the short way from Driffield Street to the Lan- 
 cashire and Yorkshire Station — a little urchin 
 ran out of one of the houses in that swarming 
 neighbourhood, waving a red flag in the face 
 of the horse. The high-spirited animal took 
 fright, became uncontrollable, and bolted, and, 
 having knocked down and run over the child 
 which was the cause of all the mischief, dashed 
 from Sugg Lane into Slater's Alley — the foot- 
 way which crosses the railway cutting by the 
 plank bridge. Here the groom lost his nerve 
 and leaped off, but Mr. Pickles fortunately 
 stuck manfully to his post, though he could not 
 guide the panic-stricken animal so as to prevent
 
 EEV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 57 
 
 its knocking down the Eev. Mr. Kneeshaw, one 
 of the curates of the parish church, who, 
 however, we are happy to say, escaped without 
 serious injury. As the shaft struck the reve- 
 rend gentleman, the horse stumbled and came 
 down within a few yards of the cutting, into 
 which, in all human probability, it must have 
 plunged but for this timely and most provi- 
 dential accident. The horse, which was a very 
 valuable animal, was seriously injured, and the 
 harness, either maliciously, or, as we prefer to 
 think, officiously, was cut to pieces by the 
 crowd that collected about the scene of the 
 accident. The groom had two ribs broken in 
 his fall, and the child, which was run over and 
 had both its legs fractured, hes in a precarious 
 state, its mother obstinately opposing its remo- 
 val to the Infirmary.' 
 
 In this piece of penny- a-lining, George read 
 the frank hand of Mr. Pickles ; and indeed the 
 reporter, hearing of the accident, had ju- 
 diciously gone to head-quarters to ensure the 
 correctness of his account. Mr. Pickles would 
 probably have given a truer, or at least a more 
 plausible, narrative of the affair if the reporter 
 had not come upon him while still in a state of
 
 58 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 irritation against Mr. Kneesliaw and not cool 
 enough to calculate the evidence against such a 
 version of the accident. George was not the 
 man to talk or think much of his part in the 
 afiair, and was more amused than aggrieved by 
 the paragraph, so far as it concerned himself; 
 that part of it, however, in which the reporter, 
 echoing Mr. Pickles, showed less concern for 
 the injured child than for the injured horse and 
 harness, was not amusing. George had seen 
 the little fellow immediately after the accident, 
 and could not get the white face, patient from 
 excess of pain, out of his thoughts as he lay 
 awake in the night ; and now he hurried over 
 his breakfast that he might go to see what 
 could be done for the child. 
 
 Su(]^2[ Lane, with its two fforf^eous sxin 
 palaces, many foul and foetid beershops, and its 
 sordid, squalid, crowded homes, w^as like one 
 of those women w^ho might be seen of a 
 morning standing about its pavement — frowsy, 
 slatternly, down-at-heel, and unwholesome- 
 looking, a tawdry ribbon or two making her 
 rags look more wretched. In a sunken cellar 
 in this unlovely lane lay the little child that 
 was run over — Squire Lumb. ' Squire,' ' Colo-
 
 KEV. GEORGE KNEESIIAW. 59 
 
 nel,* * Captain/ and even ' Lord/ are not 
 uncommon Christian names in the levelhng 
 West Eiding. The httle Squire lay lost in a 
 corner of a great bed which took up a third of 
 the cellar, and which he shared at night with 
 his father and mother. His mother had left 
 the wash-tub to coax him into lying quiet, for 
 he was very restless and feverish. 
 
 ' Lig thee daan, doy, doee nah.' ^ 
 
 ' May I come in, Mrs. Lumb ? ' 
 
 ' Come forards, Mr. Kneeshaw, and sit thee 
 daan. Aw'm fain to see yo.* 
 
 ' How is he to-day ? ' 
 
 'None so weel,' said the poor woman, as 
 she rocked herself back and forward in deep 
 trouble. ' He had some mak' of a sick gird^ — 
 a fit like — after yo'd been last neet, and doctor 
 coomed and 'xamined him and said we must 
 tak' him to t' Infirmary. Eh, my puir bairn, 
 my puir bairn, they'll niver tak' thee to 
 t' Infirmary to be a-cuttin' and a-slashin' and 
 tryin' their experience wi' thee ; for tha knaws, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw, when Joe Webster, our Nancy's 
 husband's brother, fell off the stee ^ and was 
 
 ^ Lie down, dear, do now. ^ ' Gird,' attack. 
 
 3 ( gtee,' ladder.
 
 60 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 took to t' Infirmary, the doctors tell'd him there 
 was nowt for it but he maun have his leg ta'en 
 off, and he nobbut a lad, as it might be our 
 James, and as fine a lad as ever stepped, 
 but they killed him amang em did t' doctors, 
 and cut his leg off, and he niver looked up at 
 after,^ but was browt hoam to dee. And then 
 to be telled that aw'm a-murderin' our Squire 
 because aw'm agen his gwin' into t' Infirmary ! 
 An' murdered he is, too,' cried the poor 
 mother, starting up and bending over the bed, 
 ' trampled and trodden down like t' stones in 
 t' street, and thowt no more on than t' muck 
 under t' horses' hoofs. Eh, that ever I should 
 live to see this day ! ' 
 
 George said what he could to soothe her, 
 which wasn't much, and then, knowing that 
 hard work is the anodyne of the poor, tried to 
 divert her thoughts. ' I see you have a big 
 wash to-day, Mrs. Lumb, and I am sure you 
 won't mind me if I sit and watch Squire a bit, 
 while you go on with yoiu: washing. I have a 
 bit of time to myself this morning.' 
 
 ' Its varry gooid on yo', Mr. Kneeshaw, 
 aw'm sewer it is, and aw '11 niver be out on 
 
 * ' Looked up at after,' i.e. got over it.
 
 REV. GEOEGE KNEESHAW. 61 
 
 your debt/ said Mrs. Lumb, drying her tears in 
 her apron. When he was a-rambhn' and a- 
 ravin' last neet, and that restless that we were 
 fair bet wi' him, 'twas " Mr. Kneeshaw " an' 
 "Mr. Kneeshaw " ovver an' ovver asrin.' 
 
 Squire was still and lucid enough now, 
 watching with a dreamy interest the grapes and 
 the flaring picture-book which George added to 
 the treasures ranged by his bed. These trea- 
 sures, which he had asked at different times to 
 have brought to him, were only a less pitiful 
 sight than the child himself — a white marble, a 
 string with a round piece of leather at the end, 
 a whipping top, twopence in halfpence, and the 
 burst balloon, which was found clutched in his 
 hand when he was picked up. He nodded 
 towards it now, as George sat by the bedside 
 and took the little feverish hand in his : 
 ' Broken ! ' he said, looking up anxiously in 
 George's face to see how he would take this 
 terrible disaster. He seemed quite relieved 
 when George only smiled and said — 
 
 * Never mind, Squire, we can get another.' 
 He lay quiet a httle to take in this offer in 
 all its bearings, looking the while at the burst 
 balloon, his mind wandering from it to the
 
 62 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 accident, of whicli it was the occasion, with the 
 result of a refusal which was not meant to be 
 as ungracious as it sounded — ' Don't want 
 another ; ' and then, after a pause, ' Please, Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, I shall miss my marks.' 
 
 ' Eh, mun ! he does greeat ovver tliim 
 marks,' said his mother, wliose broad York- 
 shire contrasted with the child's school-taught 
 English. Marks for attendance were given in 
 the Sunday-school, and a prize at the close of 
 the year for the full number. It was curious 
 to find the treasures of a top and marble and 
 the troubles of the loss of a mark and a six- 
 penny prize of such importance as to be re- 
 membered by the child in the midst of his 
 pain ; and George in his present depressed 
 mood drew the morbid moral that the trea- 
 sures and troubles of the lad's elders would not 
 look larger if taken from inider the microscope 
 of their imagination. From tliis morbid moral- 
 ising he was roused by tlic appearance of a 
 (special treasure and trouble of his own. He 
 was startled into dropping a grape he was 
 peehng with his penknife for the child by a 
 voice at the door. 
 
 ' Does Mrs. Lumb live here ? '
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 63 
 
 Mrs. Lumb herself was startled into the 
 astonishing civility of a curtsey. 
 
 ' Nay, for sewer, Miss Masters ! Ould 
 Betty sent for yo' after all? I telled her aw 
 couldn't for shame ax yo' to come into t' 
 lane, let alone such a hoil as this.' 
 
 ' I wasn't sent for, Mrs. Lumb, but I read 
 of the accident in the paper and thought I 
 might help you to nurse a bit. How do you 
 do, Mr. Kneeshaw ? You're not hurt, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, I'm all right,' said George, 
 who couldn't help a look of amazement at Miss 
 Masters' appearance in the last character in 
 which he would have expected to see her. 
 Her ministrations had been confined to her 
 own neighbourhood, which was in another 
 parish at the far side of the town. ' I didn't 
 know you knew Squire, Miss Masters.' 
 
 ' I don't know him. Do I, Squire '? ' she 
 said, as she rearranged his tumbled pillows 
 with one hand and with the other raised his 
 head with the deftness of a nurse and the 
 tenderness of a mother. Squire's wide won- 
 dering eyes were a sufficient answer. 
 
 I thought Mrs. Lumb wished to send for 
 
 you.
 
 64 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 'Nooan soa, Mr. Kneeshaw, aw niver 
 thowt on axin' her into sich an a haase as this. 
 But ould Betty — tha knaws ould Betty, Miss, 
 shoo that hawks brandysnap an' sich mak' o' 
 stuff — shoo telled me that tha visited the sick 
 childer araand where shoo come thro', up 
 aboon the Green Market, and that tha did 'em 
 a deal more gooid nor t' doctors.' 
 
 The Prince could not have been more 
 amazed at the sight of Cinderella at home than 
 George at this revelation of Miss Masters as 
 hospital nurse. 
 
 ' Yes ; I do sometimes visit sick children,' 
 said the young lady defiantly, in answer to 
 the astonished look which had not yet died out 
 of George's face. ' There's room in Wefton, I 
 hope, for another Miss Batt.' 
 
 Miss Batt was an odious old maid, attached 
 to St. Gabriel's church as tract and scandal 
 distributor, tlie horror of its curates, the terror 
 of its poor, and George's special detestation, 
 as Miss Masters well knew. 
 
 'I thought you were close behind me, 
 Jane,' to her maid, who now appeared at the 
 door wrestling with a big bundle.
 
 REV. GEORGE KNEESHAW. 65 
 
 ' Please, Miss, I lost you at the turn/ 
 
 ' It's a water-bed for Squire, Mrs. Lumb. 
 He will find it much easier to lie on.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid I can be of no use,' said George 
 wistfully. 
 
 * Unless you can make beds, Mr. Kneeshaw. 
 But even Miss Batt wouldn't turn you out of a 
 house in your own parish.' 
 
 ' You don't know Miss Batt then. I shall 
 call again in the evening to hear what the 
 doctor thinks, Mrs. Lumb, and to bring Squire 
 the Sunday-school prize he is fretting over. 
 Good-bye, Miss Masters ; I shall report you to 
 Miss Batt for poaching.' 
 
 As George walked away he thought that 
 the less he saw of that young lady the better it 
 would be for his peace of mind, and for his 
 peace of conscience, too. He must not give 
 another hostage to the Church that held already 
 so many securities for his fealty. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 LOVE TUE DEBT. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 
 
 * An unknown cause of the known effects which 
 we call phenomena, likenesses and differences 
 among these known effects, and a segregation 
 of the effects into subject and object — these are 
 the postulates without which we cannot think. 
 Within each of the segregated masses of mani- 
 festations there are likenesses and differences 
 involving secondary segregations, which have 
 also become indispensable postulates. The 
 vivid manifestations constituting the non-ego do 
 not simply cohere, but their cohesions have 
 certain invariable modes ; and among the faint 
 manifestations constituting the ego, which are 
 products of the vivid, there exist corresponding 
 
 modes of cohesion ' 
 
 « I wish, Mabel, you'd put some expression 
 into what you read,* said Colonel Masters petu- 
 lantly.
 
 MABEL CHILDHOOD. 67 
 
 ' But I can't understand it, father ; you 
 might as well expect expression from a barrel- 
 organ.' 
 
 ' Oh, if you take it in that way, and speak 
 of reading for your father as organ-grinding, 
 you had better close the book.' 
 
 ' I meant to compare myself to the organ, 
 not the grinder, father, repeating mechanically 
 the tunes put into me. I read the whole 
 chapter over last night, to try to understand it, 
 that I might read it intelligently to you this 
 morning ; but it was no use,' said Mabel wearily, 
 ' I couldn't make it out.' 
 
 Her father's sole reply w^as a shrug, expres- 
 sive at once of his contempt for woman's intel- 
 lect, and his martyr -like resignation to the fate 
 that gave him such a daughter. 
 
 ' May I finish the chapter, father ? There 
 are only two or three more sentences.' 
 
 ' Yes, you may as well finish it now,' said 
 Colonel Masters, in an injured tone. ' Eead 
 that last paragraph over again.' 
 
 Colonel Masters had quite as good sight as 
 his daughter, but some years before a doctor 
 had told him that nothing tried the sight so 
 much as reading ; and from that day he resolved 
 
 r 2
 
 68 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 to save his own eyes at the expense of his 
 daughter's. He had never thought of anyone 
 but himself since he began to think at all, and 
 a soldier's life does not tend by any means to 
 make a man unselfish. If he had married 
 young or for love, he might have been drawn 
 out of himself more ; but he was a confirmed 
 misogynist, and married at thirty-five, in des- 
 pair of the dreariness of an Indian life, and in 
 the hope of having a son, whom he might train 
 up in certain principles he had thought out for 
 himself, and was anxious to see tested. His 
 marriage, however, disappointed all his expecta- 
 tions, and rather deepened than lightened the 
 gloom of his disposition and of his life. His 
 wife had not much spirit to begin with, or she 
 would not have mnrried him at the bidding^ of 
 her parents, and when the httle she had was 
 broken a year after her marriage, her meek- 
 ness, whicli was meant to conciliate, exasperated 
 him by its insipidity more than any display of 
 spirit would have done. 
 
 To him 
 She was all fault who had no fault at all ; 
 For who loved him must have a touch of earth ; 
 The low sun makes the colour. 
 
 And when, after much expectation, she was
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 6 9 
 
 confined at last only of a daughter, he lost all 
 hope of her ever being reasonable, and treated 
 her henceforth with less consideration than he 
 showed his syce. The poor woman would 
 have died of the horrible lonehness of his com- 
 panionship but for the arrival of Mabel. Her 
 she hid away from her father, as some animals 
 of her sex hide their young from their mates 
 lest they should devour them, and lavished 
 upon her in secret all the pent-up love of her 
 heart. Pet and seclude her as she would, 
 however, it was impossible to keep the child 
 from screaming occasionally, or always to keep 
 these excruciating screams out of the hearing 
 of her father. Now he had a horror that 
 was absolutely morbid of noises of all kinds. 
 Their effect on his exquisitely strung nerves 
 was such as the whole household, and indeed 
 the whole community, had reason to dread. 
 A good healthy scream of Mabel's in the 
 morning so upset him that he was sure 
 to beat his syce, abuse his subordinates, 
 make himself intolerable to his equals, 
 and to sting and stab his wretched wife 
 with savage sarcasms. In fact, a scream of 
 Mabel's in those days created a sensation
 
 70 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 like that caused by the appaUing scream in 
 Parisina. 
 
 Through the open lattice driven, 
 That horrid voice ascends to heaven ; 
 And those who heard it as it past, 
 In mercy wished it were the last. 
 
 It was no sooner heard than the men-servants 
 scuttled out of the house, and the women- 
 servants made for the nursery, with all kinds of 
 charms for the soothing of the child. While 
 one danced it up and down, another dangled 
 her bracelet in its eyes, a third put a s})oonful 
 of some seductive syrup into its too, too wide- 
 open mouth, while a fourth made as fast and 
 air-tight as she could all the doors and win- 
 dows — its bewildered mother looking on the 
 while in helpless trouble. Nor, if Mabel 
 appeared in all her beauty at that station now, 
 could she have been more talked of than she 
 was in those days. Masters was not popular, 
 and his paroxysm of rage upon the birth of his 
 daughter, and its recurrence at every scream that 
 recalled her existence to him, was at first a joke 
 and at last a grievance to Messrs. Barclay, Pearce, 
 and Sagar, who had often to depend upon him 
 to make up their whist party of an evening ;
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 71 
 
 and thus it happened that Mabel owed to an 
 idle jest of one of these gentlemen the shaping 
 of her character and of her early years. They 
 came to think the child's tempers, which were 
 neither frequent nor violent, the final cause of 
 all Masters' tempers, which were both frequent 
 and violent, so that the facetious Sagar had 
 furbished up an old joke, and christened Mabel 
 ^ the cherub,' because she ' continually did 
 cry.' 
 
 ' I say,' said Barclay to that gentleman one 
 night, ' I can't stand that fellow Masters any 
 longer.' 
 
 ' You mean you can't stand losing, old 
 boy,' said Sagar, who, having won consider- 
 ably, was much more patient of human 
 infirmity. ' But Masters is a beast, and no 
 mistake.' 
 
 Barclay, after pulling at his pipe gloomily 
 for some moments, recurred to his grievance : 
 'What's that they give 'em to keep 'em in 
 good temper in baby farms ? ' 
 
 ' The bottle, my boy ; try it, it's very 
 soothing,' said his facetious chum, pushing the 
 brandy bottle towards him. ' Soothicg syrup, 
 that's it ; why the deuce doesn't Pearce ' —
 
 72 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Pearce was the doctor — 'give it soothing 
 syrup ? ' 
 
 ' What ! murder a patient ? — kill the goose 
 with the golden eggs ? ' 
 
 ' Needn't kill it/ growled the morose 
 Barclay, ' stun it a bit ; or, by Jove, order it 
 home ; they do order them home, you 
 know.' 
 
 * Yes, before they're weaned ; put 'em in 
 a hamper labelled " To be kept dry," in charge 
 of the captain,' said Sagar, with provoking 
 flippancy, jingling his winnings cheerfully ; and 
 then, after a pause, with a sudden change to 
 seriousness, ' By George, though, it will 
 do!' 
 
 ' Of course it will do ; send it home with 
 an ayah,' said Barclay, triumphantly. 
 
 ' Send it home with its mother,' said Sagar ; 
 ' that brute is killing her.' 
 
 ' What ! are you going to get sick leave ? ' 
 sneered his chum. 
 
 Barclay was too swinish not to misinterpret 
 Sagar's feeling towards ^Irs. Masters, which 
 was made up of a chivalrous mixture of ad- 
 miration of her beauty, reverence for her meek 
 goodness, and pity for her fate.
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 7 3 
 
 ' She could go home with the Sedgwicks,' 
 said Sagar, too much engrossed with his 
 scheme for rescuing her from Bluebeard to 
 heed Barclay's sneer. ' I wonder has Pearce 
 turned in yet. I'll cross over and see ; ' and 
 before Barclay could muster up any more 
 clumsy chaff, the kind-hearted and impulsive 
 lad was across to the Doctor's. The Doctor, 
 who hadn't turned in, naturally expected an 
 important patient when Sagar burst in upon 
 him impetuously. 
 
 'Don't be uneasy. Doctor; nobody's ill,' 
 said Sagar jocosely. 
 
 The Doctor tried to look reheved, but 
 listened rather soiu-ly to Sagar 's scheme. He 
 didn't like the loss of so good a patient as Mrs. 
 Masters, and he didn't like the light use which 
 Sagar proposed to make of his professional 
 advice ; but, on the other hand, as he also 
 admired and pitied Mrs. Masters, he suffered 
 for his devotion to her an hourly martyrdom 
 from the tongue of his jealous shrew of a wife. 
 While affecting to listen to all Sagar's senti- 
 mental and irrelevant pleas, he was weighing 
 the practical pros and cons in his own mind, 
 and at last decided that he had all along
 
 74 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 intended to order Mrs. Masters herself to 
 England, that he had spoken about the change 
 to her several times, and even hinted its advisa- 
 bility to her husband, and that he would put 
 the matter to-morrow, once for all, plainly 
 before them. At the same time he made it 
 quite clear that the idea was wholly his own, 
 and that it was suggested by the delicacy of 
 the lady's health, and not of her relations with 
 her husband. This Mr. Sagar was not 
 concerned to dispute, but was rather glad to 
 confirm, knowing enough of human nature to 
 be sure that the Doctor would be more zealous 
 in the advocacy of a scheme of his own than of 
 one suggested by another. It did not need 
 zealous advocacy, however. Captain Masters 
 was only too glad to be rid of his wife and 
 daughter. Mrs. Masters felt, and was shocked 
 to feel, a timid and secret joy at the prospect 
 of escaping from such a husband, and of carry- 
 ing her little one to a safer nest ; and the only 
 one distressed by the scheme was its origin- 
 ator. 
 
 Poor Sac^ar had come to reg^ard this sweet, 
 gracious, and unluippy woman with something 
 of the chivalrous devotion which an enthusiastic
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 75 
 
 loyalist would feel towards his imprisoned and 
 oppressed queen ; and her departure was as 
 great a crrief to him as it was a relief to her 
 husband. It had, however, the effect of clear- 
 ing Mabel's character, for Masters' tempers were 
 soon found to be spontaneously generated, and 
 not merely born of the tempers of his daughter ; 
 and the morose Barclay was fain to admit that 
 only the devil could be the father of such out- 
 bursts as he once put down to the credit of the 
 baby. 
 
 In this way it came about that Mabel's 
 early and impressionable years passed from, 
 under the blighting shadow of her father's 
 tyranny. Her first impressions, which, like a 
 pahmpsest, were written over without being 
 erased, were all of her mother ; that is, of 
 gentleness, guilelessness, unselfishness, simple 
 piety, and profound love. When she was six 
 years old, indeed, her father spent with her 
 mother and her a fortnight of his two years' 
 leave — the rest being given to foreign travel ; 
 but her only impressions of him were, that he 
 was childish yet hated children, and noisy and 
 yet hated noise ; to which paradoxical conclu- 
 sions she was brought in this wise : while he
 
 76 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 was in the house she was taught to sit still as a 
 stone, and yet when he talked to her, he spoke 
 in a great and terrible voice. In truth, he 
 shouted to her as some people shout to 
 foreigners, through confounding dulness of 
 intelligence with dulness of hearing. When he 
 would roar nearly at the top of his voice, ' Well, 
 Mabel, how do you like your doll ? ' the little 
 girl, perplexed by a kind question put so ter- 
 rifically, could only look up half amazed and 
 half frightened, and would thus confirm his 
 impression that she was, like her mother, an 
 idiot. 
 
 By the way, it was curious to see how, after 
 this tremendous question, she hid her doll away 
 from him, as by a derived instinct, just as her 
 mother had hidden her in her infancy away 
 from him. 
 
 Nor was Mabel's opinion of her father's 
 intellect in those days more flattering than that 
 he had formed of hers. As, in order to make 
 himself intelligible to her, he spoke not only in 
 a loud voice, but as nearly as he could in 
 monosyllables, or in dissyllables distinctly divi- 
 ded (as in a primer), she had an idea that he, like 
 her ayah, and very probably all other Indian
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 77 
 
 persons, was only at the stage of education 
 which she had left behind two years ago. So 
 that she in turn — when she ventured to speak 
 at all — tried to speak down to the level of his 
 understanding. Living alone with her mother, 
 she had come to think in old-fashioned words 
 and ways ; but these she tried so to translate 
 that they should be intelligible to the undeve- 
 loped intellect of her father. This mutual 
 misunderstanding made a conversation between 
 them rather amusing. Of course, if either had 
 heard the other speak to a third person, each 
 might have formed a worthier impression of the 
 other's understanding. As, however, they met 
 only at lunch-time — Mabel's dinner-hour — and 
 as Major Masters made a point of devoting 
 himself exclusively to her for the few minutes 
 they were together — in order to draw out the 
 little intellect she had — there was no such 
 opportunity of correcting their estimates of each 
 other. Major Masters would shout ' Mabel, do 
 you know any stories ? ' 
 
 Mabel, though by this time she had got 
 used to the loudness of his voice, would hesitate 
 about her answer. She imagined that her 
 father, like her ayah, wished to have retailed to
 
 78 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 him the stories she read or heard from her 
 mother, and she could not at once make 
 her mind up as to what story would suit him 
 best. 
 
 ' Tales you, know,' said her father in a still 
 louder tone, thinking that ' tales,' being mono- 
 syllabic, would be more intelligible than the 
 dissyllabic 'stories.' 'Tales, you know, like 
 " Who killed Cock Eobin ? " or " Babes in the 
 Wood." ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! ' thouiiht Mabel, ' is he so far 
 back as that ? ' and then she went back to the 
 earliest stratum of stories in her memory. ' I 
 know the story of " Joseph " and of " Jack the 
 Giant Killer," and " Sindbad the Sailor," and 
 the " Three Bears," and Elisha's bears ; he was 
 bald and hated children,' she explained, thinking 
 that story might interest him most, as in both 
 respects he resembled the prophet. 'And 
 " Little Eed Eiding Hood," and " Moses in the 
 bulrushes," and the " Babes in the Wood ; " but 
 you know that ? ' she corrected herself, looking 
 up into his face interrogatively. 
 
 ' She's certainly silly,' thought Major 
 Masters, who was not perhaps singular in con- 
 sidering no one wdse wdio did not think him wise.
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 79 
 
 ' Or,' continued Mabel, after a pause which 
 her father didn't fill — she was a terrible chatter- 
 box once her tongue was loosed — ' or I could 
 tell you " The Eleven Wild Swans," but you 
 mightn't underst — care for that,' she substituted, 
 thinking ' understand ' both too long and too 
 uncomphmentary a word for her father. He, 
 meanwhile, had forgotten her existence, as he 
 often did that of anyone who was speaking to 
 him, and had gone olF in a reverie about the 
 son that should have been born to him, and 
 the education he would have given him. 
 
 The Major was sitting back in his chair, 
 after his lunch, pulling his long grizzled mous- 
 tache and staring steadfastly at her without 
 seeing her. ' How old are you ? ' he said 
 abruptly, when he had brought his scattered 
 thoughts back to a focus. Mabel flattered her- 
 self that both the question and the long stare 
 that preceded it meant amazement at her 
 acquirements. 
 
 ' Oh, I know ever so much more than that,' 
 she exclaimed, forgetting to answer the ques- 
 tion in her eagerness to increase the admiration 
 from which she thought it sprang. 'I 
 know '
 
 80 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' How much are 8 times G ? ' interrupted 
 her father. 
 
 This was a terrible blow. Mabel was as 
 much below her years in arithmetic as she was 
 above them in most things. She flushed all 
 over with the shame and mortification of the 
 reaction from pride to abasement, and began to 
 climb slowly in her mind the steep steps from 
 8 times 2 are 16 upwards. She had just 
 reached 8 times 6 are 48 when her father 
 impatiently changed the problem. 
 
 ' How much are 6 times 8 ? * 
 
 She would have said at once 48, if in her 
 confusion it did not seem that as 6 times a 
 thincr must be less than 8 times a thincr 48 
 could not be right for both. She puzzled over 
 tliis till she got so bewildered that the only 
 distinct idea in her mind was a crushing sense 
 of disgrace, which brought the tears into her 
 eyes. Her father no sooner saw this alarming 
 sign, which seemed the storm signal of such 
 screams as used to follow it in her infancv, 
 than he turned to say sharply to lier mother, 
 ' Take her away.' And so poor Mabel was led 
 away, sobbing bitterly, to be petted and purred 
 over and consoled by her idolising mother.
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 81 
 
 In this way Major Masters came to form 8 
 mean idea of Mabel's intellect from the first 
 and his prejudiced impression of it was rathe 
 confirmed than weakened by the little inter 
 course he allowed between them in after years 
 For, as he cared only for — to use De Quincey's 
 distinction — the literature of knowledge, and 
 she only for the literature of power, he knew 
 little and thought less of her acquirements. 
 No doubt he sometimes made her read to him 
 such books as she delighted in and he despised ; 
 for whatever his favourite Eeview recom- 
 mended, he thought it right to read, to keep 
 abreast Avith the age ; but her admirable ren- 
 dering of them was lost upon his listlessness, 
 and never suggested that she could be in- 
 terested in anything uninteresting to him. On 
 the other hand, Mabel had an extravagant 
 veneration for her father's learning and intelh- 
 gence. If he despised what interested her in 
 literature, it was, she thought, because he had 
 left such things long since behind, and they 
 looked little from the height he had reached. 
 ' She darkly felt him great and wise,' and 
 shared his opinion not only of himself, but of 
 her. She was told daily for years of her 
 
 VOL I. G
 
 82 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 stupidity, and was forced to realise it in read- 
 ing the dreary and maddening metaphysics in 
 which he rejoiced, so that the conceit of her 
 childhood had given place to despairing diffi- 
 dence of her own powers, so long as, hke 
 Miranda, she knew no one but her father. 
 Wlien, how^ever, like Miranda, she came to 
 know a ' brave new world,' she learned to think 
 more truly of herself, though not of her father. 
 Compared with him, she felt herself still what 
 hie thought her — dull and ignorant ; but she 
 found she could hold her own very fairly in the 
 society of Wefton. She had, in fact, an advan- 
 tage over the young ladies of that society — she 
 had not had a first-class education. She had 
 not given the most profitable years of her hfe 
 to acquiring stucco accomphshments that were 
 meant, like female ants' wings, to bear their 
 possessors to a settlement, and then to be 
 nipped off and discarded. Till slie was ten 
 years old, her only teacher was her mother, 
 who, though she felt painfully her incompetence 
 to develop the child's precocious powers, could 
 not bear to resign lier labour of love to a 
 governess. At ten she lost her mother, who, 
 in nursing her night and day through an attack
 
 3IABEL — CHILDHOOD. 83 
 
 of scarlatina, herself caught the fever, and was 
 too worn out with watching to resist it. Her 
 mother's death nearly coincided with the return 
 of her father from abroad to find himself a 
 widower in charge of a child so stupefied with 
 her bereavement as to seem to him more silly 
 even than he expected. Her mother had been 
 father, mother, sister, brother, teacher, every- 
 thing to Mabel, and she was so much older 
 than her years as to realise her loss intensely 
 and at every turn. She flitted about the house 
 like a shadow, spoke only when spoken to, and 
 then only in monosyllables, and pored over the 
 Bible constantly as over a book of travels that 
 would give her an idea of the kind of place to 
 which her mother had gone. All these signs, 
 and the last not least of all, confirmed her 
 father's first impression that she was sillier even 
 than the average of her sex. What was to be 
 done with her ? To send girls to school 
 seemed to him like ' sending men ruffles when 
 wanting a shirt.' Women had no minds, and 
 the fringe and frippery of ornamental know- 
 ledge they picked up, parrotwise, at school, 
 was a mere sham to conceal their mental 
 nakedness. Still, if she stayed at home, there 
 
 Q 2
 
 84 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 must be somebody to take care of her, and 
 keep her out of his way. "While meditating 
 these things, he received a letter from an aged 
 aunt, the terror of his boyhood and the parasite 
 of his later years, who periodically extorted 
 contributions from him under the threat of 
 disgracing the noble name of Masters by going 
 out as a governess. This demand and threat 
 were renewed in this letter, and decided him to 
 silence a dun and secure a cheap governess by 
 inviting the old lady to take charge of Mabel's 
 education. There was but one objection to 
 the arrangement — the old lady was distressiogly 
 deaf; and though he certainly wasn't going to 
 take the trouble to talk to her himself, still 
 Mabel's shrieking her lessons to her would be 
 insupportable. Why not establish a gynecium 
 — set apart one wing of the house to the exclu- 
 sive use of Mabel and Miss Murdoch, with 
 double doors, densely padded, dividing it from 
 the body of the building.^ Miss Murdoch 
 having accepted the charge subject to this 
 admirable arrangement, Mabel passed from the 
 care of her mother to the rule of this spinster. 
 Age had a good deal softened the sternness 
 which had kept Colonel Masters' boyhood in
 
 MABEL — CHILDHOOD. 85 
 
 awe, but still Miss Murdocli was a formidable 
 personage, bony both in body and in mind, 
 with, however, this singular quahfication for 
 the post of governess — there was one subject 
 she professed to teach which she really and 
 thoroughly knew herself. Having had in her 
 youth an excellent English education, of which 
 she had the taste and talent to make the most, 
 she knew and appreciated the best books of 
 the best ages of our literature, and these she 
 put Mabel steadily through, finding her an 
 apter pupil even than she had been herself. 
 But having, unfortunately, in her old age, and 
 in view of becoming a governess, taken a fancy 
 to master the French tongue, she was under 
 the impression that this acquisition was worth 
 most because it cost most. She was especially 
 proud of her Parisian accent, picked up not in 
 Stratford-atte-Bowe, but from a flattering 
 French friend. She considered no lady 
 educated whose French pronunciation was not 
 pure, and the shibboleth of purity she held to 
 be the pronunciation of the vowel U. If any 
 one will shout some subtle sound into an ear- 
 trumpet at the top of his voice, he will find a 
 slight difficulty in preserving the niceties of a
 
 86 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 pure pronunciation. It is not to be wondered 
 at, then, if Mabel, ' the martyr,' not ' of a diph- 
 thong,' but of a vowel, underwent a good deal 
 of persecution from failing to satisfy Miss Mur- 
 doch's nice ear on this point. There was 
 hardly a day in which she had not to shriek 
 many times over a sound not unlike the cry of 
 the pewit ; yet when Miss Murdoch lay on her 
 deathbed five years after Mabel came under 
 her charge, she felt it a weight on her con- 
 science that the child had not yet achieved a 
 Parisian pronunciation. Lying on her death- 
 bed, indeed, does not rightly describe the close 
 of this grim, indomitable woman's life. She 
 sat and taught in her chair almost to the last, 
 seeming to hold with Vespasian that ' a ruler 
 should die standing ; ' and tlie Eev. Joseph 
 Meekins was amazed to hear Mabel shoutiuor 
 * Eheu ! ' through the ear-trumpet tlie very day 
 before Miss Murdoch's death. He could interpret 
 it only as a heathen and heartless form of lamen- 
 tation, and was not more edified by Miss Mur- 
 doch's response to it. ' Child, child, it's too 
 late now,' she cried, with a hopeless shake of 
 the head. ' All these years have been wasted ! *
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 
 
 ]\Iabel, while in Miss Miirdocli's charge, saw 
 little of her father. At first he allowed them 
 to take their meals with him ; but as Mabel, 
 from hving so much with Miss Murdoch, 
 shouted to everyone as she was used to shout 
 to her. Colonel Masters soon found her society 
 insupportable. Upon her shrieking in a 
 piercing treble, ' If you please,' to him one 
 day at dinner, he turned to the waitress with 
 this laconic sentence of exile, ' Miss Murdoch 
 and Miss Mabel will have their meals in their 
 own apartments in future.' Mabel henceforth 
 saw her father only 
 
 In visits 
 Like those of angels, short and far between. 
 
 Once, indeed, it occurred to him that she 
 might be of some use to science and himself. 
 He might mentally vivisect her, find out by
 
 88 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 cross-examination when and how the ideas of 
 personal identity, self-consciousness, God, etc., 
 first arose in her mind. She was so young she 
 could not have had them long, and could not 
 have forgotten how she came by them. 
 
 Mabel was sent for. Her father sat at his 
 desk in his study with a carefully prepared list 
 of questions in one hand, and in the other a 
 pen for jotting down the answers. Mabel 
 stood before him trembhng. He asked her the 
 most amazing questions, of which one only was 
 intelligible to the child, and it gave her the 
 idea that he was anxious about her progress in 
 religious knowledge. This unlucky prepos- 
 session of hers did not make her answers to the 
 other questions more apt or acceptable. Her 
 father despaired of and despised her intellect 
 more than ever. He had reduced the ques- 
 tions to the lowest terms of simplicity at the 
 cost of much thought, and these idiotic answers 
 were the result ! 
 
 On another occasion he tried again to put 
 her to scientific use. He was reading Darwin's 
 ' Expression of the Emotions in Man and 
 Animals,' and wished to verify the expressions 
 of suffering illustrated by the photographs of
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 89 
 
 weeping children which adorn that philosophic 
 work. Accordingly — having given up re- 
 luctantly the idea of making Mabel cry, which 
 Miss Murdoch, with some warmth, revolted 
 against — he instructed her and the servants to 
 give him instantaneous notice of any outbursts 
 of tears of the child's. He seemed to think 
 her still of an age to cry in the hearty wide- 
 mouthed way he saw in the photographs, and 
 remembered in India. Mabel, it is true, cried 
 a good deal at this time, but always quietly and 
 in secret ; and it was so long before she was 
 surprised in the act that her father grew 
 petulant and impatient, and took ]\Iiss Murdoch 
 more than once to task for her remissness. 
 When at last, however, the housemaid came 
 flying to him with the welcome news that 
 'Miss Mabel was a-crying of her eyes out, 
 sitting^ on a box in the hattic,' and he had 
 hurried up the steep steps to the attic with 
 Darwin's book in his hand, open at the illustra- 
 tions, he found to his disgust the wretched 
 child weeping in silence with unconvulsed 
 features over a few relics of her mother. He 
 was gone again in wrath before Mabel had 
 recovered from her astonishment at seeing him
 
 90 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 in a place which had hitherto been a safe 
 refuge for her and the rats. She accounted to 
 herself for his sudden appearance and dis- 
 appearance by supposing that he came to seek 
 somethinfT and fled before the si^ht of her in 
 the fear of her shouting to him. She felt she 
 must have been trespassing, that the attic was 
 in his quarter of the house, and that it was for- 
 bidden ground to her henceforth. Now there 
 was not a day hitherto on which the lonely 
 child did not climb up into the attic and brood 
 over the treasures and the memories of her 
 mother they called up. The ghost stories her 
 old nurse used to tell, a terror to her then, 
 were a solace to her now. She would creep 
 up in the evening to the dark attic in the hope 
 that she might see her mother, and in the faith 
 that, visible or not, she was near her ; and Mr. 
 Meekins would have been horrified to hear her 
 in her prayers address her mother as a devout 
 Catholic addresses his patron saint. In this 
 way the attic became sacred to her as an 
 oratory and retreat ; and to quit it for ever, as 
 she felt forced to do now, was rather a wrench 
 to her. She had no need to quit it, however, 
 for her father never sought her again, either in
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 91 
 
 the attic or elsewhere, till after Miss Murdoch's 
 death, when the doctor, called in for a bilious 
 attack, incidentally advised him that nothing 
 tried the sight more than reading. Hereupon 
 it occurred to him for the third time that 
 Mabel might be of use in the world. He sent 
 for her and set her to read a chapter of 
 Buckle's ' Civilisation.' She read admirably — 
 reading for the deaf is a good school at least 
 for distinct articulation — and her father was so 
 satisfied that he bade her be in the study every 
 morning at half- past six ; for an Indian habit 
 of early rising still clung to him. 
 
 Thus Mabel at fifteen was introduced to 
 books that were not the most suitable or edify- 
 ing to her age and sex. But she read as most 
 of us read — assimilating what attracted her, 
 rejecting what repelled her, distilling ' some 
 soul of goodness from things evil,' and ' gather- 
 ing honey from the weed.' It was Una among 
 the Satyrs subduing them to innocent service. 
 She read daily to her father for an hour and a 
 half before breakfast and an hour and a half 
 after, and was allowed to do what she would 
 with the rest of the day. Some of it she gave 
 to music, in which she was but moderately
 
 92 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 skilled, but of wliicli she was passionately 
 fond ; and mucli of it to her own favourite 
 books. In this way she might have grown 
 silent, eccentric, and unsociable, if it was not 
 for the Kev. Joseph Meekins. Mabel went 
 regularly to church ; for, though her father 
 was an atheist, and would have thought it 
 worth while to bring up a son in his principles, 
 he held that women had not soul enough to 
 receive them, and that they took to church in 
 their womanhood as naturally and despicably 
 as they took to dolls in their childhood. So 
 Mabel went without interference to church 
 regularly and gladly. It was the one day in 
 the week in which she could s^et near her 
 mother's grave — for the churchyard gates were 
 locked on weekdays ; and her mother still was 
 the only friend and companion she had known. 
 It was the one day in the week, too, in which 
 she saw the world — admirably represented in 
 all its elements in church. And, lastly, and 
 notwithstanding the ineflablc dreariness of Mr. 
 Meekins' discourses, she liked cliiu:ch for its 
 own sake. In her early years she had gone 
 with her mother to the Baptist Chapel ; but 
 when, among other street improvements, it was
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 93 
 
 swept away and replaced by a gin-palace, and 
 there was not enougli money or members to 
 establish another, her mother had taken her to 
 church, and eventually allowed her even to be 
 baptized. In tliis way Mabel came by her 
 creed as creditably as most of us, and was as 
 reasonably proud of her Church as the hero of 
 ' H.M.S. Pinafore ' was of his country : — 
 
 For lie himself has said it, 
 And it's greatly to his credit, 
 That he's an Englishman. 
 
 But she was no more proud, and had no 
 'more reason to be proud, of her Church prin- 
 ciples than was the Eev. Joseph Meekins. 
 This worthy man took to himself the credit of 
 having snatched her as a brand from the burn- 
 ing. He had grave and great doubts of her 
 father's orthodoxy, not merely because he 
 didn't attend church — a neglect he considered 
 Indian — but because he didn't seem to have 
 sound views on the subject of infant baptism. 
 Colonel Masters' views on that question were 
 not, perhaps, altogether sound ; but he was not 
 even conscious of having given Mr. Meekins 
 any reason to think so. He would no more 
 stoop to argue with a clergyman than he
 
 94 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 would stoop to blow clown a child's house of 
 cards ; and, indeed, in tlie company of a 
 clergyman he usually gave way altogether to 
 the habit he had contracted from living so 
 much alone of answering at random, without 
 listening to a word that was said. When, 
 then, Mr. Meekins, speaking to him of the 
 virtual heathenism of the Baptist children, and 
 of Mabel's providential escape from that heresy, 
 and of her baptism by his predecessor, Mr. 
 Bray, said that, ' terrible as it was to him to 
 think of the number of children who were un- 
 baptized in this Christian country from mere 
 neglect, it was still more terrible to think of 
 the number who were left purposely and on 
 principle unbaptized ' — Colonel Masters, pulUng 
 his moustache slowly, gazing steadily into the 
 lire, and composing a sentence of his forth- 
 coming pamphlet upon ' The Cascum in Man/ 
 had yet room enough in his mind for a hazy 
 idea that Mr. Meekins was complaining of the 
 numbers left to him to baptize by the neglect 
 of his predecessor. 
 
 ' Bray didn't like their squalling, I sup- 
 pose,' he said absently. ' Why don't you wait 
 to christen them till they are grown up, eh ? '
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 95 
 
 'My dear sir!' cried Mr Meekins in 
 horror. 
 
 He knew that Colonel Masters held strange 
 and strong opinions upon such unimportant 
 matters as spontaneous generation and the 
 ascidian origin of man ; but he never dreamed 
 that he had advanced so far as to question the 
 necessity of infant baptism. Yet, damnable as 
 the heresy seemed, he was, perhaps, as much 
 pleased as shocked at finding Colonel Masters 
 inclined to it. He had read up this very sub- 
 ject lately for the confutation of the Baptists, 
 who swarmed in his parish ; and here was a 
 providential opportunity of proving his armour. 
 Accordingly, he entered into a long argument 
 to prove the apostolic origin of infant baptism, 
 laying special stress on the fact that whole 
 families, and therefore httle babies, were then 
 baptised together. Meanwhile, Colonel Masters, 
 deep in his demonstration of man's being as 
 the beasts that perish in having a caecum and 
 not having a soul, did not look as convinced 
 by Mr. Meekins' arguments as that gentleman 
 had a right to expect. In fact, the Colonel had 
 taken in only a word here and there of the 
 whole discourse ; though, when roused by the
 
 9G LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 silence at its close, be said in a tone of the 
 deepest conviction — 
 
 'Quite so, Mr. Meekins, quite so. I should 
 baptize them in batches — whole families to- 
 gether, as you say — except, of course, the 
 infants. The noise is terrible.' 
 
 Henceforth Mr. Meekins' opinion of Colonel 
 Masters was not only that of a man who did 
 not believe in infant baptism, which was bad, 
 but that of a man whose disbehef was not 
 shaken by Mr. Meekins' arguments for infant 
 baptism, which was a great deal worse. But, 
 if the father was hopeless, at least the child was 
 reclaimable. Mabel, brought up under such 
 influences, might become a Baptist or an Ana- 
 baptist ! Something must be done. Why not 
 get her to the Sunday-school and into Miss 
 Eoxby's class? But her father, with such 
 views of baptism, would certainly object to her 
 learning the Catechism. Nevertheless, it was 
 Mr. Meekins' clear duty to press upon him 
 calmly, but firmly, the propriety of Mabel's 
 instruction in the principles of the Cliurch of 
 her adoption. Accordingly, having braced 
 himself for a desperate struggle, he broached 
 the subject to Colonel Masters, who amazed
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 97 
 
 Mm by an immediate consent, given as if there 
 was no need to ask it in a matter of such infini- 
 tesimal importance. Thus Mabeh through the 
 Sunday-school, was introduced into the world ; 
 for through the Eoxbys, with whom she soon 
 became intimate, she got to know the Milligans, 
 Deardens, Hawkshaws, etc., and was almost 
 as much in one or other of their houses as in 
 her own. In this way her spirit recovered 
 its spring and elasticity, her shy and shrinking 
 diffidence disappeared, and her natural humour 
 and keen wit came into play. But an acquaint- 
 ance, however intimate, with the Eoxbys, etc., 
 was not satisfying to a nature like Mabel's, and 
 the accident of the illness of one of her 
 scholars (after she had become a teacher her- 
 self), which set her upon devoting her spare 
 hours to the sick children of the poor, gave a 
 new turn and zest to her lonely life. It was 
 certainly a singular taste for a girl of nineteen ; 
 but some allowance must be made for the 
 singularity of her bringing up. 
 
 Mabel being now nineteen, it was quite 
 time, according to Miss Eoxby, that she should 
 ' come out.' Mabel was not particularly 
 anxious for this epiphany, but she was accus- 
 
 voL. I. n
 
 98 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 tomed to bow to Miss Eoxby's experience in 
 all social matters. 
 
 ' But how is it to be done, Miss Eoxby ? ' 
 
 'My dear, you must get your father to 
 chaperon you.' 
 
 At this happy suggestion, the picture of 
 her father's face on being asked to perform 
 this duty, and of his bearing in a ball-room, 
 rising vividly before Mabel, was too much for 
 her gravity. 
 
 'I don't see the joke,' said ]\Iiss Eoxby 
 severely ; for, though slie was intensely matter- 
 of-fact, she feared ridicule as keenly as if she 
 had been of a satirical turn herself. 
 
 ' I'm afraid mv father wouldn't see it 
 either,' said Mabel, sobered by this severity. 
 
 ' I don't see the use of all your education 
 if you are not to " come out",' Miss Eoxby 
 resumed, after a pause, which Mabel was to 
 construe as a lady-like rebuke. ' Have you 
 no aunt wlio could come to stay with you ? ' 
 
 'Yes; tliere's Aunt Eebecca, but 
 
 Perhaps, though, when father's abroad I might 
 have her.' 
 
 ' He goes abroad always in autumn, doesn't 
 he?'
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 99 
 
 ' Yes, about the middle of August, and 
 stays three months away generally.' 
 
 ' Tlie first of the Assemblies is in the begin- 
 ning of October ; that will do,' said Miss Eoxby, 
 with judicial decision. ' Everybody will be 
 there. A public debut is much the best.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear ! " coming out " seems a formidable 
 piece of business,' said Mabel, a little dismayed ; 
 though the portentous solemnity of Miss Eox- 
 by 's face impelled her to add, ' It couldn't be 
 done by advertisement, I suppose P ' 
 
 ' What ? ' asked Miss Eoxby in perplexity. 
 
 Light jests, like soap-bubbles, are not made 
 to be handled, opened, and examined in the 
 way in which Miss Eoxby insisted on dissect- 
 ing them ; and besides, Mabel regretted her 
 flippancy in the moment of giving way to it. 
 She owed Miss Eoxby a great deal of kindness, 
 and felt ungrateful when she yielded to the 
 temptation to shock her prim sense of pro- 
 priety. ' Only a silly joke, Miss Eoxby. I 
 shall do as you decide. It's rather trying to 
 begin Avith a public ball, but I dare say it's 
 better to plunge in than to wade in.' 
 
 ' The next thing to decide,' said Miss 
 Eoxby, in the manner of a chairman who had 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 got through a deal of business, and bad a deal 
 still to get through — ' the next thing to decide 
 upon is — your dress.' 
 
 ' Dress ! Why, the fashion may change three 
 times before then.* 
 
 ' Fashions change, but not colours, Mabel,* 
 an aphorism which sounded so like a text that 
 it quite imposed on Mss Eoxby herself the 
 impression that she was on the borders of a 
 solemn subject. ' We must not forget that, 
 my dear. Fashions change, but not colours.' 
 
 ' Always excepting Mr. Pickles' dyes,' said 
 Mabel, with a mischievous allusion to a piece 
 of stuff dyed by Mr. Zaccheus Pickles, a brother 
 • of the member, whose colours Miss Eoxby had 
 ■not found fast. Mabel felt here on safe ground, 
 as Miss Eoxby, by frequent references to this 
 unfortunate purchase, avenged social sliglits 
 inflicted on her by the member's family. 
 
 ' And his family in Parliament, too ! ' 
 snorted Miss Eoxby, deliglited by the diversion 
 into her favourite grievance. 
 
 ' It was since they got into Parhamcnt that 
 their colours changed, I am told,' said Mabel, 
 emboldened by the reception of her last mild
 
 MABEL — GIRLHOOD. 101 
 
 joke. But a political allusion was lost on Miss 
 Eoxby. 
 
 ' Indeed, dear, it was not. It was three 
 years ago last June, and you know his brother 
 has not been member more than a year and a 
 half.' And then Miss Eoxby recounted the 
 scandalous transaction for the twentieth time, 
 returning at the close of her tale to the serious 
 subject from which she had been diverted — the 
 most becoming style and colour for Mabel's 
 forthcoming costume — a subject in which 
 candour compels us to say our heroine took 
 an unheroic interest. 
 
 But arranging about a dress was a small 
 matter compared with arranging about a 
 chaperon. Morning after morning Mabel 
 made her mind up to broach the matter to her 
 father at the close of her reading, but her 
 heart always failed her w^hen it came to the 
 point. At last it occurred to her that it w^ould 
 he easier to confide in an aunt whom she had 
 never seen than to break the business to her 
 father, to whom it would be as unintelligible 
 as his metaphysics were to her. Accordingly 
 she put the whole case before Miss Masters in 
 a letter, which wound up with the request that
 
 102 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 her aunt would herself propose a visit to her 
 father. Miss Masters was charmed with the 
 naivete of the letter, and still more with the 
 prospect of chaperonage. There was nothing 
 the old lady liked better than seeing and being 
 seen, visiting and being visited. She did not 
 lose a post, therefore, in announcing to her 
 brother an intended visit to him in September, 
 taking her welcome — as she always did every- 
 where — for granted. Colonel Masters received 
 and read the letter at breakfast with less dis- 
 gust than Mabel anticipated. In truth he was 
 unconcerned, because he would be from home 
 in September. 
 
 ' Your aunt Eebecca writes to say she will 
 come here in September. Will you mind her 
 being in the house ? ' 
 
 He spoke as if Miss Masters was a small- 
 pox patient. 
 
 Mabel, who was truthfulness itself, replied 
 with some trepidation, ' I wrote to suggest the 
 visit to her, father.' 
 
 ' I thought you meant, when I was away, 
 to copy those passages I marked,' said her 
 father petulantly.
 
 MABEL — GIELHOOD. 103 
 
 ' So I do, father. I shall have plenty of 
 time in the mornings.' 
 
 ' Well, her coming doesn't matter to me, as 
 I shall be away till the latter end of October.' 
 
 ' But I think she means to stay after your 
 return,' said Mabel, with growing nervous- 
 ness. 
 
 ' Why should you think so ? She doesn't 
 say so,' said Colonel Masters, looking again and 
 with more interest at the letter. 'No, she 
 merely says she hopes " to pay me a visit in 
 September, to make your acquaintance and to 
 take you about." What does she mean by 
 " taking you about " ? ' 
 
 ' To take me to parties, father. It was for 
 that I wanted her to come,' said Mabel despe- 
 rately. 
 
 ' Why couldn't Margaret take you to 
 parties as usual ? ' 
 
 Margaret was Mabels old nurse, who had 
 attended her to and from the few children's 
 parties she had been asked to. It never for a 
 moment occurred to her father that Mabel 
 might consider herself grown up. To him, of 
 course, she Avas a mere child.
 
 104 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' I am rather too old for children's parties 
 now,' said Mabel with a smile. 
 
 ' Then why should you want anyone to 
 take you about if you don't care to go to 
 parties ? ' asked the Colonel, in perplexity. 
 
 It was only another instance of the utter 
 unreasonableness of women, and he felt ashamed 
 of the foolish attempt to find a clue in a chance 
 tangle of a thousand and one odds and ends of 
 thread — his conception of a woman's mind. 
 
 ' We had better resume our reading,' he 
 continued in a tone of impatient disgust. 
 
 He wrote the same day to his sister a letter 
 that would have put off anyone but Miss 
 Masters, and received from her in reply a line 
 to say that it didn't need his note to assure her 
 of a warm w^elcome. Thus it came to pass that 
 Miss Masters took Miss Miurdoch's place as 
 Mabel's duenna. For this self-complacent old 
 lady was not easily to be dislodged from quar- 
 ters she fancied. Not that she would not, but 
 that she could not imagine herself unwelcome.
 
 105 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 SQUIRE. 
 
 Poor little Squire was well visited. Not only 
 George and Mabel, but the Doctor came daily 
 to see him. That gentleman, in fact, was no 
 sooner informed bv the child's father that Mr, 
 Pickles senior had ordered the Doctor's bill to 
 be sent in to him, than he redoubled his atten- 
 tions to his patient. This redoubled zeal, it 
 must be said, not being according to knowledge, 
 was of little service to Squire. Dr. Dredge, 
 being old-fashioned, and practising exclusively 
 among the poor — who value only heroic reme- 
 dies — bled, blistered, drenched, and drugged as 
 if Death were his paymaster. No one who has 
 not mixed much among the poor can conceive 
 the extravagance of their faith in draughts, 
 drugs, leeches and blisters, or the pride with 
 which they parade the grim array of medicine- 
 bottles they have emptied ; and a doctor.
 
 106 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 whose practice lies among the poor, would be 
 more than human if he did not pander to this 
 ghoulish passion. Dr. Dredge, who was not 
 above the weaknesses of our common nature, 
 prescribed to suit rather the tastes than the 
 ailments of his patients. He bled, or blistered, 
 or dosed with the most drastic drugs almost 
 every disease on this side of consumption ; but 
 in a case like Squire's, where such treatment 
 could not immediately be prescribed, he was at 
 a stand. In such cases he had little experience 
 and less skill. They were taken, almost in- 
 variably, to the Infirmary, and Dr. Dredge was 
 not of such standing as to be upon its staff. 
 Fortunately for liimself, though unfortunately 
 for his patient, his feelings were as blunt as liis 
 surgical skill. Doctors who practise among 
 the very poor exclusively, often grow callous 
 to the sight and to tlie infiiction of pain. And 
 as Dr. Dredge was no exception to the rule, he 
 had not tlie least compunction in putting the 
 wretched child to intolerable and unnecessary 
 torture, first, in gro[)ing after the nature and 
 extent of his injuries, and next in his bungling 
 attempts at their cure. He so set the broken 
 bones that they had to be unset and reset
 
 SQUIRE. 107 
 
 within a week, and so badly, even then, that the 
 child, if he hved, would be crippled for life. 
 
 However, there was little likelihood of his 
 living. Mrs. Lumb's sympathising neighbours 
 were unanimous in their judgment that he was 
 ' baan hooam,' ^ which they expressed with a 
 frankness that sounded a little brutal as they 
 stood beside Squire's bed. The feelings, like 
 the hands of the poor, grow horny through 
 hardship ; and the matter-of-fact way in which 
 the neighbours spoke to Mrs. Lumb, in Squire's 
 hearing, of the certainty of his death and of the 
 expenses of his funeral w^as revolting to Mabel. 
 Still more revolting to her was the sordid way 
 in wdiicli Mrs. Lumb herself often spoke of her 
 probable loss as in great part a pecuniary one. 
 It is hardly too much to say that, in the West 
 Eiding, love of money seems as deep and natu- 
 ral an instinct as a mother's love of her child ; 
 and mothers there, of the working class, who 
 are weeping for their dead children, recur again 
 and again to the loss of their services or of 
 their wages as a main element of their sorrow. 
 Mabel was too young to make allowance for 
 the sordid lives of which these sordid feehngs 
 
 1 ( 
 
 Baan hooam/ i.e. going home.
 
 108 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 were the natural outcome, and felt at once 
 repelled from Mrs. Lumb and drawn towards 
 the child, whom she alone seemed disinterest- 
 edly concerned for. 
 
 ' T' Doctor says we mun get all the strong 
 support we can intil him, Miss Masters — sherry 
 wine, or port wine, and some mak' o' stuff he 
 called " distract o' beef ; " but aw'm sewer aw 
 doant knaw where it's all to come thro, aw 
 doant. Aw've weared more brass ^ on that 
 bairn than on all the others put together. He 
 war alius gettin' one thing or another — messles, 
 or scarlatina, or t' chincough, or t' browntitus, 
 or whativer war goin\ He wad tak' it,' she 
 said querulously — as if it was something Squire 
 should have been whipped for stealing ; ' and 
 aw'd no sooner paid one bill off, a shillin' a 
 week, nor another cam' in, an' Sam war niver 
 off awr doorstanes ' — Sam was Dr. Dredge's 
 collector of fees. 'But aw alius thowt he'd 
 addle summat* some day, an' mak' it up to us. 
 But there's little chonce of his addlin' owt na ; 
 an' him a cripple if he mends up — if iver he 
 does mend up, which aw'm afeard he niver 
 
 ^ ' Weared more brass,' i.e. laid out more money. 
 ^ ' Addle summat/ i.e. earn somethicg.
 
 SQUIRE. 109 
 
 Avill. Dredge gives sma' hopes on him, unless 
 there's a great alteration. He's a bit rough, is 
 Dredge. They mun be hard, mun t' doctors, 
 wi' sich jobs in hand. But he alius did well 
 for me and mine, alius ; an aw said to Mrs. 
 Slater last neet — nay, aw'm storying — it war 
 in t' afternoon when shoo cam' in for t' clothes' 
 prop — aw said, " Mrs. Slater," aw said, " if 
 there's OAvt wrang in t' inside, there's nobbody 
 beats Dredge." ' 
 
 ' Eh, mun, he is gooid at insides ! ' said 
 Mrs. Greenough, a sympathising neighbour, 
 who had followed Mabel in, out of pure 
 curiosity. ' Aw'ra sewer when aw had the 
 spavins,^ an' thowt it war all ovver wi' me, he 
 set me reet wi' an odd ^ bottle ; eh, an' it war 
 nasty stujSf yo' mind ! He mayn't be gooid at 
 bones an' that, for he isn't as mich amaug it as 
 them Infirmary doctors, but he's a jockey at 
 insides ; an' if he could nobbut wark it raand 
 to your Squire's inside he'd mend him up, 
 aw'm sewer he wad.' 
 
 This indirect and ingenious receipt for 
 curing a compound fracture of the leg by 
 driving it into the stomach, and there securing 
 
 ^ ' Spavins,' i.e. spasms. ^ * Odd,' i.e. single.
 
 110 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 it — like a rat driven from an inaccessible to an 
 accessible hole — made Mabel smile, in spite of 
 the spectacle of Squire's wan face. 
 
 ' What do to' think by him to-day, Miss ? ' 
 continued Mrs. Greenough, turning to Mabel. 
 
 'I am afraid he's no better,' said Mabel, 
 putting fresh flowers in the tumbler by the 
 bedside. 
 
 ' He'll niver mak' mich aat, aw'm thinking,' 
 said Mrs. Greenough, looking at him and 
 speaking of him with as little delicacy as if he 
 were a sick animal. ' Think on tha send'st 
 t' club brass regular to t' schooil, Mary Ann, 
 there's na knawing how sooin yo' may need it.' 
 
 ' Nay, Squire hisself alius thinks on to send 
 it aat of his own brass, by our Sally, first thing 
 on Sunday morning,' answered Mrs. Lumb, to 
 whom this admonition was addressed. 
 
 ' T' club brass ' was a subscription of a 
 penny or two weekly to a Sunday-school sick 
 and burial society, which, on the death of a 
 member, entitled his parents to a few pounds 
 towards his funeral expenses. Poor Squire, 
 made old-fashioned by both illness and poverty, 
 and taught to look on all his sicknesses as 
 selfish luxuries he had no ric^ht to iudulae in,
 
 SQUIRE. Ill 
 
 and on his approaching death as the last and 
 worst of these inconsiderate extravagances, 
 made the amends of paying his subscription to 
 the sick society out of his own money-box. 
 This put in a new hght the greedy way in 
 which the cliild took the few pence he was 
 occasionally given ; and Mabel, who liad 
 hitherto set this eagerness down to West Eiding 
 greed, was struck with a remorse that doubled 
 her tenderness towards him. 
 
 ' How much money have you now, 
 Squire ? ' she asked, as she sat by his bedside 
 and took his worn hand in hers. 
 
 ' Fourpence hawpny. But Mr. Kneeshaw 
 said he'd give me a shilHng if I didn't cry 
 when doctor 'xamined me. And I didn't, 
 did I, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Eh, Miss, but he was as gooid as gooid ! 
 Warn't he, Martha ? ' to Mrs. Greenough. 
 
 ' Gooid ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Greenough. 
 ' Aw niver seed nowt like it in all my life — 
 niver. T' doctor paanded and pooiled and 
 twisted his legs as if he war kneeding dough — 
 he did. My heart warked for the bairn, as the 
 sweat reet paared daan his face ; but he never 
 cried aat, not once. Bless him! Dredge
 
 112 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 hisself wor capped ' wi' him, and said he bet 
 all he iver had to do wi'.' 
 
 Mabel smoothed back the child's hair and 
 stooped and kissed his forehead with a tender- 
 ness she could not trust herself just then to put 
 into words. Tenderness of this kind and ex- 
 pressed in this way was such a surprise to Squire 
 as to suggest to him that he must be dying. His 
 probable death had been discussed and dis- 
 counted before him so often, and in so matter- 
 of-fact a way, that the idea of it was neither 
 new nor terrifying to him. It was made up in 
 his mind of an idea of heaven — which he 
 pictured as like a Whitsuntide school treat, 
 when the Sunday-school children marched with 
 a band and banners to a field, and played and 
 had buns, and an idea of such a scolding as he 
 got invariably when he came back from the 
 field with his new Whitsuntide suit soiled or 
 torn. Indeed, he had heard enough to know 
 that his death would cost his parents a good 
 deal more than a suit of clothes, and would 
 therefore be a proportionately greater grievance. 
 And, as he wasn't by any means a bad-hearted 
 little chap, there was mixed up with these two 
 
 ^ * Capped,' i.e. surprised.
 
 SQUIRE. 113 
 
 ideas a third, wliicli troubled him not a Httle — 
 that there would be no mother, nor Miss 
 Masters, nor Sally in heaven. After meditating 
 these thmgs a minute, he said, ' Mother, where's 
 our Sally ? ' 
 
 ' Shoo's gone to t' coop, doy ; shoo'll be 
 back sooin.' 
 
 ' She may have the grapes, mayn't she, 
 mother ? ' 
 
 Sally, it seemed, had cried for some grapes 
 Mr. Kneeshaw the day before had left for 
 Squire, . and which Squire would then have 
 shared with her but for his mother's indisrnant 
 intervention. 
 
 'Nay, doy, tha munnot gie away them 
 grapes. What 'ud Mr. Kneeshaw say ? ' 
 
 Mr. Kneeshaw's name turned his mind, 
 which wandered easily now, back to the 
 balloon and the accident. 
 
 ' I couldn't help it, mother.' 
 
 ' What, doy P ' 
 
 ' Being runned over. Mr. Kneeshaw said 
 it wasn't me that did it.' 
 
 ' It wor to be,' replied his mother, with a 
 fatalism universal among the poor. ' Tha' wor 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 alius an unlucky bairn iver sin' tha wor 
 born.' 
 
 Mabel, wlio, with the sympathy of love and 
 (jf long experience of children, had got the clue 
 to the child's tlionghts, tried to counteract this 
 ungracious speech. 
 
 ' You ! of course it wasn't your fault, 
 Squire. Do you think Mr. Pickles would send 
 the doctor to see you if it was your fault ? ' 
 
 Squire, who certainly had httle reason to be 
 thankful for Dr. Dredge's attentions, was any- 
 thing but reassured by this evidence of Mr. 
 Pickles' feeling towards him. So, disregarding 
 this comfort, he turned to another. 
 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw was runned over too,' lie 
 said, in an accent and with a look at Mabel 
 that plainly expressed, ' It couldn't have 
 been a scrape if Mr. Kneeshaw was in it ; could 
 it?' 
 
 It was a very efTective arguinentum ad 
 hominon, and Mabel didn't like the lad the less 
 for his faith in Mr. Kneeshaw. 
 
 'Who has been putting it into ihe child's 
 head that he is to blame for the accident ? ' 
 asked Mabel, with some of the irritation she 
 felt towards Mrs. Lumb in her voice. ' I can't
 
 SQUIRE. 115 
 
 think how anyone could be so cruel and heart- 
 less as to say such a thing. You know very 
 well, Mrs. Lumb, that he was no more to blame 
 for it than you were.' 
 
 This unlucky speech was at once and of 
 course interpreted by Mrs. Lumb to mean that 
 she alone was to blame for it. We can hardly 
 say whether West Eiding people are readier to 
 give or to take offence. Not in the least sensitive 
 as to your feelings, they are extremely sensitive 
 in their own. Mrs. Lumb's feelings of grati- 
 tude and respect towards Mabel were strong, 
 but, strong as they were, they nearly went 
 down before the shock of this sudden attack. 
 
 ' Me, j\iiss ! ' she cried, in breathless amaze- 
 ment ; ' me to blame ! What war aw to do 
 wi' him ? War aw to tee him to t' bed fooit 
 to keep him aat o' street ? How many huuerd 
 times have aw telled him to coome hooam 
 straight thro' schooil, and not to lake^ wi' t' 
 lads up and daan and in and aat in all mak's of 
 mischeef? Nay, nobbody can say aw've not 
 been a gooid mother till him, and warmed '^ 
 him times and times when he has been laking 
 and loiterinsf and coomed hooam lat' thro' 
 
 ^ ' Lake,' i.e play. ^ * Warmed,' i.e. whipped. 
 
 I 2
 
 IIG LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 day-schooilor Sunday-schooil wi' his bits o' tilings 
 all ovver muck. And if he'd been at hooam 
 "svhen t' accident happened,' she ajiked trium- 
 phantly, ' wad he have been runned ovver ? 
 What are ta ciyin' for ? ' she interrupted her- 
 self to say, in a voice still sharp, but softened 
 somewhat at sight of Squire's tears. Squire, 
 like most Yorkshire lads, was as stoical 
 as an Indian when well, but weakness had so 
 unstrung him as to set him crying at the 
 thought that he had got Miss Masters into a 
 scrape. When his m. other was half through 
 her harangue, his hand stole from under the 
 coverlid instinctively to console Mabel, as he 
 would have consoled Sally, by putting his arm 
 round her neck. But as, of course, this was 
 not to be thought of, his hand, stopping half 
 way, nestled itself timidly in hers, and he ex- 
 pressed the rest of his sympathy in tears, of 
 which he was thoroughly ashamed. He felt 
 he had lost the character he had earned by not 
 crying when tlie doctor was torturing him. 
 He hid his head in the bedclothes, wiped his tears 
 away with them, and, looking out again with a 
 defiant face, said, in a voice that ' protested too 
 much,' * I am not crying ; * and then, with great
 
 SQUIRE. 117 
 
 presence of mind, changed the subject by 
 asking Mabel a question which had been much 
 in his thoughts since her last visit — ' Please, 
 Miss Masters, why couldn't they take the press 
 away ? ' This mysterious question referred to 
 the miracle Mabel had read for him, in which 
 tlie sufferer had been let down through the 
 roof when he could not be brought through 
 the door ' for the press.' Squire thought it 
 harder to take the roof away than ' the 
 press,' of which his idea was the press-bed on 
 which he lay ; and that there must therefore 
 be some mysterious and malign influence in a 
 ' press ' which made against such a miracle 
 being worked in his own case. While this 
 difficulty was being explained by him and to 
 him, Mrs. Greenough, who associated anything 
 rehgious with church, and church with her 
 best clothes, became conscious of the profanity 
 of her toilet, and made hastily but softly 
 for the door. Here her reverential impres- 
 sions were confirmed by her meeting no less 
 than two parsons, Eevs. Archer Lawley and 
 George Kneeshaw — two spiritual doctors, who 
 she imagined, were met together in consul- 
 tation over the difficult case of the dying child.
 
 118 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mr. Archer Lawley's appearance on the 
 scene was an apt illustration of the lesson Mabel 
 was giving the child — that such cures as the 
 Gospel records were not wrought to-day 
 directly, but intermediately. For Mr. Lawley 
 came to make Mrs. Lumb the extraordinary 
 offer to give Squire the one chance of life that 
 remained, of better air, food, and advice, by 
 taking him to his own vicarage in the countr}-. 
 We must explain that Mr. Lawley justified all 
 that his friends said of his eccentricity by turn- 
 ing his house into a convalescent hospital for 
 the sick children of the very poor. Wretched 
 little creatures tliat were fading fast in the foul 
 and festering back slums of Wefton, revived 
 miraculously when transplanted to Fentou 
 Vicarage, where there were provided for them 
 not only pure air, good food, the .care of a 
 professional nurse, and the skill of the first 
 doctor in Wefton, but games, toys, treats, and 
 amusements of the mo^^t miscellaneous kind. 
 Mr. Lawley, who was a bachelor, spent upon 
 this craze somethinG; more than the income he 
 had from the Church, and lived himself on his 
 private means, which were not large, and by 
 his pen. He no sooner heard from Kneeshaw
 
 SQUIRE. Ill) 
 
 of Squire's case than he offered to take it under 
 his care, and the two had come together to 
 make this offer to Mrs. Lumb. Fortunately 
 for Squire, exaggerated accounts of Parson 
 Lawley's good deeds and miraculous cures had 
 reached Mrs. Lumb, so that she no sooner 
 heard his name than she divined and rejoiced 
 over his errand. Such accounts had reached 
 Mabel also, who naturally so appreciated a 
 Mndred craze to her own that she looked up at 
 Mr. Lawley with a beautiful expression of hero- 
 worship when George introduced him to her. 
 Mr. Lawley, a very tall man, foreign-looking, 
 with a cynical mouth, but not unkindly eyes of 
 a soft deep brown, blushed under her gaze. 
 His self-possession, which would have been 
 proof against the presence of an archbishop, 
 often left him in the presence of ladies, and he 
 was disconcerted by the sight of the loveliest 
 face he had ever seen, looking up at him with 
 a childlike admiration. He muttered something 
 about intruding, and would then and there • 
 have beaten a hasty retreat, leaving to Knee- 
 shaw the arrangement of the affair, if Mrs. 
 Lumb had allowed him. That good lady, how- 
 ever, intercepted his retreat, and saved him and
 
 120 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mr. Kneeshaw any delicacy or difFiculty they 
 might have felt about broaching the subject, by 
 taking upon herself the modest duty. 
 
 ' Sit thee daan, Sir,' she said, wiping a chair 
 with her apron ; ' aw'm fain to see yo'. Yo've 
 coomed, aw reckon, to ax awr Squire to your 
 haase. Well, aw'm nowt agin it. Yo' can 
 tak' him if yo've a mind.' 
 
 Neither Mr. Lawley nor Mr. Kneeshaw was 
 in the least surprised by Mrs. Lumb's modesty 
 and magnanimity, for both had experience 
 enough of the West Eiding poor to know that, 
 however grateful they feel at heart — and no 
 one can accuse them of ingratitude — they 
 accept a favour as if they were conferring it. 
 
 ' I think the change would do him good, 
 Mrs. Lumb,* said Mr. Lawley, as courteously as 
 if Mrs. Lumb really was doing him a kindness. 
 
 ' It is so good of you, ]\Ii\ Lawley,' burst in 
 Mabel, eager to cover and make up for Mrs. 
 Lumb's ungraciousness, yet blushing at the 
 same time with the consciousness that praise 
 from her might sound patronising or presump- 
 tuous. The imperturbable Mr. Lawley seemed, 
 to Kneeshaw 's amazement, absolutely to return 
 the blush as he muttered somethincr like ' Not
 
 SQUIRE. 121 
 
 at all,' and turned to ask Squire if lie would like 
 to come to Fenton. Squire had heard of 
 Fenton Vicarage from the same source as his 
 mother — from a schoolfellow who lived in an 
 alley off Sugg Lane, who had spent a month in 
 that paradise, of which he had never ceased to 
 talk since. 
 
 ' Please, may mother and Sally come to see 
 me?' 
 
 ' Of course they may.' 
 
 ' And Miss Masters ? ' 
 
 This was a very awkward request. Mrs. 
 MacGucken, Mr. Lawley's housekeeper and 
 hospital nurse, who ruled him with a rod of 
 iron, would as soon see a bailiff as a spinster in 
 the house, since neither could have any other 
 business there than ' to take ' the master. 
 Accordingly, she was simply brutal in her 
 manner to any eligible spinster who entered 
 the vicarage under any pretence or pretext 
 whatsoever. For Mr. Lawley, therefore, to 
 invite Miss Masters and her chaperon (who, he 
 supposed, would be her mother) to meet such 
 a reception as Mrs. MacGucken would give 
 them, w^ould be more inhospitable than to dis- 
 courage them. Yet he would have been more
 
 122 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 brutal even than Mrs. MacGucken herself, if he 
 made no response to Squire's suggestion. 
 
 ' I am sure,' he said hesitatingly, ' I shall 
 be very glad if Miss Masters will honour my 
 house with a visit ; but I'm afraid ' 
 
 ' Thank you very much,' interrupted Mabel, 
 hastening to the relief of his evident embarrass- 
 ment ; ' but I really couldn't think of coming, 
 except on crutches or in consumption. You 
 don't take in anything short of tliat, Mr. Law- 
 ley ? ' she rattled on with a flippancy which 
 seemed, under the circumstances, the truest 
 politeness, as Mr. Lawley was slow to recover 
 from his embarrassment. ' Besides, I expect 
 Squire will be so much better as to be able to 
 come to see me before I could get my aunt to 
 make her mind up for an expedition to Fenton. 
 She thinks any place you get by train to m.ust 
 be ail immense distance off. It's a good way 
 for Squire to be moved to, I am afraid.' 
 
 ' It's something over five miles,' replied Mr. 
 Lawley ; ' but once you get clear of tlie town, 
 the road is good. — When may I send for him, 
 Mrs. Lumb ? ' 
 
 The question helped Mrs. Lumb to realise 
 her separation from Squire, which she felt all
 
 SQUIRE. 128 
 
 the more keenly because she had had so much 
 to do for him ; and her tears, which began now 
 to flow freely, affected Squire. It was a bitter 
 mortification to be unable to choke back his 
 tears. Could Mr. Kneeshaw now believe that 
 he liadn't cried yesterday, when Dr. Dredge 
 had given him good reason? Yet, somehow, 
 the sight of his mother's tears, and the thought 
 of leaving her and Sally and Mabel, melted 
 him, while Dr. Dredge's bungling brutality had 
 only hardened him. 
 
 'Doan't freeat, doy. Me and Sally will 
 coome see thee,' cried Mrs. Lumb, as she dried 
 her own tears in her apron. 
 
 ' She won't,' sobbed the child, nodding his 
 head towards Mabel. ' Mother ! ' 
 
 ' What, doy ? ' 
 
 But Squire wouldn't tell her what, till she 
 had stooped down to hear it in a whisper. 
 
 ' Nay, aw couldn't for shame ax her. Eh, 
 Miss, but he thinks the warld o' thee ! ' 
 
 ' Is it anything I can do for him, Mrs. 
 Lumb ? ' 
 
 ' Deed, Miss, aw can hardly fashion to tell 
 thee. He wants thee to kiss him as tha did a 
 bit sin'.'
 
 124 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 As Mabel was about to stoop to kiss the 
 child, George and ^Mr. Lawley held their liands 
 out to bid her good bye, and telling Mrs. Lumb 
 what hour the cab would come to-morrow for 
 Squire, they left the house together. When 
 Mabel did stoop to kiss him, the poor little cliap 
 put both arms round her neck, and cried, and 
 clung convulsively to her till Mabel's cheek was 
 wet with other tears beside his.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 BAKXEY MCGRATH. 
 
 When Mabel left Mrs. Lumb's some time later, 
 slie was so absorbed in sad doubts about seeinf? 
 Squire again alive that she did not notice, till 
 she was close upon him, a drunken navvy, who, 
 leaning against a lamp-post, took up most of the 
 narrow footway along which she was passing. 
 As she was stepping hastily out of his reach 
 into the roadway, he put out his hand, caught 
 her by the shoulder, and, cursing and swearing 
 the most frightful endearments, drew her to- 
 wards him. Before, however, she could realise 
 the horror of the position, the brute lay sprawl- 
 ing in the road, quite still and perfectly satisfied 
 seemingly, bestridden by a dapper Httle Irish- 
 man, who poured out a mixture of abuse of 
 him, praise of Mabel, and interjectural asides to 
 the donkey he drove, shaken up togetlier with 
 incoherent volubility. At first, indeed, he was
 
 126 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 SO inarticulate with rage tliat the mixture 
 flowed, as out of a bottle, in gushes ; but soon 
 it swept along in a continuous and impetuous 
 torrent. 
 
 ' Oh, ye — ye — ye thief of the worruld ! 
 ye — ye black-hearted blaguard ! Lie there, 
 will ye? Lie there till the divil himself flies 
 
 away wid ye: ye — ye An angel, bad 
 
 luck to ye ! Whose shadow is the sunshine of 
 the sthreet. Dhrinkin' the bed from undher 
 yere wife and childher, and thin waylayin' and 
 maraudin' thim that the saints send to put a 
 bite in their bellies. Is it a man ye are at all 
 at all, or a haythen brute baste ? and she, I'll 
 go bail, just comin' away from the little crathur 
 she's been a'most a mother to, God bless her ! 
 ye murtherin' villain, ye ! Woa, Neddy ! woa, 
 me lad ! Get up wid ye, ye baste, and go 
 home, and don't be dirtyin' the road wid yer 
 carcass ' — this with a vigorous kick, which 
 horrified Mabel with the fear that it must rouse 
 the giant to battle, but wdiich was so inefiective 
 that Barney continued in a disgusted voice, 
 'Beaorra, there's no raisonin' wid him, the 
 onsinsible omidhawn I Don't be a morsel in 
 dhread, Miss. Shure, I'll see ye safe home,
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 127 
 
 meself, if ye'll slitop a minute. Bad cess to ye ! 
 didn't ye hear me tell ye to shtand slitill, ye 
 bothered ^ baste ? Woa, I tell ye ! Just half a 
 minute to go home to put up the baste, and I'll 
 see ye safe out of this divil's den, if I may 
 make so bould, Miss. Faix, it's a sin to see 
 him lyin' like that,* he soliloquised — in an 
 accent of pity, Mabel thought, but really of 
 regret ; ' if he had a quart less in him now he'd 
 have been mad for a fight. He would so. 
 But there's thim that niver knows how much is 
 good for 'em. 'Tis sorry I am to disappint you, 
 Miss, but ye might shtand here all night before 
 he'd be in a fit state for a baitin', the misfortu- 
 nate gaumuck ! ^ I'll just go and put the baste 
 up, and be back in a jiffy to take care of ye, if 
 you'll let the likes of me walk behind ye.' 
 
 ' Thank you very much,' said Mabel, terri- 
 fied at the thought of being left a moment by 
 herself beside the prostrate navvy, eager to 
 make all the haste she could out of the street, 
 and yet more anxious not to offend her protec- 
 tor by a refusal of his escort. ' Perhaps you 
 will kindly allow me to go with you now ? ' 
 
 ' 'Deed thin. Miss, I'm proud to walk the 
 
 ^ 'Bothered,' i.e. deaf, ' * Gaumuck/ i.e. idiot.
 
 128 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 same shtreet wicl ye ; and if ye wouldn't be 
 
 aftlier mindin' But sliure it's like the 
 
 blessed sunlight ye are that isn't in dhread of 
 bein' shtained by shining into a poor man's 
 house. This way, Miss, I must go before ye, 
 axin' your pardon. Up, Neddy, home, me lad. 
 It's down this alley. Miss. Faith, and shure 
 I'm ashamed to bring ye into such a place.' 
 
 It certainly was a filthy alley — a parasite, 
 so to speak, of Sugg Lane. For even Sugg 
 Lane had its parasitic offshoots. 
 
 So, naturalists observe, a flea 
 Has smaller fleas that on him prey; 
 And these have smaller still to bite 'em, 
 And so proceed ad infinitum. 
 
 It was the most nauseating street Mabel 
 ever was in. She had to stoop her head each 
 moment to avoid the patched, mildewed, half- 
 washed clothes that were hun^ across the street 
 to dry, by lines stretched from window to 
 window ; she had to pick her steps amongst the 
 sickly children that crawled, languid as snails, 
 about her feet ; she had to step out now and 
 tlien into the road to avoid some virago who 
 stood, with arms akimbo and defiant stare, 
 blocking the narrow footway. When about
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 129 
 
 half way down this noisome alley, Barney 
 stopped to speak to a sullen-looking savage who 
 was leaning lazily against a house front, with 
 his hands in his trousers' pockets, and a short 
 clay pipe in his mouth. 
 
 ' Bob's at the ould address,' said Barney, 
 jerking his thumb over his shoulder. 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' In the guther.' 
 
 'Ay,' said the savage unconcernedly, re- 
 placing his pipe and relapsing into apathy. 
 
 ' He'll be runned over.' 
 
 ' Like enough.' 
 
 ' Or he'll be runned in by the bobbies, and 
 thin it'll all come out,' said Barney significantly 
 The savage swore a frightful oath, then cleared 
 his throat, and spat down the grating at his 
 feet. Whereupon de profundis shrilled a 
 sharp voice up through the grating — 
 
 ' Bad luck to ye, whoever ye are, that's the 
 third time ye've done that thrick ! ' 
 
 ' Nancy ! ' 
 
 ' What ? ' sharp and shrill as a steam 
 whistle. 
 
 ' Your Bob's fresh.' ^ 
 
 ^ Fresh, i.e. drunk. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Yes ? ' interrogatively, as knowing that no 
 one would tell her only tltat as a piece of news. 
 
 ' He's lying in the street and will be tuk 
 to the station if ye don't have him fetched 
 home.' 
 
 ' The divil fetch him and ye too for a pair 
 of d ,' etc. etc. etc. — fortunately unintelli- 
 gible to Mabel. 
 
 The savage, swearing horribly once more, 
 growled to Barnev, ' Lend us the cart and I'm 
 
 d d if I don't fetch him and shove him 
 
 down the grating to her.' 
 
 Nothing^ but consideration for Mabel would 
 have induced Barney to lend his cart to the 
 savage for any purpose ; but he knew that if 
 he refused it. Mabel would hear still more 
 awful lani^uaG^e than she had heard alreadv, 
 and that if he lent it he might at once hurry 
 her out of this infernal region. Besides, he 
 wasn't sorry to stop short of his home, which 
 he was ashamed that Mabel sliould see. 
 
 ' Ye'll not kick the baste ? ' 
 
 ' No,' with an imprecation. 
 
 ' And ye'll put him him up when ye're done 
 wid him ? ' 
 
 ' Aren't ye comin' wid me yom'self ? '
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 131 
 
 ' I'm not. Tell Molly I'll be home in an 
 hour. He's lyin' outside the " Yorkshire 
 Chicken." — This is the shortest way into Clifford 
 Street, Miss,' he said hurriedly, pointing up 
 a narrow but short passage. The savage, 
 noticing Mabel for the first time, scowled 
 curiously at her before he turned the donkey 
 back into Sugg Lane. Barney felt quite guilty 
 and crestfallen as he walked after Mabel, silent 
 for a wonder, up the passage. He felt almost 
 as responsible for the language Mabel had 
 heard as if he had uttered it himself. As for 
 Mabel, it was the first time in all her visits 
 amongst the poor that she had met with insult, 
 and seen and heard the utmost degradation of 
 poverty. She felt quite faint and sick, and 
 stopping at the top of the passage, she asked — 
 
 ' What is your name ? ' 
 
 ' Barney McGrath, Miss,' answered Barney 
 in a subdued voice. 
 
 ' Is there a cabstand near, Barney ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Miss, I'll fetch you a cab,' he replied, 
 thinking ' She's ashamed of me, small blame to 
 her.' 
 
 Mabel, divining his thought, 'I'd rather 
 you'd take me to it, if you will. I don't feel 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 quite well, Barney ; I don't think I could walk 
 home.' 
 
 Barney, as he looked into her while face, 
 felt ashamed of his suspicions. ' It's only round 
 the corner, Miss.' 
 
 ' Barney, I don't know how to thank you,' 
 said Mabel, as they walked together towards 
 the cabstand. 
 
 ' For bringing ye into that inf into that 
 
 alley. Miss ? ' said Barney bitterly. 
 
 ' For defending and protecting me like — 
 like an Irishman,' said Mabel, looking at him 
 with eyes moistened and brightened with a 
 grateful sense of his chivalry. 
 
 The compliment to his country cheered 
 Barney like champagne instantaneously. 
 
 ' Och, thin, it's little I done for you, Miss, 
 compared wid what you done for me many 
 and many's the time.' 
 
 'I?' 
 
 ' You've been sarmon and priesht and mass 
 to me,' said Barney impetuously, stopping 
 suddenly to emphasise the statement. ' Shure, 
 ye seen where I live. Shure, ye heard thim 
 divils. Shure, ye know that's what I hear and 
 see every day and all day. Wliat good's Father
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 133 
 
 Quin's praiching on Sunday, wid thim about 
 your cart on Monday ? But when I see ye, a 
 born lady, and a mere shlip of a gurl — ax in' 
 yer pardon, Miss — when I seen ye folio win' 
 throuble from doore to doore, and from bed to 
 bed, and brightenin' it up — God bless ye !~as 
 the shpring flowers brighten the black winter 
 earth, I knew there war a heaven, and saints, 
 and angels, and the Blessed Vargin, wid pity in 
 their hearts for us, glory be to God ! ' 
 
 Barney was impressionable and felt all he 
 said, but it must in candour be admitted that 
 he was less used to the ministrations of Father 
 Quin than to those of the landlord of the ' York- 
 shire Chicken.' In fact, his very impressionability 
 was due in part to the state to which a long 
 and regular attendance at that hostelry had 
 reduced his nerves. For all that there was a 
 deal of good in Barney that hadn't been worked 
 out, as may be inferred from his genuine 
 worship of Mabel, of whom he had seen much 
 and heard more in hawking his wares among 
 the poor of her neighbourhood. Mabel was at 
 once amazed at Barney's outburst and ashamed 
 of the Httle she had done to deserve it. 
 Before, however, she could reply to it, Barney
 
 134 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 had sighted a cab, which he ran after, hailed, 
 and returned with. 
 
 ' You'll come home with me, Barney ? My 
 aunt will want to thank you, and I haven't 
 half thanked you myself yet.' 
 
 ' Thank you kindly, ]\Iiss, but I'm onaisy 
 about the baste. Black George is the divil's 
 own fist wid his clogs.' 
 
 ' Well, when can you come to see me ? ' 
 asked Mabel eagerly. ' " The Grange," you 
 know, Bradford Eoad. Can you come to- 
 morrow ? ' 
 
 Barney felt very sheepish about coming to 
 be thanked in form for so light, little, and 
 agreeable a service as that of knocking a man 
 down, yet he knew that politeness called for 
 his acceptance of so gracious an invitation. 
 
 ' Well, thank you. Miss,' he said, taking his 
 cap off, looking stedfastly at it, and turning it 
 round and round nervously in both his hands, 
 ' I might call to-morrow evening, if it would be 
 convanient to ye. Miss.' 
 
 ' Yes, do. I shall be at home all the even- 
 ing. Good-bye, Barney.' 
 
 Barney looked at the little gloved hand 
 held out to him throuijh the window of the
 
 BARXEVr MCGRATH. 135 
 
 cab, then at his own vast, horny paw ; but 
 again an instinctive pohteness taught him to 
 take it as unhesitatingly as it was offered, 
 though he held it as reverentially as if it was 
 the relic of a saint. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Miss ; God bless ye ! ' 
 Barney stood for a moment looking after 
 the cab, and thinking with some misgivings 
 over to-morrow evening's appointment. Next 
 moment he bethought him of ' his baste,' which 
 he was loth to leave to the tender mercies of 
 Black George a minute longer than he could 
 help. He made his way back into Knacker's 
 Alley with all speed to find that Black 
 George's kindly design had not gone well 
 altogether. As the savage led the cart Into 
 Sugg Lane he saw Bob, who had been re- 
 vived by a benevolent bucket of water flung 
 in his face, staggering towards him menacingly. 
 The sight of the cart seemed to remind him 
 that he had been knocked down by its owner, 
 so he made for Black George like lightning, in 
 a zigzag. Black George, having turned the 
 donkey round, and sent it with a curse and 
 a kick in the belly to find its way home, 
 awaited the onslaught with contemptuous
 
 136 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 equanimity. Bob, tacking wildly, took about a 
 minute to bring up alongside Black George, 
 and had, therefore, time to forget his intention 
 of vengeance, of which, indeed, he lost sight 
 with the disappearance of the donkey, and to 
 become friendly and even affectionate. Black 
 George was too anxious to get him clear of the 
 police and coax him home to repel his affec- 
 tionate advances, and so the two roamed 
 together down the sweet arcadia of Knacker's 
 Alley, an idyllic spectacle, Bob's arm being 
 wound fondly round Black George's neck. 
 Half way down they came up with Barney's 
 ' baste,' which, being unpiloted, had got into 
 difficulty (the cart-wheel being locked against 
 a lamp-post), and waited patiently for 
 Hercules to extricate it. Hercules shook Bob 
 off roughly, since he was now, as it seemed, 
 safe at the mouth of his den, and led the 
 donkey to its stable near the bottom of the 
 alley, where he proceeded to unharness it. 
 Meantime Bob, roused by the rough shake, by 
 the sight and sound of the cart, and, above all, 
 by the inopportune appearance of Bai'ney upon 
 the scene at this moment, reverted to the re- 
 vengeful mood, and made a drunken dash at
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 137 
 
 Barney. Barney, seeing that Bob wasn't even 
 yet ' in a fit state for a baitin ',' stood on the 
 defensive, warding off the wild blows, and 
 giving a chaffing lesson in boxing. 
 
 ' Hould in yere left ! Hould in yere left, 
 man ! Now, out wid the right ! Och ! Pugh ! 
 Is it playin' skittles ye are ? ' 
 
 The scuffle, Bob's imprecations, and 
 Barney's chaff, hurried Nancy up from the 
 cellar, armed with a skillet she happened 
 fortunately to have been scouring. With a 
 wild warwhoop she made at Barney from 
 behind with the skillet, and would have felled 
 him if he had not ducked and allowed the 
 blow to take effect upon Bob's midriff, bring- 
 ing him to the ground with a crash. The row 
 roused the whole foul rookery, which cawed 
 and clamoured from every door and window in 
 the alley, but could not drown Nancy's shrill 
 blasphemies, which were loud enough to be 
 heard in Clifford Street, and to bring a passing 
 policeman to the spot. Just before his arrival, 
 Barney, having assured himself that Bob was 
 not seriously hurt, had gone off to look after 
 ' his baste,' and the policeman found no one 
 to contradict Nancy's account of the affair.
 
 138 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 whicli was, of course, that tliat drunken black- 
 guard Barney McGrath had made a most 
 savage and unprovoked assault upon her 
 inoffensive husband. 
 
 ' Knocked the sivin senses out of him, the 
 crathur.' 
 
 As there was no doubt his senses were 
 gone, and some doubt as to whether they had 
 been driven out as much by drink as by 
 violence, the policeman thought it safer to 
 impound Barney than Bob. Following the 
 afflicted Nancy's directions, he went down the 
 alley, and met near the bottom Barney and 
 Black George, who had just come together 
 from the stable. 
 
 ' Do you know where a man of the name 
 of Barney McGrath lives ? ' asked the pohce- 
 man, with official peremptoriness. 
 
 Barney knit his brows and puckered his lips 
 together into an expression of perplexed con- 
 sideration, and muttered musingly, ' Barney — 
 Barney McGrath ; ' then his face lightened with 
 a sudden inspiration, as he said to George, ' 111 
 be bound it's Baste Barney he manes — him 
 that dhrives the donkey.' Then, turning to the 
 policeman, he asked, ' Is he in throuble now ? 
 
 o »
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 139 
 
 ' That's no business of yours.' 
 
 ' 'Deed, thin, that's thrue ; and where he 
 lives is no business of mine, neither. Shtill, i'll 
 answer a civil question when I'm axed. He 
 lives down that cellar just foreninst ye, and 
 here's his missus comin' up the shteps. — Mrs. 
 McGrath, is Barney at home? ' 
 
 Molly was quick enough to take in the 
 situation, even without the aid of Barney's 
 wink. 
 
 ' What's that to you ? ' she said sharply, 
 with a vicious look at the policeman. 
 
 ' Oh, nothin's nothin' to me,' said Barney, 
 in an aggrieved tone ; and then, with a sly 
 wink at the policeman, ' Ye may takeyere oath 
 he isn't far off.' 
 
 ' Come, come, my good woman,' said the 
 policeman, thrusting her aside, 'I must see 
 him.' 
 
 As the policeman descended the steps. 
 Black George slouched off at a speed unusual 
 with him, stopping only once to slap his thigh 
 and exclaim, ' Well, I'm bio wed ! ' 
 
 Barney stood his ground, as he thought it 
 safest that the policeman should look to no one 
 but himself for information.
 
 140 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 * Go down and keep the cliildre from seein' 
 me,' he whispered to Molly, who, hurrying 
 down the steps, met the policeman returning 
 disappointed. 
 
 ' Are ye aisy now ? ' she sneered, as he 
 passed her. 
 
 ' Isn't he in ?' asked Barney, 
 
 ' No,' replied 43 curtly. 
 
 ' Divil go wid him ; it's in the shtable he is, 
 thin.' 
 
 'You're a friend of his.^' said 43, turning 
 sharply on Barney. 
 
 ' A frind ! He hasn't a w^orse inimy in the 
 worruld,' replied Barney, with genuine bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 ' Where's the stable ? ' asked 43 reassured. 
 
 ' It's up the borieen here. Anyhow, w^e 
 can see if he's come home if the baste's in.' 
 
 ' There's no doubt about that. It's not five 
 minutes since he knocked a man down in the 
 alley.' 
 
 Barney expressed his horror by repeating 
 three or four tunes that sucking noise made by 
 strikinrr the tonf:[ue against the roof of the 
 
 O DC 
 
 mouth.
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 141 
 
 ' Think of that, now ! He wasn't a pohce- 
 man, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' A pohceman ! ' exclaimed 43, with a 
 disdainful smile, ' no ; a common man/ 
 
 ' I wouldn't put it pasht him to tackle even 
 a policeman.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said 43, with ineffable meaning. 
 
 'And as for dodging, he'd dodge the divil.' 
 
 ' He's not in the force,' said 43, chuckling 
 inordinately at his own wit. ' McGrath will 
 not find it so easy to take the police in, my 
 man, I can tell you.' 
 
 ' Ah, shure there's no desaivin' ye at all at 
 all,' said Barney, with wide-eyed admiration. 
 
 43 replied by closing one eye altogether for 
 two seconds. 
 
 ' Begor, it's locked ! ' said Barney, as they 
 reached the stable door. ' If we knew where 
 he was, now, we could get the kay.' 
 
 ' If we knew where he was, we shouldn't 
 w^ant the key, softhead.' 
 
 ' Barrin' he locked himself in.* 
 
 ' How could he lock himself in and it pad- 
 locked ? ' 
 
 ' Thrue for ye. Ye think of everything, 
 faith. There's the " Brown Jug," now,' he con-
 
 142 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 tinned, scratching his head reflectively. ' He's 
 always in the " Brown Jug," when he's at home ; 
 but I daren't go wid ye there. The boys 
 would bate me like a carpet if they seen me 
 wid ye.' 
 
 ' The " Brown Jug" ? That's in Limerick 
 Street. What kind of looking man is this Mc- 
 Grath ? ' asked 43, as they walked together 
 back to Knacker's Alley. 
 
 'What sort of a lookin' man is he? Faix 
 he's as fine a looking cliap as iver ye seen,' said 
 Barney enthusiastically. ' As shtraight as a 
 rush, and as shtrong as a bidl, wid a fine open 
 countenance like a peony. He's a bit like 
 meself when he's clane and day cent. Ye'd be 
 ike to take me for him if ye knew him.' 
 
 Poor Barney's pun was ominous, for, as 
 they emerged into the alley, there stood Nancy 
 confronting them. She had become uneasy at 
 the delay in the arrest, which she accounted 
 for by supposing that Barney was convincing 
 the policeman of the truth of his own version 
 of the fray ; and she had no sooner got Bob 
 into the house than she hurried down the alley 
 to reiterate her own account with tenfold fury. 
 It would probably liave turned out as she
 
 BAENET MCGRATH. 143 
 
 feared if Barney could have resisted the tempta- 
 tion of ' gammoning a bobby ; ' for his account 
 would have been corroborated by the fact of 
 his sobriety and Bob's drunkenness, by the 
 skillet in Nancy's hand, and perhaps by the 
 testimony of some bystander. Now, however, 
 Barney, like many a better man, had to pay 
 for being too clever, as nothing short of his 
 arrest could satisfy the outraged dignity of 43. 
 
 * Oh, ye've took him, have ye, the mur- 
 therin' mishcreant ? ' 
 
 'Who?' 
 
 ' Baste Barney, to be shure ! ' 
 
 ' No, we haven't found liim yet.' 
 
 ' Haven't what ^ And who's that shtanding 
 fut to fut wid ye .? ' 
 
 ' It's-^it's not ' 
 
 ' Yes, it's me,' said Barney, with the most 
 perfect composure, not to say complacency. 
 ' Has she been tellin' ye lies about me ? ' in an 
 accent of astonishment. 
 
 ' Lies ! ' screamed Nancy ; and then followed 
 a tirade of accusation, exclamation, abuse, and 
 scurrility, during which 43 had time to realise 
 the audacity and disgrace of the imposture 
 practised upon him.
 
 144 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' You come along with me,' he said savagely, 
 turning suddenly and collaring Barney. 
 
 ' Where am I to go to ? ' 
 
 ' To the devil,' cried 43, beyond himself 
 with rage. 
 
 ' I thought he wasn't in the force.' 
 
 ' What is it now, Barney ? ' asked Molly, 
 whom Nancy's shrill tirade had brought up 
 from her cellar, and who heard enough to know 
 that Barney was identified. 
 
 ' Faix, it's meself that doesn't know rightly, 
 Molly.' 
 
 ' There's nothin' but throuble,' said Molly ; 
 ' nothin'.' 
 
 ' Don't cry, mavourneen ; it'll all come 
 right.' 
 
 ' Will it?' said 43 ; ' we'll see. — Look here, 
 my good woman ' — to Nancy — ' you and your 
 husband must be in the court-house to-morrow 
 at eleven to give evidence. Do you hear? 
 — Come, my man.' 
 
 'Hould up, Molly. Find out thim in the 
 alley that seen the row, and ax 'em to come 
 spake the truth in coort.' 
 
 'Molly's reply was lost in the torrent of 
 filthy abuse which Nancy turned to pour out
 
 BARNEY MCGEATH. 145 
 
 upon lier, and Barney was led off in charge 
 of 43. 
 
 Molly was not successful in her attempt to 
 procure evidence. Under the twofold fear of a 
 police court and of Bob, Black George & Co., 
 every one denied either seeing the affair, or 
 seeing it distinctly enough to swear to. Bob 
 himself, as was to be expected, kept clear of the 
 court, Nancy accounting for his absence by in- 
 forming the Bench that ' they couldn't put a 
 sixpenny piece on any part of his body that 
 wasn't black and blue.' Her story, which she 
 told with such volubility and vehemence that it 
 had to be repeated three times over before the 
 Bench could make out all its bearings, was 
 strongly corroborated by 43, who felt that 
 Barney deserved the utmost punishment he was 
 likely to get, if only for the profane deception 
 he practised on a police officer, 
 
 Barney, to Nancy's amazement, admitted 
 having knocked Bob down, but explained that 
 he had done it in Sugg Lane, and not in 
 Knacker's Alley, and that he had done it in 
 defence of a lady whom Bob had assaulted ; 
 that he had accompanied the lady to Clifford 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Street and put lier into a cab, and that on his 
 return he was attacked by Bob, ' who was that 
 dhrunk he couldn't hit a hayshtack. I kep' 
 liim up as well as I could till Xancy came at 
 me wid a shkillet, your worships, and she'd 
 have tuk me a crack that Avould have knocked 
 daylight through me — for there isn't a woman 
 in the alley can come up to her wid a shtone in 
 the fut of her shtockin' — and, as I was sayin', 
 your worships, she sh truck at me from behind 
 wid a shkillet, and I ducked, and it tuk Bob in 
 the wind and floored him as flat as a tomb- 
 shtone. — Ye did, ye know ye did, ye shtrap,' 
 turning suddenly towards Nancy. — ' And thin,' 
 reverting as suddenly towards the Bench, ' and 
 thin I went to look afther the baste, your 
 worships, and whin I was comin' out of the 
 shtable I met the policeman, and he axed me, 
 says he, " Do you know where Barney McGrath 
 lives ? " says he. " I do," says I, " and well too ; " 
 and I showed him where I Uved, your worships, 
 I did,' concluded Barney, with a triumphant 
 expression of conscious honesty. 
 
 The presiding magistrate, no other than our 
 old friend Josiah Pickles, who was as domineer-
 
 BARIs'EY MCGRATH. 147 
 
 ing and dogmatic on the Bench as he was in 
 society, took the case wholly into his own hands. 
 He had hardly patience to hear it to its close, 
 for his natural prejudice against the Irish had 
 been quickened into abhorrence by their poli- 
 tical desertion of him at the last election. 
 
 ' Where are your witnesses ? ' he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 Barney looked vainly round the court. 
 
 ' The lady you rescued is here, no doubt,' 
 with a facetious look at his brothers on the 
 Bench. 
 
 Barney had once thought of sending to 
 Mabel, but all his associations with a court 
 made him imagine it a degradation to be sum- 
 moned there in any capacity, so he put the 
 thought chivalrously aside. 
 
 ' Ah, I thought not. Is there anyone here 
 who knows you and can speak to your 
 character ? ' 
 
 Barney again looked from face to face till 
 his eye lighted on Captain Markham, the chief 
 constable, with whom he, as a witness, had 
 once been brouglit into relation. 
 
 ' There's Captain Markham, the chief con- 
 stable, your worship, he knows me.' 
 
 L 2
 
 148 LOYE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' I know nothing whatever about you, my 
 man.' 
 
 Barney, with wonderful quickness, turned 
 even this to liis credit. 
 
 ' There, do you hear that ! ' he cried trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 ' He says he knows nothing about you.' 
 
 'And what could he say more nor that, 
 yere worships ? Shiure, doesn't he know every 
 thief and dhrunkard and bla-guard and bad 
 characther in Wefton as well as he knows his 
 own childhre ? Do ye think he wouldn't know 
 me if I was the likes of thim ? ' 
 
 Again poor Barney had to pay for being 
 too clever. His quickness served only to con- 
 vince the other magistrates of what LIr. Pickles 
 was convinced already, that his circumstantial 
 story was only an invention from end to end. 
 After a minute's consultation together, or rather 
 a minute granted graciously by Mr. Pickles to 
 his fellow- magistrates to consider and endorse 
 his sentence, that gentleman summarily de- 
 spatched the business : ' IO5., or seven days. 
 Call the next case.' 
 
 The fine was paid out of a pound which 
 poor Molly had scraped together by pawn and
 
 BARNEY MCGRATH. 149 
 
 loan, and Barney left the court with his faith in 
 the guardianship of the saints, etc., somewhat 
 shaken, and his hatred of the law as imper- 
 sonated by Josiah Pickles, M.P., intensified.
 
 150 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MISS MASTERS. 
 
 When Messrs. Lawley and Kneeshaw called to 
 remove Squire, they heard from his mother a 
 muddled account of the assault, from which it 
 appeared that Barney and Bob had a terrific 
 combat in Sugg Lane, with the result that Bob 
 was worsted in the field, but Barney in the 
 police court. 
 
 ' But Miss Masters ? ' interjected George 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Eh ! but shoo war flayed,^ they tell me.' 
 ' Shoo mud well be flayed ; aw'd 'ave been 
 flayed mysen,' burst in tlie inevitable and 
 irrepressible Mrs. Greenougli, who proceeded 
 then to recount, as a parallel case, an adven- 
 ture she herself had with ' a drufl[en man ' 
 when she was in an interesting condition, from 
 which she branched off to her different confine- 
 
 ^ * Flayed/ i.e. frightened.
 
 MISS MASTERS. 151 
 
 merits, the sex and name of each resulting 
 child, with its death under its proper date, or 
 its age, if living, the tjnranny of the School 
 Board, her Sarah Jane's extraordinary turn 
 for 'twining' a washing machine, and Mrs. 
 Slater's slatternliness in washing on a Thurs- 
 day, or even Friday, winding up with that 
 hearty burst of self-praise which closes a West 
 Eiding speech as naturally as the Doxology a 
 psalm. George, despairing of hearing anything 
 to the purpose in Mrs. Greenough's presence, 
 found out from Mrs. Lumb where Barney 
 lived, and leaving Squire in charge of Mr. 
 Lawley, hurried off to Knacker's Alley. 
 
 Meanwhile Barney sat gazing into the fire, 
 with his elbows on his knees and his head 
 between his hands, listening, or affecting to 
 listen, to Molly's scolding, but waking up to 
 unfeigned interest when she came to an inven- 
 tory of what she had pawned. 
 
 ' Ye didn't pop any of the childhre's bits of 
 things, did ye ? ' 
 
 ' Of coorse I didn't.' 
 
 ' Or any of yere own ? ' 
 
 ' 'Deed, thin, I did not, Barney,' said Molly, 
 softened a little by the knowledge that Barney's
 
 152 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 questions were inspired by his affection for 
 herself and ' the clnldhre.' 
 
 ' Sorra a ftirdin' bey and five shiUin' would 
 he give on my Sunday gownd, the thief of 
 the worruld ! an' it's high mass next Sunday.' 
 
 ' What did ye pop, thin ? ' asked Barney, 
 relieved. 
 
 ' A pair of breeches ' 
 
 ' Shurc, I thought ye said ye didn't pop yere 
 own things.' 
 
 ' Yerra, whisht wid yere nonsense I It's 
 jokin' ye'd be if they sould the bed from 
 undher us. A pair of breeches, the hxygends 
 of the saints — more be token, he called thim the 
 forty thieves, the haythen ! ' 
 
 'He tuk thim for Proteshtant saints,' said 
 Barney inopportunely, for just then George 
 appeared at the door. 
 
 Now Barney had come from a part of Ire- 
 land where what was called ' souperism ' was 
 rampant, i.e. the interested conversion of 
 destitute Komanists through soup kitchens, 
 etc. He therefore regarded, and had fair 
 reason for regarding, every Protestant clergy- 
 man with a mingled feeling of suspicion, aver- 
 sion, and contempt. It was only after a
 
 MISS MASTERS. 153 
 
 struggle that his effusive Irish hospitality so 
 far conquered these feelings as to give George 
 a not over cordial invitation to enter and take 
 a seat. Barney was resolved, however, to 
 possess his soul as a Turk keeps his wife — well 
 shut in — as the only certain security against its 
 corruption. He answered each question as laco- 
 nically as he could, lest he should give any 
 coign of vantage for controversy to take hold 
 of. ' Yes, he was in throuble.' — ' There wasn't 
 any fight. He knocked him down, that was 
 all.' — ' She was a bit frightened and sick-like, 
 and he put her into a cab.' — ' No, thank ye,' 
 very ungraciously ; for this was in answer to a 
 delicately worded request from George — in 
 which Barney at once scented souperism — 
 that he might be permitted to repay Barney 
 the amount of his fine. George, making all 
 allowance for Barney's soreness under a sense 
 of injustice, was disgusted, nevertheless, with 
 his surUness, and at once took leave, with a 
 curt apology for the offence he had given. 
 Molly was more than disgusted. 
 
 ' What's come to ye now ? Is it takin' 
 lave of yere sinses ye are ? " No, thank ye,"
 
 154 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 indeed ! an' not a bite or sup in the house for 
 the childhre ' 
 
 ' Would ye have me turn " souper " ? ' broke 
 in Barney impatiently. ' Ye may pop me 
 breeches, but I'm if ye'll pop me sowl ! ' 
 
 Barney could not lielp being spiritually 
 puffed up after this pious outburst ; but, fearing 
 the demoralising effect of Molly's eloquence, he 
 beat an immediate retreat, under the pretext 
 of looking after ' the baste.' He took the road, 
 however, not to the stable, but to the ' York- 
 shire Chicken,' in the hope that his religious 
 fortitude would be rewarded by Providence 
 putting it into some one's heart to treat him to 
 a pint of beer. Barney was little likely to be 
 disappointed. He was first favourite among the 
 frequenters of that hostelry, in part from his 
 generosity when he was in funds, and in part 
 from his being the only reveller of that choice 
 circle who could raise a laugh without being 
 disgusting. 
 
 While Barney was making for the ' York- 
 shire Chicken,' George was well on his way to 
 visit Mabel. He had vowed to avoid that 
 young lady, as he felt that to fall in love with 
 her would double the difficulty of a position
 
 MISS MASTERS. 155 
 
 which was becoming intolerable ; but he easily 
 persuaded himself that the merest politeness 
 required him to call and ask after her. He 
 rehearsed the interview many times over, 
 reducing it to the lowest terms of conventional 
 courtesy ; though, do what he would, day- 
 dreams, hke sunset clouds, obtruded them- 
 selves, and crossed and occulted this grey 
 groundwork. George was too young not to 
 indulge in what the Greeks aptly called the 
 Kevrj /xa/capta — the hollow happiness — of a 
 daydream. He envied even Barney's in- 
 glorious rescue of Mabel, and made it the 
 theme of infinite variations of dangers and 
 deliverances, in which he played the Eedcross 
 Knight to Mabel's Una. These soap bubbles 
 of men are not as harmless as those blown by 
 children, with all deference to Macaulay, who 
 attributed to castle building a great part of his 
 success. It is a kind of mental opium-eating, 
 which enervates the mind that habitually in- 
 dulges in it; and George, who took to it as 
 men take to opium — to escape harassing or 
 harrowing realities — felt, when the fit was 
 over, more helpless and unhappy than before. 
 He was roused from his reverie and recalled
 
 156 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 to his resolution by finding himself in the draw- 
 ing-room of the gynecium ; for the gynecium 
 which had been established in the days of deaf 
 Miss Murdoch as a necessity, had since her 
 death been maintained by Colonel Masters as 
 a luxury. Its drawing-room w^as a curious 
 and incongruous room, w^here the severe Doric 
 style of furniture and ornament introduced by 
 Miss Murdoch w^as overlaid, and yet rather 
 emphasised than concealed, by the florid 
 Corinthian taste of her successor. It was like 
 the stern stone statue in the ProloG^ue to the 
 ' Princess,' which Lilia had bedizened : — 
 
 Lilia had wound 
 A scarf of orange round the stony helm, 
 And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, 
 That made the old warrior from his ivied nook 
 Glow like a sunbeam. 
 
 The stiff straight-backed chairs and the hobble- 
 dehoy tables — all legs and elbows — were 
 adorned with gay, not to say garish, draperies 
 worked or chosen by ]\Iiss Masters ; while the 
 drab walls were hung with her paintings — glow- 
 ing fruit and flower pieces and a few startling 
 landscapes, which perhaps represented Nature 
 as she looked in Miss Masters' girlhood, before 
 the fashions had chanc^ed. There were also
 
 MISS MASTERS. 157 
 
 two portraits of Miss Masters herself, one 
 representing her as a child, holding a shell to 
 her ear and evidently listening intently — for 
 the admiring remarks of spectators ; the other 
 depicting her as a pensive maiden looking out 
 from a balcony into the night, not quite as 
 unconscious of observation as Juliet. With 
 the help of her paintings, these portraits, and 
 two pier-glasses, Miss Masters felt quite at 
 home in this room, in which she lived, and in 
 which George found her at work upon another 
 gorgeous group of flowers. She received him 
 witli exceeding graciousness, as she set his 
 visit dow^n to the impression she had made 
 upon him at LIr. Pickles' party. Of course w^e 
 do not mean that she imagined George to be in 
 a fair way of falling in love with her mature 
 charms (though more unlikely things had 
 happened) ; but she did him the justice to 
 think that he could not be insensible to the 
 contrast between her bearing, culture, and con- 
 versation, and those of the ladies of Wefton. 
 It never entered her head for a moment that 
 his visit might be meant for Mabel or Colonel 
 Masters, 
 
 ' How do you do, Mr. Kneeshaw ? It is
 
 158 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 really very good of you to come to see me. I 
 know I'm not in your parish,' she said, speak- 
 ing, as she always spoke, in gushes, as water 
 flows out of a bottle. 
 
 Politeness prevented George undeceiving 
 her by asking at once after Mabel. Not until 
 he had hoped Miss Masters liked Wefton, had 
 complained of the weather, and had admired 
 the painting in progress, did he venture to ask 
 if Miss Mabel Masters had recovered from the 
 shock of yesterday. 
 
 ' Oh, she's quite well, thank you, to-day. 
 When she came home last night, white and 
 trembling, and told me how she had been 
 frightened by a drunken man, I was quite 
 upset. I felt that I could never again go out 
 alone in Wefton. I have had such a horror of 
 drunken men ever since we drove over one in 
 Clifton, some years ago. It was terrible, 
 having to give evidence at the inquest, and 
 being in all the papers. Perhaps you remember 
 it? No? It was in the Times — nearly half a 
 column. Everv one was talkinc^ of it. You 
 may fancy how my nerves were shaken ! I 
 have not been myself since. The mere 
 mention of a drunken man upsets me. I don't
 
 MISS MASTERS. 159 
 
 blame Mabel. Poor thing, she was so un- 
 nerved that she forgot how I felt about it, or 
 I'm sure she wouldn't have mentioned it. One 
 cannot expect young people to be very consi- 
 derate, you know, Mr. Kneeshaw,' she said, 
 with an indulgent smile. 
 
 ' I'm afraid I must apologise also for my 
 want of consideration,' replied George with 
 becoming gravity. ' It was you I should have 
 asked after, and not Miss Mabel Masters. I 
 hope you have recovered from your agi- 
 tation.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you ; it's only upset me for the 
 moment ; though I'm afraid it will keep me 
 more at home than I like. I quite meant to 
 mix with the Wefton people ; but now, really, 
 I dare not venture out alone in such a place. I 
 daren't, indeed. Do you take an interest in the 
 Temperance Question, Mr. Kneeshaw ? I 
 understand that the clergy are taking it up. 
 And quite time too. It's a shame that one can 
 hardly walk or drive out in safety. Don't you 
 think something might be done to clear the 
 streets of these people ? ' 
 
 This view of the Temperance Question, as a
 
 160 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 minor brancli of the great Sewage Question, 
 was new and interesting to George. 
 
 ' Certainly, Miss Masters ; there might be a 
 system of moral drainage established to carry 
 them off to inebriate asylums, or they might be 
 carted out of the way by the scavengers. I 
 don't quite see, though, why you should blame 
 us clergy in the matter. It is the Town 
 Council, or the Police, I think, who are in 
 fault : — 
 
 Untaught knaves, unmannerly, 
 To leave a slovenly unhandsome corse 
 Betwixt the wind and your nobility.' 
 
 George was unnecessarily nervous after ventur- 
 ing upon this flagrant banter, for Miss Masters 
 took it in perfect seriousness, and hurried away 
 from the subject only because she feared she 
 was being drawn out of her depth. George 
 was infinitely relieved. He was provoked into 
 the rudeness of raillery by Miss Masters' 
 atrocious insensibihty to the wrongs of her 
 adorable niece ; but as this adorable being was 
 her niece, it would have been the worst policy 
 in the world to have ofiended her. 
 
 Fortunately nothing was further from her 
 thoughts than offence. She had no sense of 
 humour, and a deep sense of her dignity, and
 
 MISS MASTERS. 161 
 
 could not conceive that anything she said or 
 did might be held up to ridicule. Slie thought 
 George had expressed himself a little pedanti- 
 cally, perhaps, but with perfect propriety, and 
 was rather pleased to see her idea put into such 
 fine clothes by him. Her only misgiving was 
 lest she should lose the credit she had evidently 
 gained with him for sound sense by attempting 
 to follow the philosophic turn he had given the 
 subject. So she changed it. 
 
 ' I am glad you agree with me, Mr. Knee- 
 shaw, about these people. Mabel has such 
 queer notions. I'm sure I don't know where 
 she picked them up, but I do hope the fright 
 she got yesterday will shake them out of her. 
 You can't think what ideas she has about these 
 common people ; she says " they are the best 
 society in Wefton ! " ' 
 
 This was an epigrammatic version of Mabel's 
 answer to her aunt's reflection on her ' low ' 
 tastes in visiting among tlie poor : ' Eeally, 
 Aunt, they're not half as vulgar as Mr. Pickles? 
 or half as rude as ffiss Sugden.' 
 
 ' The best society in Wefton ! ' repeated 
 Miss Masters, lookin horror througli her 
 double eyeglass, which she never used in 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1G2 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 public, but had forgotten to take ofT upon the 
 announcement of a visitor. ' I'm sure, from 
 what I have seen of it, the society of Wefton is 
 quite as good as that of any of these manufac- 
 turing towns. I have stayed in Eoclidale. Do 
 you know anything of Eochdale, Mr. Knee- 
 shaw ? ' 
 
 ' Eoclidale ? I'm afraid I know it only as 
 beiniz celebrated for John Bric^ht and the first 
 co-operative society.' 
 
 ' Well, I should hardly call it the first, Mr. 
 Kneeshaw ; certainly not the first. You must 
 go South for the first society. Indeed, I was 
 going to say that the society in Eochdale was 
 not so select as that of Wefton.' 
 
 'I've never mixed with the co-operative 
 society of Wefton,' said George, who now felt 
 it safe to say anything, and was embittered by 
 despair of seeing Mabel. Miss Masters' atten- 
 tion being thus recalled to the word ' co-opera- 
 tive,' which she thouglit was a pedantic 
 expression of George's, and might mean either 
 a society of operatives or of manufacturers, 
 escaped committing herself farther by a second 
 change of subject. 
 
 ' Ah, you'll not have much time for visiting
 
 MISS MASTERS. 163 
 
 any but the sick, Mr. Kneeshaw. Mr. Gant 
 told me all about his work, and the immense 
 size of the parish — 3u,000 people ! He calls it 
 a diocese. A most devoted and self-sacrificing 
 clergyman. He sat beside me for nearly two 
 hours the other day at Mr. Pickles', and gave 
 me an account of all the funerals and weddings 
 and services he had to take. I forget how 
 many he said he had buried in one day ; or was 
 it married? It must have been married, I 
 think, for he said they took it so lightly. He 
 spoke so highly about marriage. I was quite 
 pleased. No ritualism, you know, or nonsense 
 about the clergy not marrying. Is he engaged, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw ? ' 
 
 This was the net result remaining in Miss 
 Masters' mind of a long discourse of Mr. Gant's, 
 in which he proved conclusively not only that 
 marriage was a sacrament, but that it was a 
 sacrament of which the laity alone might 
 lawfully partake — for Mr. Gant, after infinite 
 flirtations and entanglements, and one 'hair- 
 breadth escape ' from an ' imminent and deadly 
 breach ' of promise, now preached the celibacy 
 of the clergy with all the vehemence of apos- 
 tacy. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' He has no engagement at present — at 
 least, none that I know of,' said George, whose 
 attempt to express in this way the variety and 
 frivohty of Mr. Gant's flirtations was wasted on 
 Miss Masters. 
 
 ' Eeally ! I thought he must be engaged ; 
 his mind seemed so full of marriage. I am 
 quite in favour of clergymen marrying, Mr. 
 Kneeshaw,' she continued graciously, ^vith an 
 air that would have become an archbishop, 
 ' especially in the country. Gives them some- 
 thing to think of, you know. In our own parish 
 the clergyman, ]\Ir. Martin, is unmarried — I 
 may say an old bachelor. He has got into such 
 curious ways — candlesticks and confession ; 
 services every day and at all hours ; com- 
 munion Sundays and saints' days : all idleness, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw,' she decided, with a peremptory 
 nod of the head. 
 
 ' " Ye are idle, ye are idle, therefore ye 
 say. Let us go and do sacrifice," ' said George. 
 ' You'd have us marry on nothing, and make 
 bricks without straw. Miss Masters; a little 
 sharp connubial suffering and oppression would 
 whip the nonsense out of us. That accounts 
 for your present pastor's — Mr. Meekins' — Low
 
 MISS MASTEKS. 165 
 
 Churchism. He's in the house of bondage, I 
 think ? ' 
 
 Miss Masters was too much shocked to hear a 
 clergyman make a profane use of Scripture to 
 attend particularly to the use he made of it ; 
 and, being nonplussed now for the third time 
 by George's enigmatical ans^vers, she began 
 to form a poor opinion of his understanding. 
 Young men sometimes seem to imagine that the 
 way to be thought clever is to show off yourself, 
 and not to help others to show off. With Miss 
 Masters the mistake was deadly, as she would 
 much rather see her own face in the glass than 
 the finest picture ever painted. She was 
 coming, therefore, to regard George as stupid 
 and pedantic, and, worse than all, ritualistic. 
 Her abhorrence of ritualism, by the way, had a 
 more substantial basis than the ordinary pre- 
 judice against rehgious coxcombry. Once, 
 under Mr. Martin's ministrations, she had taken 
 very kindly to ritualism, and even (Mrs. 
 Grundy said ) to him ; but she was providen- 
 tially brought back to the Protestant faith by 
 his refusal to wear a stole she had worked for 
 him, in which the green was not the precise 
 shade enjoined on behevers, and by his
 
 166 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 advocacy of doctrines so extreme as those of 
 auricular confession and of the cehbacy of the 
 clergy. It was not without good reason, 
 therefore, that Miss Masters was disgusted with 
 ritualism, and with George for his obvious bias 
 that way. Disgusted with him as she was, 
 however, she could not bring herself to be 
 disagreeable. Her one aim in life was to be 
 universally voted charming, and she could not 
 endure to lose even a single vote. Besides, 
 George, whatever were his faults, had the m-eat 
 redeeming merit of being very much taken with 
 her, as his visit proved. Accordingly it 
 occurred to Miss Masters that c^ood manners 
 required her to be complaisant, let her visitor's 
 views be what they would. Taking George to 
 mean by ' the house of bondage ' not marriage, 
 but Low Churchism, she said, with a concilia- 
 tory smile, ' I rather incline that way myself, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw, but I don't try to persuade any 
 one into it. You need have no fear of my 
 attempting to lead you into '^ the house of 
 bondage," as you call it.' 
 
 George was hardly more amused by her 
 mistaking the application of his metaphor than 
 by her confidence in her controversial powers,
 
 MISS MASTERS. 167 
 
 and her merciful reL-^lve not to exercise them 
 on him. He was malicious enouc^h to set her 
 right as to his meaning. ' I am sorry you 
 should think me such a bigot, Miss Masters, as 
 to speak of Low Churchism as " the house of 
 bondage " — I meant marriao^e.' 
 
 Miss Masters was not in the least discon- 
 certed. On the contrary, she was pleased, as 
 she was always pleased, by an opportunity to 
 speak her mind on marriage, and so give her 
 friends some faint idea of the obstinacy and 
 obduracy of her objection to that state which 
 had resisted such a multitude of brilhant pro- 
 posals. These triumphs, to which she occa- 
 sionally referred, were not pure and conscious 
 invention. She took very ordinary for marked 
 attentions, which would, she considered, have 
 ripened into proposals under the sunshine of 
 encouragement, and she had merely to imagine 
 that she had not encouraged them sufficiently. 
 
 ' Oh marriage ! I beg your pardon. I 
 quite agree with you there ; quite,' she said, 
 with a most emphatic nod ; but, remembering 
 that she had just spoken approvingly of Mr. 
 Gant's appreciation of marriage, she added, ' I 
 mean, of course, as far as our sex is concerned.
 
 168 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 It's perfect slavery. I could never understand 
 how a woman with any self-respect could 
 submit to it. I am sure I was staying with my 
 married sister last year, near Louth, in Lincoln- 
 shire, you know ; and no one would believe 
 what a time I had. Three children in the 
 measles together, and Mr. Hancott, my brother- 
 in-law, laid up with bronchitis, and my poor 
 sister nursing them all, night and day. I w^as 
 left to myself altogether. Not a soul to speak 
 to. No one came near us, and we went 
 nowhere. If it wasn't that I was very fond of 
 painting, I really don't know what I should 
 have done, as my sister grudged every moment 
 she gave me ; in fact, I hardly saw anything of 
 her. That came of having a husband and 
 children to look after, Mr. Kneeshaw.' 
 
 Georae was not in a mood to rec^ard the 
 loss of Miss Masters' society as the crushing 
 penalty she considered it. Indeed, he had so 
 reconciled himself to it that he rose at this 
 moment to take leave, but was prevented by the 
 entrance of Mabel. 
 
 ' How do you do, ^Ir. Kneeshaw ? Have 
 you been long here ? You've come to tell me 
 about Squire, I know.'
 
 MISS MASTERS. 169 
 
 ' Well, no ; I came to inquire after you, 
 Miss Masters. I wa. very glad to hear that 
 you had recovered from the shock of 
 yesterday.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, thank you, quite. But how did 
 you, hear about it ? ' 
 
 George then proceeded to explain how he 
 had heard from Mrs. Lumb of Barney's knight- 
 errantry, and from Barney himself the true 
 particulars of the affair. 'He seems rather a 
 surly fellow,' he continued ; ' but, to do him 
 justice, he made very little either of what he 
 did or what he suffered on your behalf. And, 
 after all, it was enough to put any man in a bad 
 temper to be taken up and fined for doing the 
 work of the police.' 
 
 ' Taken up and fined ! ' 
 
 Mabel's exaggerated views both of the debt 
 she owed Barney and of the disgrace of a 
 conviction in a pohce court made this news 
 httle less than shocking to her. She horrified 
 her aunt by consulting George upon the 
 propriety of appearing to-morrow in court, 
 and getting the conviction quashed. Meantime, 
 and without a moment's delay, she must go 
 and see and console the hero and martyr.
 
 170 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Just, however, as she rang to send for a cab, 
 the maid appeared to say that a man named 
 McGrath was below, and wouldn't go away till 
 he had seen Miss Mabel. Please was she to 
 send for the police ? This was too much. 
 Mabel hurried downstairs with an apology to 
 George, only to return immediately in much 
 distress. The hero and martyr was in a rather 
 noisy stage of intoxication. Poor Barney had 
 been treated by a fellow-countryman not to 
 beer, but to whisky, which, as he had eaten 
 httle, took immediate effect on him, and made 
 him more heroic than ever. He couldn't rest 
 till he had expressed to Mabel his intention to 
 knock down for her sake, the Borough Bench 
 of Magistrates.
 
 17i 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 Barney's condition, which amused George and 
 horrified and disgusted Miss Masters, made 
 Mabel more miserable than ever. For this also 
 she was responsible, since it must have been the 
 disgrace of an unjust conviction which drove 
 Barney to drown thought. His state, therefore, 
 if it was not a credit, was hardly a reproach to 
 a man of such a nice sense of honour as Barney 
 had shown himself yesterday. This, indeed, 
 seemed so self-evident to Mabel that she not 
 only did not doubt it herself, but did not think 
 that anyone Avith right feeling could doubt it. 
 Accordingly George's cynical comments were so 
 ill received that he suddenly became sympa- 
 thetic and sentimental. He, too, at once began 
 to see that Barney's intoxication was of itself a 
 part of his martyrdom, and to take a deep 
 and active interest in his case. ' I think I had
 
 172 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 better see the poor fellow,' lie said, with much 
 feehng ; ' I shall be better able to manage him 
 than you.' While he and Mabel went down to 
 look after the sufferer, Miss Masters, who had 
 for some time been speechless with indignation, 
 in part because of being ignored during the 
 consultation, and in part because of the maudlin 
 and monstrous sympathy expressed in it towards 
 the abominable Barney, at last so far recovered 
 her presence of mind as to ring for the maid 
 and send her in haste for a policeman. But 
 Barney by this time was outside the jurisdiction 
 of the jDolice — if he had ever been fairly within 
 it. At the sight of Mabel he had ceased to be 
 noisy, and the shocked expression in her face 
 woke him up to a consciousness of not being 
 altogether presentable. She and George found 
 him leaning despondently against the back 
 door, and remonstrating sadly with himself. 
 Upon their appearance he broke off this conver- 
 sation with himself to explain the cause of his 
 condition at some length, and with many 
 apologies and parentheses. It appeared that 
 he had partaken of some cold potatoes, and it 
 was these that so upset him. Barney was cer- 
 tainly not happy in his choice of an intoxicating
 
 M.\BEL TO THE RESCUE. 173 
 
 food ; but it must be said for his account it was 
 so far true as that, on his retiu-n from the court 
 in the morning he had indulged in those deH- 
 cacies as the most palatable food he could find 
 in the house. He now made merely the com- 
 mon mistake of confounding post hoc with 
 'propter hoc. 
 
 ' What does he say ? ' asked Mabel, to whom 
 Barney's explanation, disguised by brogue, 
 drink, and parenthesis, was unintelligible. 
 
 ' He says,' replied George, with creditable 
 gravity, ' that he has 
 
 eaten of the insane root 
 That takes the reason prisoner.' 
 
 ' What ! ' 
 
 ' Cold potatoes,' said George sententiously. 
 ' He says it was some cold potatoes he ate this 
 morning that took this effect upon him.' It 
 was impossible for Mabel not to laugh a little 
 at the effect attributed to this fiery stimulant. 
 ' You see,' continued George, encouraged by 
 her amusement into a relapse of cynicism — 
 ' you see, it was just as you suggested. Miss 
 Masters, the disgrace of his conviction in the 
 court has driven him into the wildest dissipa 
 tion.'
 
 174 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' But what's to be done P ' asked Mabel, 
 recalled to seriousness and sympathy by the 
 mention of the court. 
 
 ' I should say brandy was the best thing to 
 counteract the effect of cold potatoes, if they 
 disagreed with one : unless he's a total ab- 
 stainer, lu that case, the best thhi£( would be 
 to put him into a cab and send him home.' 
 But when Mabel, approving of this last sugges- 
 tion, turned to send the discreet Jane for a cab, 
 she heard, to her consternation, that Jane had 
 been sent already by Miss Masters for a police- 
 man. George, however, volunteered both to 
 intercept Jane and the policeman, and to fetch 
 a cab ; and while he w^as gone on these errands, 
 Mabel ran upstairs to hnd her purse, thinking 
 to take advantac^e of Barney's state to have the 
 amount of his fine, etc., smuggled into his 
 pocket. When she had found it, and had with 
 some difficulty explained her design to her old 
 nurse — who, being Yorkshire, was not easily 
 made to understand how anyone in his sober 
 senses could refuse ' brass ' — she at last induced 
 that tetchy old body to come down witli her 
 and, if possible, slip the money into Barney's 
 pocket. But Barney was nowhere to be found.
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 175 
 
 George, Jane, the policeman, and the cab, were 
 all there together, but no Barney. Jane, being 
 an expert, had at once found her own police- 
 man, for whom she was so anxious to be sent, 
 but made the return journey ' linked sweetness 
 long drawn out,' by a wide detour, so that 
 George found the two only on his return with 
 the cab. Meanwhile, Barney having become 
 sufficiently sober to be conscious of tipsiness, 
 had ducked his head in the waterbutt, and so 
 far completed his cure as to feel shocked and 
 ashamed of himself, and as to be able to slink 
 homewards with fair speed and directness. 
 George, having dismissed the cabman with a 
 fare, and the policeman with a solatium, re- 
 turned for orders to Mabel. ' What next ? ' he 
 asked, with an amused smile. Mabel woidd 
 have liked to have had the derelict pursued and 
 towed out of danger, as she feared that Barney 
 would fall again into the hands of the police ; 
 but this, of course, she could not ask George 
 to do. Indeed, it was not without much com- 
 punction that she asked him to do the next best 
 thing. 
 
 ' I am really quite ashamed of putting you 
 to so much trouble, Mr. Kneeshaw, but I should
 
 176 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 be so much obliged if you could kindly call 
 some time and see if he got safely home. It 
 would be too bad if he was again taken up and 
 fined, or put in prison.' 
 
 'Of course I shall call to see him/ said 
 George. ' He's on my sick list, you know, 
 now, since his singular seizure this morning. 
 By the way, though, seriously, I ought to have 
 kept the cab, oughtn't I ? I should soon have 
 caught him up. It's not too late now, perhaps,' 
 he continued ; and seeing Mabel look infinitely 
 relieved at the suggestion, he bid her a hurried 
 goodbye, promising to let her know the result 
 early the next day. 
 
 In this way Barney's lapse became an unro- 
 mantic link in the chain of fate which bound 
 George. For Mabel, who had Barney's reha- 
 bilitation at heart, and could not of course 
 consult her father or aunt upon the business, 
 was driven to make use of Georf^e's counsel 
 and help ; and her childlike dependence upon 
 them completed his conquest. 
 
 May we hint here to these of the sex who 
 thirst for emancipation, that there is nothing so 
 winning to men who are worth winning — the 
 strong and self-reliant — as this childlike de-
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 177 
 
 pendence ? Their own instincts — at least a 
 mother's instincts — would tell them how love is 
 drawn out by dependence. A mother always 
 loves most the child that is most dependent 
 upon her — the baby at the breast more than 
 the upgrown son ; and of the upgrown sons, 
 him who is weakest in mind and body rather 
 than him of whom she has most reason to be 
 proud. And if we go down to mother's love, 
 pure, simple, and unsophisticated, as we find it 
 in the lower animals, we see that it wanes, 
 waxes, or ceases in precise proportion to the 
 dependence upon them of their young. It is 
 strongest when they are weakest, and weakest 
 when they are strongest, and ceases the mo- 
 ment they become independent of it. And 
 how much dependence has to do with love of 
 other kinds may be seen from this — that, as in 
 biography so in life, we love most the most 
 dependent characters — the Steeles and Gold- 
 smiths of our acquaintance ; and also from this 
 that our expressions of afiection are generally 
 (as, for instance, diminutives) expressive ot 
 dependence. All this being considered, we 
 conclude that when the relations between the 
 sexes are wholly reversed, and men are as 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 dependent on women us women are to-day 
 upon men, romantic love will again be possible ; 
 but that in the intervening and intermediate 
 state of things now dawning upon us, when 
 women come only abreast with men and have 
 not yet distanced them, there will be little 
 place left in life for love as distinguished from 
 passion. As for Mal)el, truth constrains us to 
 say that she had not even left Egypt, so that 
 the intervening desert, not to say the promised 
 land beyond it, was not in all her thoughts. 
 On the contrarv, her extravacrant veneration 
 for her father's judgment made her share, in 
 some degree, his extravagant contempt for her 
 sex's mental capacity, and gave her especially 
 an inordinately modest opinion of her own. 
 And this brings us back to the point from which 
 we started on our dry digression — Mabel's 
 childlike deference to George's judgment. 
 Here was a girl at once clever and beautiful 
 looking up to him with an unaffected and im- 
 plicit trust in his wisdom. To be sure it was 
 in a matter of no moment, but it was the 
 manner which intoxicated George, and might 
 well have intoxicated a less susceptible subject. 
 When he called the next morning — earlv, as
 
 MABEL TO THE EESCUE. 179 
 
 she had asked him — he found her alone, as 
 Miss Masters rarely put in an appearance before 
 noon. 
 
 ' I am so glad to see you, Mr. Kneeshaw ; 
 you don't know how impatiently I have been 
 expecting you,' she said, with a frankness 
 which showed her unconsciousness of George's 
 having any other interests than those of Barney 
 to serve by his visit. ' Did he get home 
 safely ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he's all right,' said George, who, to 
 tell the truth, had not Barney at this moment 
 much in his thousfhts. ' I overtook him in five 
 minutes, but nothing would induce him to get 
 into the cab ; so I dismissed it and dogged him 
 home to be ready to intercede in case the police 
 interfered. But he wasn't tipsy enough to be 
 meddled with. I'm not sorry I followed him, 
 though, for I found out I had done him an 
 injustice. I told you how surly he was when 
 I called yesterday morning. I thought it was 
 natural brutality, but it turns out he took me 
 for what his wife called a " souper " — that is, 
 as well as I could make out, a missionary who 
 wins souls with soup in Ireland, where they 
 seem cheap. She said he thought I meant 
 
 N 2
 
 180 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 to convert liim because I ofTered to pay his 
 fme ! ' 
 
 ' I wish he had taken it — at least — I mean/ 
 stammered Mabel, colouring at her vicarious 
 generosity, ' I wish he had let you pay it to 
 him from me.' 
 
 'To invest it in cold potatoes,' muttered 
 George, who, however, didn't think fit to men- 
 tion that Molly had taken the money from him 
 last night without the least religious scruple. 
 
 ' You must let me thank you for the offer, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw% if he didn't. It was my debt, 
 or part of my debt. I really don't know how 
 I'm to repay the poor fellow for all he has gone 
 through for me — unless,' she added brightly, 
 ' I borrow from you to pay him, like a des- 
 perate debtor. For I still Avant your advice 
 and help, Mr. Kneeshaw, if I haven't put you 
 to too much trouble about him already,' look- 
 ing appealingly at George. 
 
 ' I fetched a cab for him, and walked home 
 liis way. You could hardly ask me to do 
 more than that,' he replied, with a pleasant 
 irony more reassuring than an effusive offer of 
 
 help. 
 
 'I'm ah'aid I must, thouizli,' she said,
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 181 
 
 smiling. ' You see, Mr. Kueeshaw, my father 
 is so taken up with his studies ; and as for my 
 aunt, slie was quite disappointed that Barney 
 escaped the pohceman yesterday ; and I have 
 no idea myself what I ought to do to get his 
 sentence reversed. Must I appear in court ? ' 
 she asked anxiously. To appear in court 
 would be not only terrible in itself, but in its 
 consequences, for it would certainly bring 
 down upon her from her father a peremptory 
 prohibition of her work amongst the poor. 
 
 'It's too late for that now,' said Georcre. 
 ' By the w^ay, I saw the police- sergeant this 
 morning, and he told me something that gave 
 me a better opinion of our hero than, to tell 
 the truth, I had before. He said that he 
 himself told McGrath his only chance of es- 
 caping a fine or imprisonment was to call you 
 as a witness ; and when he refused, because, as 
 he said, the court wasn't a fit place for such as 
 you, the sergeant was certain his Avhole story 
 was an invention.' 
 
 Mabel started up and walked twice hastily 
 up and down the room with an emotion that 
 seemed out of all proportion to its cause. It 
 must be remembered that she could not look at
 
 182 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 a conviction in a police- court from Barney's, or 
 even from George's, pliiloscjpliic standpoint. 
 
 ' It was noble of liim ! ' she said, stopping 
 suddenly in front of George with her large 
 eyes as bright with admiration as if Barney had 
 led a forlorn ho})e. George also looked all 
 admiration, only its object was different. 
 ' What can I do, Mr. Kneeshaw ? ' she said, 
 reseating herself, and looking up wistfully at 
 George. 
 
 ' Well,' said George, ' I consulted three 
 experts — a magistrate, a dog-stealer, aud a 
 solicitor, all friends of mine — and all seemed 
 to think McGrath's character was less damaged 
 than his purse by the sentence. But,' he 
 hurried on to say, seeing gathering wrath in 
 Mabel's face, ' they thought the thing might be 
 set right either by the prosecution of the police- 
 man for perjury — which would hardly hold 
 water — or by a few words from the Bench next 
 Thursday. In the last case you need not, they 
 thought, appear at all, as a letter from you to 
 one of the magistrates — who would not, of 
 course, publish your name — would ])robably 
 be enough. My friend, the dog-stealer, by-tlie- 
 bye, saw the whole busmcss from first to last,
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 183 
 
 though a wholesome horror of the pohce, and a 
 modest appreciation of the weight which would 
 attach to his evidence, kept him from coming 
 forward yesterday. However, I induced him, 
 for old acquaintance' sake — for I had attended 
 him in smallpox — to go with me this morning 
 to the chief constable. I can't say that his 
 evidence had an overwhelming effect upon that 
 functionary — rather the contrary ; so I went so 
 far as to say,' continued George, hesitatingly, 
 ' that perhaps you would be kind enough to 
 see the great man.' 
 
 George seemed to have worked hard in the 
 few hours since Mabel had chartered him for 
 this service, and yet that young lady, in her 
 breathless interest in Barney's case, did not 
 pause, for the moment, to thank him, from 
 which it may be inferred that she at least was 
 heart whole. 
 
 ' I shall go at once to see him,' said Mabel, 
 half rising ; but, recollecting and reseating 
 herself, apologised to George for her rudeness. 
 
 ' I feel so helpless — putting you to so much 
 trouble on my account, and not being able to 
 do anything myself. I hope you don't think 
 me ungrateful, Mr. Kneeshaw ? '
 
 184 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' You haven't mucli to tliank me for, Miss 
 Masters ; and as to Mr. McGratli, lie certainly 
 can't complain of your ingratitude,' said George 
 — not satirically. If" Miss Eoxby had been as 
 demonstratively and disproportionately moved 
 by Barney's chivalry as Mabel had been, the 
 cynical Mr. Kneeshaw would have pronounced 
 her either hysterical or affected ; but Miss 
 Eoxby was not lovely — was, to say the truth, 
 rather unlovely ; and Mabel's childlike or, if 
 you Hke, childish impulsiveness made her look 
 lovelier than ever. An eighth of an inch of 
 eyelash more or less makes a great difference 
 in our moral judgments of a young lady ; so 
 that even if Mabel had affected the feelincr she 
 showed, George would have forgiven her ; 
 whereas, it had obviously taken her out of her- 
 self altogether, making lier forget herself and 
 George also, unfortunately, for tlie moment. 
 
 ' And as for feeling yourself helpless,' con- 
 tinued Georoe, ' you can do more for McGrath 
 by seeing the cliief constable tlian could be 
 done for him by anyone else or in any other 
 way. For I'm told tliat the wliole Bencli of 
 Magistrates together is not of equal authority 
 with Ca])tain Maikham in a case of tliis kind.'
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 185 
 
 ' When could I see him ? ' she asked 
 eagerly. 
 
 ' He said he would be at home from eleven 
 to half-past twelve.' 
 
 ' It's nearly twelve now,' she said, with a 
 piance at the clock and then at the door ; for 
 
 o 
 
 her aunt — who would certainlv do all she 
 could to frustrate the plan — was almost due. 
 
 ' It's not more than five minutes' drive 
 from here,' said George, rising resignedly, for 
 the short interview had been very sweet to 
 him. ' May I fetch you a cab ? ' 
 
 'Thank you very much, Mr, Kneeshaw. 
 To tell you the truth, I'm afraid of my aunt's 
 coming do'stn and upsetting our plan alto- 
 gether. I shall run up and put my things on 
 and be at the door before the cab comes.' 
 
 She was at the door as she promised, when 
 the cab drove up. George got out, handed 
 her in, and was about to shut the door when 
 she cried out in a surprised and dismayed 
 voice, ' Aren't you coming, Mr. Kneeshaw ? ' 
 
 Obviously nothing was farther from Mabel's 
 thoudits than his beinii in love with her ; 
 nevertheless, the invitation, despite of its frank 
 unconsciousness, was delii:^htful to him.
 
 18G LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' I sliall be only too glad, if you tliiiik 1 
 can be of any use.' 
 
 ' Any use ! ' she exclaimed, as George got 
 in. ' Why, you didn't really suppose I could 
 face by myself that terrible Captain, who is 
 equal to a whole Bench of Magistrates ? He'll 
 probably take me for another of your dog- 
 stealing friends. Will he cross-examine me ? ' 
 she asked anxiously, not without a real fear of 
 some such brutal and browbeating cross-exami- 
 nations as she had read in the papers. 
 
 ' It is only in public they cross-examine ; in 
 private they merely put you to the torture. 
 He may use the thumbscrews for form's sake,' 
 said George, looking at the little gloved hand 
 which held the windows-strap, with a lover's 
 lonsrinfr to have it in his own. 
 
 ' He will allow me to be chloroformed first, 
 of course ; ' and then, with sudden seriousness, 
 as if the thought struck her in full force for 
 the first time, she said, looking at him with 
 clear, earnest, honest eyes, as lui-self-conscious 
 as the eyes of a fawn, ' What trouble you have 
 taken, Mr. Ivneeshaw ! You must have done 
 nothing else since I saw you.' 
 
 ' I've done nothing since but eat and sleep.
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 187 
 
 I met my dog-stealer as I left McGrath's, and 
 tlie magistrate aud solicitor I dined with at Mr. 
 Marsden's. I only went a few yards out of my 
 way to arrange an interview for you with 
 Captain Markham, for wdiich you have every 
 reason to be grateful.' 
 
 'And so I am,' said Mabel heartily. ' It's 
 the only thing you've left me to do for my 
 hero. I hope he'll believe me,' she added 
 doubtfully. ' Shall I have to take an oath ? ' 
 
 It was impossible for George not to laugh 
 at the idea of anyone distrusting that face, or 
 suspecting her of collusion with a drunken 
 Irishman. 
 
 ' But, you know, he didn't believe your 
 other friend,' she said, in answer to his laugh. 
 
 ' No ; he said I should procure better 
 assurance than Bardolph,' said George, still 
 laughing. 
 
 • I like not the security,' said Mabel, 
 shaking her head — ' only a woman. He'll 
 think that I exaggerate, or that I took one man 
 for the other, or made some such other slight 
 mistake, as women, you know, always do.' 
 
 ' We shall see soon,' said George, ' for here 
 we are.'
 
 188 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mabel got out and walked with no little 
 trepidation into the awful audience chamber, 
 but was relieved to find a quiet and gentle- 
 manly-looking man, who in turn found her as 
 different as possible from what he expected. 
 Captain Markham, according to his custom, 
 had prepared himself for the interview by- 
 questioning those of the force who were hkely 
 to know anything about Miss Masters. It 
 turned out that she was nearly as well known 
 to the police as her fellow-witness, the dog- 
 stealer, but fortunately more favourably. She 
 was always going about doing good amongst 
 the poor of her own neighbourhood, and occa- 
 sionally of other neighbourhoods, was the 
 substance of their report. Captain Markham 
 accordingly pictured to himself either a second 
 Miss Batt — a sour-visaged Protestant old maid, 
 who served tracts like writs among the poor, 
 summoning them, under awful penalties, to 
 appear in church ; or a second sister Agnes — a 
 meek and insipid Anglican old maid who 
 symbolised her being dead to the world by 
 going about in a costume like a coffin lined 
 with a shroud. What was his amazement to 
 see certainly the loveliest face he had ever seen
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 189 
 
 — and Captain Markham had all a soldier's 
 susceptibility to beauty — and to find this new 
 sister of mercy as charming in bearing as in 
 person. Mabel, on the other hand, was hardly 
 less agreeably surprised to find Bluebeard 
 courteous, deferential, even apologetic. He 
 was so sorry that press of business prevented 
 him from waiting on Miss Masters. He hoped 
 she would forgive him for putting her to the 
 trouble to come to his office, and so on. This 
 was the first effect of Mabel's beauty upon the 
 gallant Captain, and the second was to secure a 
 most favourable hearing for her story. Indeed, 
 even if Mabel had been ill-favoured and ilJ- 
 mannered, her story, told with simple direct- 
 ness, would have convinced Captain Markham 
 that there had been a otoss miscarrias^e of 
 justice in Barney's case, though he would 
 certainly not have been so zealous to redress it 
 as he showed himself now. He rani? and asked 
 if Barker had returned. Barker was the 
 sergeant whom George had seen that morning, 
 and who had been sent at Geore^e's suo'o-estion 
 to make inquiry into the matter in Knacker's 
 Alley. He had now returned witli overwhelm- 
 ing confirmation of Barney's version of the
 
 190 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 affray in Knacker's Alley, to which Mabel 
 couldn't speak. In fact, every one in the alley 
 was eager to give unofficial evidence against 
 Bob and Xancy, who were hated as much as 
 they were feared, though all had a wholesome 
 horror of venturincj into court. 
 
 ' It's been a very unfortunate mistake for 
 McGrath,' said George. 
 
 ' Unfortunate ! My dear sir, it's the best 
 thing ever happened to him. I should say it 
 will be ten pounds in his pocket if it's a penny. 
 There's the Mayor two guineas ; Eoxburgh, 
 Eeed, and Palmer a guinea each ; Pickles 
 probably three guineas, or perhaps five, as it's 
 near an election,' calculated the Captain, 
 counting on his fingers the sums by which 
 the Bench of Magistrates were likely to 
 indemnify Barney for their mistake, and to 
 reward him for his chivalry-. ' Ten pounds ! if 
 it gets into the papers it will be nearer twenty. 
 He could drhik himself to death upon it ! ' 
 cried the Captain, with an emphatic nod 
 at Mabel, to confirm this assurance that her 
 hero would be Avell provided for. 
 
 George, seeing that the happy consumma- 
 tion suggested by the Captain had not a cheer-
 
 MABEL TO THE RESCUE. 191 
 
 ing effect upon Mabel, changed the subject by 
 asking if Miss Masters need take any other step 
 in the matter, such as that of writino^ to one of 
 the magistrates. This question touched the 
 Captain on two strong points — his gallantry 
 and his self-importance. 
 
 ' I have put Miss Masters to a great deal 
 too much trouble already,' he said, with a 
 deferential bow to Mabel ; ' the least I can do is 
 to take the case altogether into my own hands. 
 I shall lay the matter myself before the magis- 
 trates.' The words w^ere not weighty, but the 
 tone and manner in which they were uttered 
 were imperial — expressing at once infinite con- 
 descension and confidence. After this there 
 was nothing more to be said but thanks and 
 adieus. Mabel took leave without backins^ out 
 of the presence, since the great man himself 
 politely ushered her out, and George meekly 
 followed. While the Captain, on his return to 
 his office, was congratulating himself upon 
 another and most brilliant conquest, Mabel was 
 thinking that if the wisdom of Wefton was 
 represented by the Bench, and that of the 
 Bench by the Captain — as Mr. Kneeshaw had 
 suggested — perhaps men were not, really, after
 
 192 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 all, feo immeasurably superior in mental power 
 to women as her father maintained. 
 
 ' Will the magistrates really do as lie bids 
 them ? ' she asked George, not at all reassured 
 as to Barney's rehabilitation. 
 
 ' So Mr. Eoxburgh told me last night. 
 The Captain is really a very clever fellow, Mi<s 
 Masters, though he doesn't show to advantage 
 in ladies' society. Great soldiers, you know, 
 never do. I think McGrath's case safe in his 
 hands.' 
 
 Mabel had another trouble in reserve. 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw,' she said after a pause, ' do 
 you think I could get him to sign the pledge 
 with me ? ' 
 
 ' To sign it, certainly.' 
 
 ' But not keep it ? ' 
 
 ' Well, no ; I'm afraid not.' Another 
 pause. 
 
 ' I haven't courage to go again into that 
 alley. Mr. Kneeshaw, w^ould you mind going 
 there once more for me, and asking him to 
 come to see me ? I'm really ashamed of 
 putting you to all this trouble.' 
 
 Georixe was in'atcful even for this little 
 commission.
 
 193 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 'IN THE NET.' 
 
 Captain Markham had not miscalculated upon 
 the justice and generosity of the Weft on Bench, 
 as a whole, in the matter of the apology and 
 indemnity to Barney ; though Mr. Pickles did 
 not subscribe to either. He never had been 
 wrong in his judgment of men and things, and 
 it was little likely that he should be wrong now 
 in the case of a drunken Irishman. Captain 
 Markham, however, for a wonder, so carried 
 the Council with him that tliey overruled the 
 Pope, and Mr. Pickles had to content himself 
 with an intemperate protest against the public 
 apology and an angry refusal to have anything 
 to do with the subscription. The sum collected 
 amounted in all to thirty pounds, as the report 
 of the case in the papers attracted some sub- 
 scriptions from the public at large. It was an 
 immense sum to Barney, and held out to him a 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 fair prospect of spending the rest of his days in 
 delirium tremens. But tlie very day after he 
 received it from the hands of Captain Markham, 
 Barney took the pledge ! No one would believe 
 it, but it was true. Mabel had seized hold of 
 the moment when lie was utterly and abjectly 
 ashamed of the state in which he had presented 
 himself to her, and had so beset and bewildered 
 him that he lost all control over himself, and 
 signed the pledge. The thing did not seem so 
 terrible to him in the doing of it, but he had 
 not gone many steps from the house when what 
 he had done broke upon him in all its liorror. 
 He stopped to lean against a lamp-post, the 
 picture of remorse. Never more must he go to 
 the 'Yorkshire Chicken' or the 'Flute and 
 Fiddle,' and crack the best joke and sing the 
 best song. And the frequenters of those favourite 
 hostelries — what would they now think of him ? 
 He had for ever forfeited tlie esteem of eveiy 
 friend he had. The respect of his fellows — 
 that single consideration, which ballasts us 
 more than all other motives to morality put 
 together — was gone. And 3'et he had not 
 done this thing deliberately. He was suddenly 
 surprised, and, as it were, betrayed into it, and
 
 'IN THE NET.' 195 
 
 betrayed into it just at the moment when he 
 seemed most proof against temptation, not last 
 week, when he had not a penny, but to-day, 
 when he had heaps of money to spare and 
 spend in his favourite haunts. Certainly the 
 ways of Providence were inscrutable — as in- 
 scrutable to Barney as to Henry IV. : — 
 
 She either gives a stomach and no food, 
 Such are the poor, in health : or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach, such are the rich, 
 That have ahundance and enjoy it not. 
 
 At this miserable period of liis meditations 
 Barney turned back towards the house, not to 
 rail the seal from off his bond, but to ask the 
 fair Mephistopheles, to whom he had sold him- 
 self, to help him to keep the compact. 
 
 ' What is it, Barney ? ' Mabel asked anxi- 
 ously, upon his re-appearance. She feared he 
 had come back already to repudiate his pledge. 
 
 ' It's this, Miss,' said Barney, in the tone of 
 a man who was making upon the scaffold a last 
 disposition of his effects. ' It's no use to me 
 now,' handing her the purse of sovereigns. ' If 
 you wouldn't mind keeping it. Miss, for Molly 
 and the cliildhre, and giving thim a shillin' or 
 two a week out of it.' 
 
 2
 
 196 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mabel would have been amused at the 
 testamentary tone of the request if it hadn't 
 expressed so plainly and plaintively the sacrifice 
 she had just induced him to make. 'Couldn't 
 you put it into the bank, Barney ? ' 
 
 ' Is it the likes of Molly to set her fut in a 
 bank ? ' 
 
 ' Well ; would you ask Mr. Kneeshaw to 
 take charge of it ? He would know best how 
 to invest it ? ' 
 
 ' The parson ? ' asked Barney, in a very 
 doubtful tone. 
 
 ' Or there's your o^vn clergyman,' sug- 
 gested Mabel, answering rather the tone than 
 the question. 
 
 ' Father Quin ! ' exclaimed Barney, in a 
 tone not now doubtful at all, but decidedly 
 adverse ; ' shure, he's building a mission 
 chapel.' 
 
 Since this objection was urged as obviously 
 fatal, Mabel fell back upon ^Ir. Kneeshaw. 
 
 ' I think you might trust Mr. Kneeshaw, 
 Barney.' 
 
 ' Why wouldn't I thrust him, why ? 'Tisn't 
 that at all. Miss ; but what am I to sa}' to 
 Father Quin when he calls — and faith, he's as
 
 *IN THE NET.', 197 
 
 shure as the gas-rate to call, if he reads of my 
 bit of luck in the papers ? " Well, McGrath," 
 he'll say, " what are you going to do wid that 
 bit of money," he'll say, " are you going to 
 make your sowl up wid it ? " he'll say. Shure, 
 I couldn't have the face to tell his rivirence I 
 gev' it to a souper.' 
 
 ' Well, then, I'll take cliarge of it, Barney, 
 if you'll allow me to ask Mr. Kneeshaw what's 
 best to be done with it.' 
 
 ' In course you may. Miss, and thank ye 
 kindly for all the throuble ye re takin' about it. 
 There's a mather of twenty-three pounds. Miss, 
 left ; as I gev' Molly five pounds and kep' one 
 pound for Father Quin's chapel, and thrated 
 the boys wid another.' 
 
 ' Barney,' said Mabel, putting her soft 
 white hand entreatingly on his sleeve, ' you 
 will keep teetotal, won't you ? ' and her eyes 
 and voice, imploring as her hand, would have 
 converted Bacchus. 
 
 ' I will. Miss, I will,' said Barney, gathering 
 himself together as for a supreme efibrt, and 
 going forth from the house as on a forlorn 
 hope. 
 
 Barney was not far wrong about Father
 
 198 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Quin, whom he found waiting for him on 
 reaching home. 
 
 'Glad to see you, McGrath,' said the 
 worthy Father ; * what about tliose plants you 
 were to brin£( me ? ' 
 
 ' Shure, your rivirence, ye didn't order 
 thim ; ye only talked about ordering thim.' 
 
 ' Of course I ordered them. You may 
 bring half-a-dozen — let's see ; how much are 
 they each ? ' 
 
 * They're sixpence aich to ye^ yere rivi- 
 rence.' 
 
 ' Sixpence each. I'll say a dozen, then. 
 You can bring a dozen of them to my house 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Thank yere rivirence.' 
 
 ' Let them be hardy ones that will stand 
 the smoke, you know. Father Hanlon says 
 that he couldn't get those you sold him to 
 grow in his garden.' 
 
 ' His garden ! Hear that now ! Begor, 
 it's for all the worruld like the back of an 
 elephant in a menagerie — hard, dry, and 
 cracked, wid an odd bristle of grass here and 
 there ! To think of anj- dacently brought up 
 plant livin' in it ! But any plant would be at
 
 ' IX THE NET.' 190 
 
 home in yere place, yere rivirence,' said Barney, 
 not unconscious of the rivalry between Fathers 
 Qiiin and Hanlon as to what they were pleased 
 to call their gardens. 
 
 ' Well, we shall see. Bring them and 
 plant them yom^self, so that they may have 
 every chance.' And then the good Father 
 began to talk about the children, whom he 
 patted on the head in turn, being especially 
 taken with the baby. Hearing, however, that 
 it was not yet baptized, nor its mother 
 churched, he gave the parents a genial scolding, 
 and exacted from them a promise to have both 
 these neglects repaired upon the following 
 Sunday. On rising to leave, he suddenly be- 
 thought him, before he reached the door, of 
 Barney's good fortune. ' Oh, by the way, 
 McGrath, I nearly forgot to congratulate you. 
 You have been distinguishing yourself, I hear. 
 In fact, it's in all the papers. I'm sure I was 
 proud to see a good Catholic so spoken of, 
 and, better than spoken of, most handsomely- 
 rewarded. How much was it, eh ? ' 
 
 ' Thirty pounds, your rivirence,* said 
 Barney, who wished heartily now that he 
 hadn't, on his way home, given to a needy
 
 200 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 friend half of the sovereign he had intended for 
 the mission chapel. 
 
 ' Thirty pounds ! ' exclaimed the astonished 
 Father, with raised eyebrows — ' a most magni- 
 ficent present ! What are you going to do 
 with all that money ? I know what you are 
 going to do with some of it, my son ; yes, yes, 
 I've not been mistaken in you. I'll be bound 
 the first thing you thought of was the mission 
 chapel. Wasn't it now ? I thought so ; I 
 thought so,' said the delighted Father, as 
 Barney fumbled desperately in his pockets, and 
 produced at last — half-a-sovereign ! 
 
 ' Oh, ten shillings ! ' cried the Father, with 
 a sudden change from the most genial to the 
 most scathing manner. ' You haven't made a 
 mistake, have you? It wasn't sixpence you 
 meant to give me? No? Oh, thank you — 
 thank you very much — good evening ! ' 
 
 It must be remembered that, after all. 
 Father Quin was not begging for himself, but 
 for a mission chapel, that would give him a 
 deal more work without more pay. At least 
 the motive, if not the mode, of his begging 
 was commendable. 
 
 Next day, Avhen Barney had brought and
 
 'IX THE ^'ET.' 201 
 
 put in the plants and presented himself for 
 payment, Father Quin was freezing in his re- 
 ception of him. ' Ah ; you've put them in, 
 have you ? ' 
 
 ' I have, yere rivirence.' 
 
 ' You're sure they'll live ? ' 
 
 ' I'm shure they will, yere rivirence.' 
 
 ' Then you're sure of getting paid. I shall 
 pay you if they live ; not otherwise. Good 
 morning, McGrath.' 
 
 Barney didn't mind much the Father's 
 refusal to pay, but the rasping manner of his 
 refusal was exasperating. However, on the 
 following day — Sunday — when he, Molly, and 
 the baby presented themselves, according to 
 promise, Barney was still civility itself, until 
 the ceremony was over and the fees demanded. 
 
 'Do ye think, now, he'll hve, yere rivi- 
 rence ? ' asked the anxious father, looking down 
 on his newly christened babe. 
 
 ' There isn't much doubt of that,' said 
 Father Quin, touching with two fingers the 
 chubby cheek of the child. 
 
 ' Thin there isn't much doubt but ye'll be 
 paid, yere rivirence. If he lives, I'll pay ye. 
 Good morning to yere rivirence.' And before
 
 202 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 the amazed Father had recovered liimself so far 
 as to be able to articulate, Barney had hurried 
 Molly out of the chapel. 
 
 Father Quin took Barney's revenge, when 
 he had realised it, in an unlooked for way. It 
 was evident that he wasn't angry, or merely 
 amused, for he chuckled and rubbed his hands 
 together with an unaccountable self-compla- 
 cency. In truth, the thought that came to the 
 top in his mind was this : ' That will make a 
 good story.' Story- telling was the good 
 Father's forte. Amonc^ the first of the few 
 innocent pleasures permitted to his cloth are 
 eating a good dinner and teUing well a good 
 story — two things that, of course, go together, 
 as a good story-teUer is sure of a good dinner. 
 Now Father Quin was a capital story-teller, 
 and owed to his eminence in the art his welcome 
 at some of the best tables in Wefton. No 
 sooner, therefore, had he realised Barney's 
 facetious revenge than he set to, like a skilled 
 chef^ to prepare the story for presentation at 
 table ; and was so pleased with his successful 
 transformation of it, in his own mind, into 
 something which would certainly tell, that he 
 began to feel quite kindly towards the man to
 
 ' IX THE XET.' 203 
 
 whom lie owed it. 'I must cultivate that 
 fellow/ he thought; and when, at a dinner- 
 party on the day following, the story, owing to 
 his telling, turned out as great a hit as he 
 expected, he was in the best possible mood for 
 reconcihation with Barney at their next 
 encounter. Meanwhile, Barney had repented 
 of his irreverent audacity. Molly, who antici- 
 pated nothing less than excommunication as its 
 penalty, led him a harassed life of reproach, 
 and Barney himself was not at all comfort- 
 able as to the spiritual punishment appropriate 
 to his sacrilege. He was infinitely relieved, 
 therefore, as he was slouching shamefaced at 
 the off side of his ' baste ' past the good Father, 
 two or three days after, to hear himself cheer- 
 fully and even cordially accosted by ' his 
 rivirence.' 
 
 ' Is that you, McGrath ? We're quits now, 
 aren't we ? ' 
 
 'Indeed, thin, we're not, your rivirence,' 
 answered Barney, with much presence of mind. 
 ' I'm ten shillings to the bad wid ye yet.' 
 
 ' How's that ? ' asked his reverence, in a 
 surprised tone. 
 
 Barney then told the whole story of his
 
 204 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 entrusting the money to Miss Masters, -with the 
 reservation of a sovereign for the mission 
 chapel, half of which Mat Kenny had coaxed 
 out of him on his way home. 
 
 ' But here it is, yere rivirence,' said Barney, 
 handinijr it over with a cheerful confidence of 
 forgiveness. But to his surprise, the good 
 Father seemed more aggrieved by the peace 
 offering than by the offence it was meant to 
 gild over. In fact. Father Quin was affronted 
 by Barney's banking his money with anyone 
 but his parish priest, though of course he wa,s 
 too proud to complain of the shght. 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Masters ; that's the young lady 
 you rescued,' said lie, after lie had coldly 
 accepted the half-sovereign. ' She gives you 
 tracts, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Sorra a thract, yere rivirence. It's her 
 hfe that's a thract,' said Barney enthusiasti- 
 cally, and proceeded to tell the priest all 
 the good she did, and the last and most won- 
 derful work of all — his own conversion to tee- 
 totalism. 
 
 ' She's made a teetotaller of you, has she ? 
 She'll be making a heretic of vou next.' 
 
 ' Is that the next best thing, yere rivirence .^ '
 
 ' IN THE NET.* 205 
 
 asked Barney, irritated by sucli an imputation 
 on his goddess. ' If she can make anything at 
 all of me, she'll not make me worse than 
 I am.' 
 
 ' Not much room on that side,' said Father 
 Quin drily. 
 
 • 'Deed, thin, that's thrue,' throwing back 
 his head despondently. 
 
 ^ Well, McGrath,' said the worthy Father, 
 appeased by Barney's humility. ' I've been 
 doing you a good turn ; good for evil, you 
 know. I met Mr. Mullen at dinner the other 
 night, and recommended him to order all his 
 bedding-out plants from you.' This was not 
 strictly true. Mr, Mullen was so tickled by 
 Father Quin's improved version of Barney's 
 revenge that he spontaneously vowed he would 
 buy all his plants in future from the hero of 
 the tale. ' I hope you'll do credit to my 
 recommendation. No use trying to do him^ I 
 can tell you. He's a deal harder man to deal 
 with than I.' 
 
 ' Not much room on that side,' muttered 
 Barney, under cover of stooping to pick up his 
 whip. Nevertheless he had not the least 
 compunction in saying aloud, ' He might aisy
 
 206 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 be that, yere rivirence. If all my customers 
 were like ye, yere rivirence, faix, it's in a bether 
 worruld I'd be to-day,' looking up at Father 
 Quin witli an expression of such absolute 
 innocence that the priest felt quite ashamed of 
 his suspicion of the double -entente. Still, as the 
 only transaction Barney had with Father Quia 
 was the one we have recorded, and as a 
 succession of such transactions would have sent 
 him to a better world, by starvation, it was 
 not safe to accept the compliment seriously. 
 
 ' Yes, it's a wicked world, McGrath ; but 
 the wickedness is not all on one side. There's 
 a little left for the market-gardeners. What 
 about Father Hanlon's plants ? ' 
 
 ' Do ye think, yere rivirence. Father Hanlon 
 is responsible for all the childhre he cliristens 
 out of Haggis Alley? They're good enough 
 when he christens 'em, God bless 'em, but 
 nothin' could grow up good in that hole. And, 
 shure, it's the same wid thim other flowers. 
 Don't ye know yereself, yere rivirence, that 
 Father Ilanlon can't get a dacent blade of 
 grass to grow, barrin' he grows it undher a 
 tumbler ? But there's thim that tliinks ilowei^s 
 '11 grow in a chimbley ! '
 
 ' IN THE NET.' 207 
 
 ' You'll be calling my garden a chimney 
 next.' 
 
 ' Not if tliim plants grow, yere rivirence/ 
 with a humorous twinkle. 
 
 Father Quin was rather tickled by Barney's 
 so turning the tables as to put the garden and 
 not the plants upon trial. 
 
 ' Well, you'll have no fault to find with 
 Mr. Mullen's garden, anyway, McGrath. You'd 
 better call to-day, and say I sent you.' 
 
 ' I will, yere rivirence, and thank ye kindly 
 for spakein' a good wurrd for me.' 
 
 It will be seen that Barney was not only 
 a greengrocer in a small way, but also in 
 a small way a middle man between the 
 nurseryman and the public. The last was 
 not a paying trade, but Barney's passionate 
 love of flowers made him stick to it at a loss 
 which to him was sometimes considerable. 
 And now the probability of getting Mr. 
 Mullen's custom encouraged a wjld dream 
 which had been in his head since he became 
 a teetotaller. His one chance of keeping the 
 pledge, he felt, lay in his escape from 
 Knacker's Alley and its associations, and in 
 his finding employment for his evenings. If
 
 208 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 only he could get a bit of a garden, such as 
 he had once in the old country, it would be 
 the saving and the making of liim, he thought. 
 He must see Miss Masters and ask her about 
 investing his money in this way. Xo sooner, 
 then, had Father Quin left liim than, ^nth 
 Irish impulsiveness, he turned the ' baste ' 
 round and made for the Granire. 
 
 Barney's recourse to his guardian angel 
 involved the guardian angel's recourse to 
 George ; and in this way Bai'ney's fortunes 
 became entangled with those of our hero and 
 heroine, and his plans came to clash with 
 George's. For George, now realising fully 
 the danger of seeing much more of Mabel, had 
 resolved to keep as clear of her as he could. 
 Of w^hat force were his virtuous resolutions, 
 liowever, in the face of this business-like 
 despatch ? 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Kneeshaw, — Could you kindly 
 call any morning, between eleven and one, 
 when you have a minute or two to spare ? I 
 am really ashamed to have to trouble you 
 again, but Bayard ' — George's satirical name 
 for Barney — 'Bayard has put the money 
 subscribed for him into my hands, and I have
 
 ' IN THE NET,* 209 
 
 no idea what to do with it. I advised him to 
 take it to you, but he didn't seem to hke 
 troiibhng either you or his own clerg3mian 
 with it, though he consented to my asking 
 your advice about investing it. I'm afraid 
 you'll think the kindness you have shown in 
 taking so much trouble already in the matter 
 a poor excuse for putting you to more ; but 
 it's the only one I have to offer. 
 
 ' Believe me, truly yours, 
 Mabel Masters.' 
 
 Now there are two things about this letter 
 that every young lady will disapprove of. 
 First, that it was written at all, and secondly 
 the style in which it is written. It was 
 certainly not young-ladylike either to write it 
 at all or to write in that style. It is such 
 a letter as the late lamented Miss Murdoch 
 might appropriately have written; and this, 
 which is the worst thing, is also the best thing, 
 that can be said for it, since the motherless 
 Mabel had been educated by that grim 
 spinster, to whom the proper pronunciation 
 of the French vowel U and the formation of 
 a literary style anything but feminine, had 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 seemed of much more importance than the 
 cultivation of conventional proprieties. 
 
 George was not only enough in love to 
 think the letter all that it should be, but he 
 was so fond (the reader may take the word in 
 either its old or new sense, according to his 
 own age) as to put it among his treasures, and 
 to hurry off towards the Grange, long before 
 the earliest hour mentioned in it. In fact, 
 he had what seemed an age to hover about 
 the house, like a bird about its nest, before 
 his watch told him it was time to ring 
 the bell. Where now was his stoic reso- 
 lution ? It was not in all his thoughts. The 
 verv mood of mind in which it was formed 
 was dim as a dream to him. The feeling he 
 thought he had securely dammed had burst 
 the barrier, and now with accumulated force 
 swept all before it. The reader was not 
 prepared for such an outburst ? George him- 
 self was not prepared for it. Like the fisher- 
 man in the ' Arabian Nic^hts,' he is amazed to 
 see the power which one moment seemed 
 sealed securely in its phial, tower the next 
 moment to the sky, and fill the earth with its 
 shadow.
 
 'IN THE NET.' 211 
 
 The change in George was so marked that 
 even the self-absorbed Miss Masters might have 
 noticed it, if she had been present. As for 
 Mabel, who was the quickest observer in 
 Wefton, she remarked it in a moment. She 
 was not now absorbed with anxiety about 
 Barney, and she took in, therefore, indications 
 that escaped her before, and which besides 
 were now so much more pronounced. It is 
 astonishing how instinctively girls, even 
 children, and even those who, like Mabel, have 
 not a particle of vanity in their nature, recog- 
 nise the most suppressed admiration. About 
 George's admiration, however, there was no 
 mistake. He had lost all his cynicism and 
 self-possession, and become timid, deferential, 
 even reverential. He was — if the ladies will 
 forgive a most unromantic metaphor — hke a 
 crab which has shed its shell, and which, from 
 being the most self-reliant and aggressive of 
 creatures, suddenly becomes meek, self-dis- 
 trustful, and retiring. And what was the 
 effect of his evident infatifrtion on Mabel ? It 
 may be taken as certain that a young lady 
 rather despises a man for adoration, which she 
 does not in some degree reciprocate — a remark, 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 by the way, which is stolon from Bacon. 
 Mabel did not despise George. His admiration 
 had the effect of precipitating a feeling which 
 had before floated in vague solution in her mind, 
 indefinite and unrecognised, but which now 
 took the solid shape of liking. It is not worth 
 while giving what passed between them at this 
 interview. It had as much to do with what 
 was passing in their minds as the soughing of 
 the wind through the telegraph wires has to do 
 with the electric messages flying along them. 
 As for Barney's business, it was a matter of 
 such moment that George would have to think 
 over it, and consult experts, and come again 
 to-morrow to tell Mabel the result. Next day 
 it was found that there were two or three 
 other things to be inquired about and reported 
 on, and even when those were decided, it was 
 necessary for Mabel to see Bayard and get his 
 consent, and transmit it at a fourth interview 
 to George. Barney, however, saved Mabel 
 the trouble of sending for him by turning up 
 with his own scheme for the investment of his 
 fortune. This, again, must be communicated 
 to George. But how? Certainly not by
 
 'IN THE NET.' 213 
 
 letter now ; from which it will be seen that 
 Mabel was in a fair way of falling in love. She 
 succeeded in inducing Barney to call himself 
 upon George, and lay the matter before him.
 
 214 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EEPAEATION. * 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Pickles was forging another 
 link in the chain by which George was being 
 bound. The chairman of one of his local 
 committees, Mr. Jonas Barraclough, brought 
 him an important report one evening. Mr. 
 Barraclough was a pompous and ponderous 
 man, who would give importance to any report. 
 He had no doubt that Mr. Pickles owed his 
 seat to Mr. Jonas Barraclough's influence, and 
 that Mr. Jonas Barraclough owed his influence 
 to his oratory. His idea of oratory was 
 shortly this — never to use one word, or a word 
 of one syllable, where three words or a tri- 
 syllabic word would serve the same purpose. 
 He would, so to speak, change a sovereign into 
 two hundred and forty pence, and imagine that 
 its value inceased with its bulk. Mr. Barra- 
 clough was sliown into a room set specially
 
 REPARATION. 215 
 
 apart by Mr. Pickles for the reception of his 
 constituents. Its walls were adorned with 
 plans or pictures of the schools, hospitals, 
 churches, or chapels he had helped to build, 
 and with photographs of his local committees 
 in groups, and portraits of their respective 
 chairmen. There were also two emblazoned 
 and, indeed, blazing addresses hung at either 
 side of a magnificent portrait in oils of the 
 gentleman to whom they were presented — 
 Josiah Pickles, Esq., M.P. — while on each side 
 of the fireplace were bookcases stored with 
 blue-books, reports, etc., reheved by the light 
 literature of the quarterlies. 
 
 In this reception-room Mr. Barraclough was 
 left some time alone, admiring the counterfeit 
 presentment of himself ; for it was a rule with 
 Mr. Pickles to allow his constituents time to 
 digest the significance of these ornaments, that 
 their imagination might thereby be helped to a 
 conception of the greatness and goodness of 
 their representative. The genius loci^ however, 
 did not affect Mr. Barraclough, in part because 
 he was fascinated by his own portrait, and in 
 part because there was no room in his mind to 
 take in any other greatness and goodness than
 
 216 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 his own. He was still admiring his portrait, 
 with his head a good deal on one side, w^hen 
 Mr. Pickles at last appeared. 
 
 ' How do you do, Mr. Barraclough ? Take 
 a seat, sir ; take a seat,' said Mr. Pickles, in his 
 sharp and decisive manner. 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Pickles, sir,' replied Mr. 
 Barraclough, slowly seating himself, and pro- 
 ceeding in a very measured and impressive 
 manner to answer the question ' How do you 
 do ? ' as a question of the utmost importance. 
 
 ' I am tolerably well, sir. I had a bad cold 
 last week, and my chest seemed, I may say, 
 choked with phlegm. But I expectorated a 
 good deal ; I always expectorate when I have 
 a bad cold, sir,' pausing and looking at Mr. 
 Pickles with the evident expectation of some 
 expression of surprise, or at least of interest, 
 which extracted from ]\Ir, Pickles, ' Oh, in- 
 deed ? ' 
 
 • Yes, sir ; I always expectorate a good deal 
 when I have a bad cold. I think, Mr. Pickles,' 
 he continued, with the manner of a man who 
 was venturing on a daring hypothesis, ' it to 
 some extent relieves the lungs of the accumu- 
 lated phlegm. But, sir, I am better now, a
 
 REPARATION". 217 
 
 good deal better. In fact, I may say quite 
 well, thank you/ 
 
 ' I am glad you are, Mr. Barraclough.' 
 ' So am I, sir ; so am I,' heartily, as if his 
 assent must be a gratifying surprise to Mr. 
 Pickles. ' If I had not been quite well I 
 should hardly have ventured out so late to- 
 night, Mr. Pickles, though I have come on 
 important business ; I may say on business of 
 considerable importance.' 
 
 ' Political business, Mr. Barraclough ? ' 
 ' Well, sir, looking at it from the point of 
 view of politics, you might call it pohtical 
 business. It is so far political business, sir, as 
 it concerns the character of pubhc men — of 
 personages of some pohtical importance and 
 prominence.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Mr. Pickles vaguely. Mr. 
 Barraclough's style was more intolerable to him 
 than to most men, as being the very opposite 
 of his own short, sharp, and decisive manner ; 
 but he had to pay Mr. Barraclough's claims 
 upon him as graciously as any other extortionate 
 election charges. 
 
 ' You will not be unaware, Mr. Pickles,' 
 Mr. Barraclough resumed, 'that an accident
 
 218 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 not unattended with serious consequences, 
 happened to your son, sir, ^Ir. Clarence Pickles, 
 a short time ago.' Here Mr. Barraclough 
 paused to make quite sure that the father had 
 heard of his son's hairbreadth escape from 
 death. 
 
 ' Yes ? ' said Mr. Pickles, with some im- 
 patience. 
 
 ' An account of that accident, as I under- 
 stand, sir — I may have been misinformed, and 
 I am subject to correction, if I am wrong — but, 
 as I was given to understand, an account of 
 that accident was furnished by Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles himself to the representative of the 
 reporting department of our principal local 
 journal, the Wefton Witness.' 
 
 ' Yes,' assented Mr. Pickles, with a httle 
 more interest. 
 
 ' In that account it is stated — Stay, I have 
 the copy of the journal in my pocket,' said 
 Mr. Barraclough, clearing his throat, and draw- 
 ing from his pocket an uncleanly copy of the 
 Wefton Witness^ in which it took him some 
 time to find, first the paragraph and then that 
 part of the paragraph he wanted : ' " The high- 
 spirited animal .... Here the groom ....
 
 REPARATION. 219 
 
 but Mr. Pickles " — ah, this is the part of the 
 paragraph to which I would invite your most 
 particular attention, Mr. Pickles ; " But Mr. 
 Pickles fortunately stuck to his post, though he 
 could not guide the panic-stricken animal so as 
 to prevent its knocking down the Eev. Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, one of the curates of the parish 
 chiu-ch, who, however, we are happy to say, 
 escaped without serious injury. As the shaft 
 struck the reverend gentleman, the horse 
 stumbled and came down within a few yards of 
 the cutting, into which, in all human pro- 
 bability, it must have plunged, but for this 
 timely and most providential accident." " Most 
 providential accident," ' repeated Mr. Barra- 
 clough, folding up and returning the paper to 
 his pocket. ' This paragraph, Mr. Pickles, as I 
 understand it, attributes Mr. Kneeshaw's being 
 in the way and being knocked down to chance, 
 sir — to accident pure and simple ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, Mr. Barraclough.' 
 
 ' Would you believe it, then, sir,' said Mr. 
 Barraclough, stooping forward with a hand on 
 each knee, and speaking in a low, slow, and 
 awed voice — ' Would you believe it, then, sir, 
 that this very day I was contradicted flatly, to
 
 220 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 my face, in our club-room, -when I repeated 
 the statement of that paragragh word for word, 
 and, I may say, verbatim ; ' and Mr. Barra- 
 clough drew himself back in his chair and 
 looked to see the horror in his own face re- 
 flected in that of Mr. Pickles. Mr. Pickles, 
 however, being as Yorkshire as Mr. Barra- 
 clough in looking at things exclusively from his 
 own point of view, could not see wlierein the 
 atrocity lay. 
 
 ' Contradicted ! On what point, Mr. Barra- 
 clough ? ' 
 
 ' On what point, sir ? ' asked ]\Ii\ Barra- 
 clough, with some vexation in his tone at Mr. 
 Pickles' insensibility to the main insult of the 
 contradiction, beside which the details were 
 nothing. ' On the point, sir, of Mr. Kneeshaw's 
 being accidentally, I may say fortuitously, in 
 the way. They said, sir — and it was not one 
 or two, but the greater number of the members 
 asserted it, and maintained it in the teeth of 
 my deliberate statement to the contrary — they 
 said that Mr. Kneeshaw was safe on the plank 
 bridge, but hearing the tumult, and looking 
 round, and seeing the imminent peril and — and 
 danger of your son, he hurried back and was
 
 REPARATION. 221 
 
 knocked down in trying to catcli the reins and 
 arrest the horse. And they said, sir, that at 
 least thirty or forty people saw him running back 
 from the bridge and catching at the reins ; and 
 they said, sir, that Mr. Clarence Pickles must 
 have seen it himself, and known that his state- 
 ment to the representative of our local journal 
 was, I may say, misleading and inaccurate, and 
 indeed inexact.' 
 
 ' Is this a general impression ? ' asked Mr. 
 Pickles, beginning now to see the justice of Mr. 
 Barraclough's indignation. 
 
 'It is the general impression, sir, of our 
 club, which is supposed to represent — whether 
 justly or unjustly I will not presume to say — 
 to represent the Liberal opinion of the West 
 Ward.' 
 
 While Mr. Pickles, without concerning liim- 
 self in the least with the truth or falsehood of 
 the report, was casting about in his mind for 
 the best means of neutralising its probable effect 
 upon the approaching elections, Mr. Barra- 
 clough, who had, to say the truth, been not 
 only contradicted, but browbeaten rather 
 brutally, by those members of the club who 
 were impatient of both him and Mr. Pickles,
 
 222 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 was of course thinking chiefly of his own 
 credit. 
 
 ' I must see to this, Mr. Barraclough ; thank 
 you for bringing it to my notice,' said Mr. 
 Pickles, w^ho equally, of course, was thinking, 
 and imag^ined that Mr. Barraclouf^h was think- 
 ing, only of his (Mr. Pickles') credit. ' What 
 would you suggest as best to be done ? ' 
 
 ' I should suggest, sir, that a letter under 
 the hand of Mr. Clarence Pickles and counter- 
 signed by yourself should be written and 
 addressed to me, maintaining the substantial 
 and literal and, I may say, general accuracy of 
 my statement, which letter should be posted up 
 in the club -room and communicated to tlie 
 local journals.' 
 
 ' H'm,' said Mr. Pickles dubiously. ' I 
 shall see my son about it, Mr. Barraclough, and 
 let you know the result.' 
 
 ' As you please, sir, as you please,' replied 
 Mr. Barraclough, somewhat hufled. ' You will 
 keep in mind, Mr. Pickles, sir, that I have 
 endorsed that statement, and that ray credit in 
 the club and in the town is at stake, sir ; is, I 
 may say, bound up and involved and implicated 
 in the truth of that statement, and in its
 
 REPARATION. 223 
 
 bona-fideness. That is a consideration, sir, that 
 you will not overlook in your decision upon 
 the matter. I wish you good evening, Mr. 
 Pickles ; good evening, sir,' rising with much 
 majesty, and taking a rather stiff leave of the 
 member. 
 
 ' Good evening, Mr. Barraclough ; I shall 
 write you the result,' said Mr. Pickles, as he 
 rang to have his guest shown out. 
 
 Upon Mr. Barraclough's departure Mr. 
 Pickles rejoined Clarence, who was enjoying 
 liis wine after dinner. ' Clarence, was Knee- 
 shaw trying to stop your horse when he was 
 knocked down ? ' 
 
 ' Can't say, I'm sure,' drawled Clarence, 
 flushing slightly. 
 
 ' But you did say to that reporting fellow.' 
 
 ' I said what I thouirlit I saw ; but I wasn't 
 looking at the thing with my hands in my 
 pockets, you know. I wasn't on the look-out 
 for Mr. Kneeshaw's safety, I can assure you.' 
 
 ' It will be a confounded awkward business 
 to settle, I can tell you,' said Josiah, in a tone 
 of irritation. 
 
 'Has the fellow been making a claim on 
 you?'
 
 224 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Who ? Kneeshaw ? No ; but they're 
 making a story out of it for the elections.' 
 
 ' They can't make much out of it, I should 
 say.' 
 
 'They can make this out of it, that you 
 told a lie to shirk a debt. / don't say so, but 
 they'll say it.' 
 
 ' It's very good of you not to say it,' sneered 
 Clarence, stung into what for him was an un- 
 usually sharp answer. But steel had no chance 
 against Josiah's bludgeon. 
 
 ' / don't say it, because I didn't see the 
 accident. But those who saw it say it,' said 
 the father, pushing his chair away impatiently 
 as he rose to stand with his back to the fire. 
 Opposition of any kind and from anyone was 
 intolerable to Josiah, even when he was in good 
 humour. He was very much out of humour 
 to-night for many reasons, and was not sorry 
 that his son should have the benefit of his 
 mood. He saw in a moment, from Clarence's 
 manner, that for some reason he had given to 
 the reporter a version of the accident which he 
 knew to be untrue, and which, moreover, was 
 not only a crime, but a blunder that would tell in 
 the elections. Clarence, being dependent upon
 
 REPARATION. 225 
 
 his father, had not such silly ideas of honour as 
 to resent a hasty word at the cost of a quarter's 
 allowance. 
 
 ' They may say what they like. I can only 
 say what I saw,' he said sulkily. 
 
 ' Well, you have said it now, and we can 
 only make the best of it,' said the father, taking 
 the falsehood as much for granted as if his son 
 had admitted it. It was very irritating, but 
 Clarence didn't care to dispute the matter 
 knowing that notliing but further irritation 
 would come of further controversy. 
 
 ' Who is this Kneeshaw ? He's a curate, 
 isn't he ? ' asked Josiah, with a dim remem- 
 brance of the paragraph in the Witness. 
 
 ' Yes, he's a curate. One of Dr. Clancy's 
 curates.' 
 
 ^It wouldn't do to send him a cheque,' 
 mused Josiah, more to himself than to his son. 
 ' He'd take it fast enough, I daresay, but he 
 wouldn't care to have it known that he took it. 
 We must set ourselves right with the public. 
 One of Clancy's curates? I'll tell you what, 
 I'll give him St. George's. It will kill two 
 birds with one stone, for Clancy will take it as 
 a compliment to himself.' 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' St. George's isn't yours to ^ve, is it ? ' 
 growled Clarence sulkily, pleased to pick this 
 hole in the plan. 
 
 'If I pay the piper I shall call the tune. 
 Fve given 2,000/. towards it already, and they 
 were at me yesterday for 1,500/. more to finish 
 it. I shall give it if they put my man in ; not 
 otherwise. I should have had to give another 
 1,000/. whether or no, so it will cost me only 500/. 
 
 ' Who are the trustees ? ' 
 
 'There's Gledhill, Dearden, Mills, Match- 
 lock, and myself; but, except Matchlock, not 
 one of them has given 1,000/. towards it.' 
 
 ' Matchlock's daughter is married to a parson.* 
 
 ' Let him give the other 1,500/. then. He'll 
 be glad to have his 1,000/. back in his pocket 
 again, and more besides he would be glad to 
 know it was there. Matchlock is at the far 
 end, I can tell you.' 
 
 ' If you are only one of five, you will not 
 get the credit of giving it, either with Knee- 
 shaw or anyone else.' 
 
 ' I shall take credit for it if I give it. You 
 may be sure of that.' As this was certain as 
 the sunlight, Clarence was silenced. He was 
 naturally not in favour of an arrangement
 
 REPARATIOX. 227 
 
 which meant a frank public confession of the 
 falsehood of his version of the accident. 
 
 ' What are you going to do about it ? ' asked 
 Josiah sharply, after a pause. 
 
 ' About what ? ' 
 
 ' About this — ah — mistaken account you 
 gave of the thing.' 
 
 ' I don't know that it was mistaken, and I 
 don't beheve it was either.' 
 
 ' Barraclough says there are thirty or forty 
 who saw it. Shall I have them up before 
 you ? ' sneered Josiah . 
 
 ' It's this confounded election,' retorted 
 Clarence. ' They'd say anything for sixpence.' 
 
 ' Look here, Clarence ; " this confounded 
 election," as you call it, has cost me so much 
 that I don't care to throw away 1,000/., or 
 500Z. for nothing. If the thing happened as 
 you say, you can get four or ^we witnesses — 
 they're cheap at sixpence a head, you know — 
 to support your statement, and I shall be glad 
 to keep my money in my pocket. But if not, 
 you'll either write to the Witness to say that 
 you were mistaken, or you'll have 50/. a quarter 
 docked from your allowance till the 500/. is 
 paid off.' 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Josiali, having delivered his ultimatum, 
 advanced to the table, filled and drank a crlass 
 of sherry, looking defiantly at Clarence the 
 while. Clarence muttered something he took 
 care should be inaudible, leisurely chose a cigar 
 from its case, sauntered to the window, and 
 thence to the lawn. Josiah looked after him 
 with an unexpected expression of satisfaction. 
 In the first place, Clarence's supercilious airs 
 were his father's highest ideal of a gentlemanly 
 manner, and made up to him in great measure 
 for his son's lack of brains and energy ; and in 
 the second place, Josiah felt as certain of the 
 appearance of the required letter in the Witnes-'^t 
 as if he had seen it there. And, indeed, as a 
 quarter's allowance was now nearly due, the 
 following letter appeared in that print before 
 the close of the w^eek : — 
 
 ' Sir, — In your issue of the 3rd inst. there 
 is an account of an accident which happened 
 to me through the running away of my horse, 
 which is in one particular inaccurate. It states 
 that the Eev. Mr. Knecshaw was accidentalhj 
 knocked down ; but I find upon inquiry that 
 he was knocked down in attempting to stop my 
 horse. I am glad to make through your
 
 REPARATION. 229 
 
 columns this public acknowledgment of the 
 service the Eev. Mr. Kneeshaw rendered me on 
 that occasion. 
 
 ' I am, sir, yours, etc., 
 
 'Clarence Pickles. 
 ' To the Editor of the We/ton Witness.' 
 This letter, which might have been written 
 by the Prince of Wales in acknowledgment of 
 a bouquet presented by the daughter of a loyal 
 mayor, was inserted in the Witness, with the 
 addition of this curt editorial note : — 
 
 ' The account whose accuracy Mr. Clarence 
 Pickles now questions was given to our reporter 
 by Mr. Clarence Pickles himself.' 
 
 This editorial comment, which was inter- 
 preted in Wefton to express the disgust of the 
 Liberals with the political tergiversation of their 
 member, really expressed the disgust of Mr. Ejng, 
 the editor of the Witness, at being uninvited to 
 the luncheon with wdiich the Pickles' Working 
 Man's Institute was about to be opened. It 
 was, in fact, the invidious invitations to this 
 lunch which put Josiah into the bad temper 
 we found him in at the opening of this chapter. 
 As it was to be a very grand affair, everyone
 
 230 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 who was anyone expected an invitation ; but 
 since not more than one tenth of such expec- 
 tants could by any possibihty be accommodated 
 in the building, Josiah, like the French Prince, 
 was compelled to make ten malcontents and 
 one ingrate at each card issued. Many of these 
 malcontents had bites or stings of their own, 
 which they used with as little scruple as the 
 editor of the Witness, and Josiah, therefore, 
 had a rather harassed time of it just now, 
 especially at the hands of disaffected and 
 affronted Liberals. But the apostacy of the 
 Wefton Witness, which once stood staunchly 
 by him though good and evil report, was a 
 heavy blow and great discouragement. The 
 day before Clarence's letter appeared, it had 
 spoken of their member as ' a political Pro- 
 crustes who changed, like the chameleon, his 
 colour witli his position, and mangled and 
 mutilated the principles he professed to fit the 
 length of his own foot.' This mysterious sen- 
 tence, in which the writer seemed to have 
 rolled into one Proteus, Procrustes, and Paddy 
 the Piper, was not the less terrible from being 
 unintelligible, and in the very next issue 
 appeared the curt and cutting comment on
 
 REPARATION. 231 
 
 Clarence's note. The defection of the Witness 
 brought to a head a resolution which had been 
 some time maturing in Josiah's mind. He had 
 been long enough uncomfortably astride, hke a 
 circus rider, on two horses ; henceforth he 
 would stick to one and stand to win on the Tory 
 steed. He would take the first public opportu- 
 nity of frankly, formally, and finally avowing 
 his adhesion to ' those good old Conservative 
 principles which reconciled progress with stabi- 
 hty and order with freedom, making our con- 
 stitution the envy of those military despotisms 
 which transformed countries into camps and 
 nations into armies, and making her also the 
 model and the mother, or, if not the mother, 
 at least the foster-mother of all constitutional 
 governments throughout the world.' We give 
 by anticipation the concluding words, as reported 
 by the Witness, of Josiah's speech at tlie 
 luncheon, by Avhich he broke down his bridges 
 and burned his boats, and finally and for ever 
 severed himself from the Liberal party. 
 
 Josiah, having made his mind up to the 
 formal desertion of the party which returned 
 him, had to consider how best to make to him- 
 self friends of the mammon of unriofhteousness
 
 232 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 and ensure his welcome into the enemy's camp. 
 And his first thought was, of course, the Church. 
 Josiah had been a chapehnan in tlie days of his 
 obscurity, but on achieving greatness he took 
 to churchgoing, as he took to late dinners, as 
 beinfT respectable. lie had hitherto also sub- 
 scribed to Church objects, rather grudgingly 
 and of necessity, perhaps, than as a cheerful 
 giver, but still he did subscribe, and sometimes 
 handsomely ; now, however, he would serve 
 Baal much. And, as his first service, he would 
 complete St. George's Church — of coiu-se on the 
 condition that he was allowed to make the 
 first appointment. 
 
 Josiah, having made his mind up on any 
 matter, was not the man to lose a moment in 
 moving in it. He was present at the next 
 meeting of the trustees, laid his offer and the 
 condition of his offer before them in his usual 
 ungracious take-it-or-leave-it manner, and men- 
 tioned incidentally Mr. Kneeshaw's name as 
 that of his nominee. Now Mr. Gledhill, who, 
 as taking the most active interest in the buildiuir 
 of the church, was listened to with most defe- 
 rence by his co-trustees, happened to know a
 
 EEPARATION. 233 
 
 good deal about George and about his kindness 
 to the poor, and his recommendation smoothed 
 down the opposition — urged upon the ground 
 of Mr. Kneeshaw's youth — which Josiah's rasp- 
 ing manner aroused. Even Mr. Matchlock, 
 whose interested opposition Clarence had antici- 
 pated, made no serious objection, as his son-in- 
 law had already a living of more value than 
 St. George's. Josiah, when his terms were 
 accepted, condescended to explain the reason of 
 his choice of so young a man as Mr. Kneeshaw, 
 since he wished it to be as widely known as 
 possible that he acknowledged this great debt 
 of his son's life to him ; and the explanation 
 reconciled even Mr. Dearden to an appointment 
 to which he had given at first a rather sullen 
 adhesion. As for Mr. ]\iills, no one seemed to 
 think his consent necessary. 
 
 'Dear Sir, — I have only just learned the 
 obligation I am under to you for saving my 
 son's life. I have great pleasure in oflfering you 
 the living of St. George's of the probable value 
 of 700/. per annum, as I have succeeded in 
 obtaining the first presentation of it. I have 
 undertaken to complete the church at an
 
 234 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 estimated cost of 1,500/., and hope to have it 
 finished in a month. 
 
 ' I am, dear sir, foitlifully yours, 
 
 ' JosiAH Pickles.' 
 
 The letter read rather hke a balance-sheet, 
 but Josiah could do nothing graciously. George, 
 however, was in no mood to be critical when he 
 received it. He opened it after an almost sleep- 
 less night of struggle with himself, in which his 
 conscience at last conquered, and the firstfruits 
 of its victory was to be the refusal of this living. 
 So he sat down at once to his desk and wrote 
 the following reply : — 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — I very much regret to have to 
 decline your kind offer of St. George's, thougli 
 the promotion is far beyond my expectations or 
 deserts, and a very disproportionate reward for 
 the service I did your son. I only did what 
 anyone else would have done in my place, and 
 what I should have done for anyone else. I 
 hope you will not think me ungrateful because 
 I am compelled to decline your generous offer. 
 
 ' Believe me, dear sir, faithfully yours, 
 
 'George B. Kneeshaw.'
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 DRIFTIIS^G. 
 
 George, having written and addressed his 
 letter, hurried off to post it at once. He wasn't 
 sure of himself. He had fought the night 
 through against the thought of Mabel, to keep 
 her imao^e as much as he could in the back- 
 ground, for to give up the ministry meant 
 giving up all hope of her. And he must give 
 up the ministry. What had at last decided 
 him ? Yesterday was a great Christian festival 
 commemorating an event which he did not 
 quite absolutely disbelieve, but in wliich his 
 faith was certainly not firm enough to preach 
 it to others. Yet he must preach it, and preach 
 it as a thing certain as the sunrise. He did so 
 preach it, and the preparation of the sermon 
 and the preaching of it, and the sense of self- 
 degradation which overcame him as he de- 
 scended the steps of the pulpit, forced him
 
 236 LOVE TlIK DEBT. 
 
 to feel the falsehood of his position as he 
 had never felt it before. The fact was, though 
 he was unconscious of it, he was in a much falser 
 position than when last he looked his faith 
 fairly in the face. Our minds are never at a 
 standstill on subjects in which we are interested, 
 try as we will to shelve them. They are always 
 more or less at work upon such subjects 
 through conscious or unconscious cerebration, 
 and when we come after an interval to take 
 our bearings with respect to them, we are 
 certain to have drifted to a new standpoint. 
 Since George had taken his bearings, his mind 
 had in this way drifted out to sea much farther 
 than he had any notion of, and now he was 
 horrified to find himself so far from shore. 
 Hence his sleepless night and the struggle with 
 his conscience, made more desperate by Mabel's 
 being ranged on the enemy's side. He had 
 conquered, however, or thought that he had 
 conquered, and this offer of a living seemed to 
 come in tlie nick of time ratlier to strengthen 
 than shake his resolution. Everyone knows 
 how a new resolution, like a j'oung soldier, 
 longs for action, and is impatient to translate 
 its ardour into some definite form ; and George
 
 DRIFTING. 237 
 
 welcomed Mr. Pickles' offer for the opportunity 
 it gave of realising his resolution. Accord- 
 ingly, the writing of the refusal of the living 
 was a relief to his mind as giving shape and 
 substance to his determination, and being a 
 definite and decided step in the right direction. 
 But, beside and behind this reason for his 
 eagerness to write and post his refusal at once, 
 lurked distrust of himself and of his power to 
 give up all chance of Mabel. In fact, this 
 brave dash was little more than masked cow- 
 ardice, and this prompt decision was but indeci- 
 sion in disguise. He must commit himself at 
 once and once for all, or the sight of Mabel, or 
 the mere thought of her, if he allowed 
 
 Th' idea of her life to sweetly creep 
 Into his study of imagination, 
 
 might overpower his conscience. Hence his 
 hurry to post the decisive letter. 
 
 As he opened the gate of the little garden 
 between his lodgings and the road, a wag- 
 gonette drove up and stopped at it. In it were 
 Squire, four other convalescent little ones, and 
 Archer Lawley. 
 
 ' Halloa ! ' cried Lawley, 'just in time.' 
 
 ' In time for what r '
 
 238 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' To come with us.* 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' Didn't you get my letter ? ' 
 
 'Letter? No.' 
 
 ' By Jove ! that accounts for it. She 
 couldn't have got it either.' 
 
 ' Who ? ' asked George, bewildered. 
 
 'Mary Ann,' said Lawley, disregarding 
 George's question, and turning back to address 
 the eldest of the children, ' didn't you post 
 those letters?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' At the station, sir.' 
 
 ' It's very odd,' mused Lawley, pulling his 
 moustache with a perplexed air. 
 
 ' Very,' answered George drily. 
 
 'I wrote to you on Thursday,' Lawley 
 explained, ' asking you to join us to-day, but 
 telling you not to trouble to answer if you 
 could come ; and by the same post I invited 
 Miss Masters and her niece, as Squire was so 
 anxious to see her, but got no reply. Are you 
 sure you posted the letters, Mary Ann ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' answered the child, on the brink 
 of tears.
 
 DRIFTING. 239 
 
 Lawley, after a moment's meditation, ex- 
 claimed in a tone of mortification, ' Of course ! 
 Where did you post them, Mary Ann ? ' 
 
 ' I put them into the big wooden money- 
 box,' said the child, now whimpering. 
 
 * I thought so ! She posted them in the box 
 for newspapers for the workhouse. What an 
 ass I was not to tell her where to put them, for 
 it's the second time I've been played that trick. 
 It can't be helped now. Don't cry, little 
 woman, it was my fault,' he said soothingly, 
 patting the penitent Mary Ann on the cheek. 
 ' We must go without them, I suppose.' 
 
 At this doleful news Squire also lifted up 
 his voice and wept. 
 
 ' This is a nice beginning of a treat, isn't 
 it ? ' to George. — ' Never mind, Squire, you shall 
 see her if she's in. We shall call there, at any 
 rate. In with you, Kneeshaw.' 
 
 ' I don't think I can go ; ' in no very 
 decided tone, however. 
 
 ' Why, what have you got to do ? ' 
 
 George couldn't say he had anything parti- 
 cular to do, and Lawley simply took him im- 
 patiently by the arm and shoved him up the 
 steps, while Squire, to whom this second disap-
 
 240 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 pointment would have been crushing, looked 
 so wistfully into his face that George's faint 
 resistance gave way at once. 
 
 'The Grange, Bradford Eoad,' cried 
 Lawley to the driver, as he jumped in after 
 George. ' If you hadn't come I couldn't have 
 faced them, Kneeshaw. I'm not a ladies' man, 
 you know.' 
 
 When George read the offer of the living 
 that morning, the second person he thought of 
 was Archer Lawley. He felt it to be a kind of 
 treason to their friendship not to take him into 
 counsel, or at least into confidence, before 
 writing his refusal, but he feared at once the 
 delay and himself and his friend's adverse 
 advice. Now, however, he had no choice but 
 to hand Lawley IVir. Pickles' letter. Lawley, 
 when he had read it, put his hand on George's 
 shoulder, with a demonstrativeness unusual 
 with him. 
 
 ' My dear fellow, I congratulate you with 
 all my heart ! ' 
 
 ' But I have refused it.' 
 
 ' What ! ' and then, after a moment's pause, 
 he referred to the letter. ' Why, you only got 
 the offer this morning! You can't have 
 refused it yet.*
 
 DRIFTING. 241 
 
 George held up the answer. Lawley took 
 it, looked at the address, and coolly put it into 
 his pocket. 
 
 * You can't have considered the matter for 
 five minutes,' he said. ' It's not a thing to be 
 refused or accejoted like an invitation to din- 
 ner. A day is little enough to think over it, 
 especially if you are inclined to refuse it. 
 Anyhow, your letter won't reach Mr. Pickles 
 sooner by being posted twelve hours before the 
 box closes.' 
 
 George submitted meekly, with a sense that 
 his childish haste deserved a child's treatment. 
 
 ' I must give the whole thing up, Lawley,' 
 he said despondently. 
 
 ' Well, w^e shall have plenty of time to talk 
 it over to-day when we get to ourselves. It's 
 not likely the ladies will come on so short an 
 invitation.' 
 
 ' Where are we going ? ' 
 
 ' To the moors. Doctor says a day there 
 will do the children more good than a week at 
 home. Besides, it's the only place that won't 
 swarm to-day.' 
 
 ' What on earth made you choose to-day of 
 all days in the year ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' The MacGiicken's off,' wliispered Lawley, 
 that the children might not hear. ' Gone to 
 her sister's. Couldn't have gone -without her if 
 she'd been at home, you know ; and I wanted 
 Squire to see Miss Masters. Here we are. 
 Shall we take Squire in with us ? ' 
 
 George looked at his watch before he 
 answered to see if Miss Masters was due down- 
 stairs yet, and finding that she was, thought it 
 best to be cautious. ' Let us see if they'll 
 jom us first. Don't say anything about the 
 children to the ainit,' he added, as they walked 
 up the steps together. ' In fact, don't say any- 
 thing to her at all. Leave her to me, while 
 you explain the matter to Miss Mabel.' 
 
 Lawley nodded submissively. Where ladies 
 were concerned he at once resigned the com- 
 mand he assumed on all other occasions. All 
 the same, he didn't like the task of explaining 
 the business to that young woman whose great 
 eyes seemed to look straic^ht through him. 
 Fortunately they found only Mabel in the 
 drawitig-room, and George therefore was free 
 to help him out in his explanations. 
 
 ' It's very good of you, Mr. Lawley,' said 
 Mabel in a subdued tone, as if she was address-
 
 DRIFTING. 245 
 
 ing a bishop:). She had quite made up her mind 
 that he was at once a sage and saint. ' And I 
 
 should so much hke to go, but I shall go 
 
 and ask my aunt about it, if you'll excuse 
 me.' 
 
 Her aunt, however, saved her the trouble by 
 appearing at this moment. Lawley, upon being 
 introduced to her, was blundering out the ex- 
 planations wliich George forewarned him against 
 giving, when that diplomatist intervened and 
 expatiated upon the exquisite beauty of the 
 moors, which he was amazed Miss Masters had 
 not yet seen and painted. If she could spare 
 an hour or two to-day to accompany them he 
 could assure her she could find no better guide 
 than Mr. Lawley, who knew all the lovely bits. 
 It was unnecessary to say another word to 
 convince Miss Masters that the expedition was 
 got up exclusively for her. She was profuse in 
 her acknowledsfments to the embarrassed Mr 
 Lawley, and hurried off to get herself and her 
 sketching materials ready. 
 
 Mabel, my dear,' she turned to say as she 
 reached the door, ' you needn't wait lunch for 
 me. I shall take a biscuit and a glass of sherry 
 before I start.' 
 
 R 2
 
 244 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' But who's to chaperon you, Aunt ? Mr. 
 Lawley has been good enough to ask me 
 too.' 
 
 ' It really is too good of you, Mr. Lawley,' 
 said Miss Masters, highly fhittered by this 
 additional mark of his consideration. ' I 
 should like to have Mabel with me very much : 
 she has never had any drawing-lessons worth 
 speakmg of. Come, my dear, we mustn't keep 
 the carriage waiting.' 
 
 ' What are we to do about the children ? ' 
 asked George, when they had left the room. 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 ' You see she hates poor people and she hates 
 children, so poor children w^ill be doubly 
 abommable. Would you mind adopting them 
 just for to-day ? ' urged George persuasively. 
 Lawley acknowledged this ghastly joke with a 
 grin, little thinking that George contemplated 
 carrying it out. ' It was w^ell your invitation 
 miscarried,' continued George ; ' she'd never 
 have accepted it if put in your way.' 
 
 ' It would have been the best wav after all,' 
 retorted Lawley. ' We shall have nothing but 
 bother trying to keep up your hunAnig. 
 You're a nice fellow to set up a conscience I '
 
 DRIFTING. 245 
 
 Hereupon Mabel re-entered for a moment 
 to say that she was going down to speak to 
 Squire. The truth was she thought it as well 
 to spare her aunt the shock of seeing her meet- 
 ing with the child. When Miss Masters at 
 length appeared, George took charge of her 
 camp-stool, portfoho, etc., gave her his arm, 
 and, as they were going together down the 
 stairs, mentioned casually that there were five 
 little children of the party. ' Mr. Lawley*9 
 children, we call them,' he explained, raumbUng- 
 the last three words rather indistinctly. Cer- 
 tainly George had little right to set up a con- 
 science. 
 
 Miss Masters, seated in the waggonette, 
 took an amazed survey of the five weazened 
 creatures ranged in a row on the opposite side. 
 One had crutches, another had an arm in a 
 sling, a third had one side of her face and neck 
 badly burned, the fourth was deformed, and 
 the fifth worn to a shadow. From them her 
 eyes glanced with a deeper pity to their unfor- 
 tunate father. Of their mother, whether she 
 was dead or alive (she saw no crape on Mr. 
 Lawley's sleeve), she could not help having 
 hard thoughts. Only througli gross carelessness
 
 246 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 could it be possible that so man}' horrible 
 accidents should happen in a single family. It 
 was evident their father was not in fault, for 
 his taking such spectacles out to ride with him 
 testified to his kindness of heart, of which, 
 indeed, his invitation to herself spoke still more 
 eloquently. He must be watching anxiously 
 the impression they made upon her — the refined 
 and artistic Miss Masters. She mustn't let him 
 see how imfavourable it was. Indeed, common 
 politeness, to say nothing of gratitude, de- 
 manded that she should find some redeeming 
 feature somewhere. But where ? She looked 
 in despair from face to face and figure to figure. 
 At last she fixed on Squire as the least horrible 
 of the five. ' Don't you think, my dear,' she 
 said, turning to Mabel, who was seated beside 
 Squire, with his hand in hers, ' there's a strong 
 likeness about the eyes ? ' looking, with her 
 head on one side, first at Squire and then at 
 Lawley. 
 
 Mabel in a moment saw her aunt's mistake 
 and coloured up to the very roots of her hair. 
 ' They are not brother and sister," she said with 
 great presence of mind, affecting to think that 
 her aunt saw some likeness between Squire
 
 DRIFTING. 247 
 
 and his next neighbour, Mary Ann. ' Mercy ! * 
 thought Miss Masters. ' Two famihes ! Was 
 ever a man so unlucky as to marry two such 
 women ! ' 
 
 Meantime George, seeing Mabel's misery, 
 repented bitterly of his foolish joke. * We call 
 them Mr. Lawley's children, Miss Masters, for 
 he turns his vicarage into a convalescent 
 hospital for the children of the poor when they 
 are recovering from illness.' 
 
 This announcement acted like an electric 
 shock upon Miss Masters. She lost all control 
 over herself, started up, poked the driver in the 
 back with her umbrella, while she screamed to 
 him to stop. She had the most morbid horror 
 of infection. 
 
 ' What is it. Aunt ? ' asked Mabel, thoroughly 
 alarmed. 
 
 ' I don't know what it is — scarlatina, per- 
 haps, or small-pox. Mr. Lawley, I hope you'll 
 
 excuse us ; it's very kind of you, but 
 
 Mabel, let go that child's hand ! ' 
 
 ' Slie can't catch compound fracture of the 
 leg,' growled Lawley, who forgot his shyness 
 in his horror of a scene. ' There's no infection 
 to fear. Miss Masters. — A broken arm, a broken
 
 248 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 leg, a burn, curvature of the spine, and general 
 debility/ ticking off his patients' complaints in 
 a very business-like manner. 'I'm sorry you 
 should think I'd trap you into a fever hospital/ 
 
 George was amazed at Lawley's self-asser- 
 tion ; Mabel was utterly and miserably ashamed ; 
 while ]\iiss Masters herself, being reassured and 
 rebuked by Lawley's words and manner, was 
 shocked at her hysterical outburst — which, 
 indeed, only an insane terror of infection could 
 have provoked from her — and became meekly 
 apologetic. In explanation of her panic she 
 told rather a rambling story of her childhood 
 about a little girl who came to their house to 
 sell mushrooms, and her brother Henry kicked 
 over her basket, and their mother made hira 
 gather up the mushrooms and put them back, 
 and both the little girl and her brother caught 
 scarlatina at the same time, and the little girl 
 died. Hence she might well dread infection 
 ever since. 
 
 ' " The dog it was that died," ' muttered 
 Lawley, thinking the allusion would be in- 
 telligible only to George. 
 
 ' Mr. Lawley thinks, Aunt, that the little 
 girl caught the fever from my fatlier,' said
 
 DRIFTING. 249 
 
 Mabel, looking over archly at Mr. Lawley. It 
 didn't need much reading or readiness so to 
 translate Lawley 's quotation, but it needed 
 more of both than that gentleman expected 
 from a young lady, and he was, therefore, 
 rather taken aback. As for Miss Masters, it 
 was some seconds before she could take in this 
 preposterous view of the case. She considered 
 infection to be, like the poor-rate, a tax which 
 the lower orders imposed on the upper. 
 
 'We never had such a thing in our family 
 before,' she said with some stiffness. 
 
 On the whole, however. Miss Masters was 
 as amiable as could be expected under the 
 circumstances. She was really ashamed of her 
 outbreak, and expressed her penitence by try- 
 ing to make herself even more agreeable than 
 usual. In this w^ay George and Mabel were 
 again thrown together by fate. If Lawley's 
 invitation had been properly posted, or if Miss 
 Masters had known that morning the real 
 nature of the pleasure party she was asked to 
 join, she would certainly have declined. As it 
 was, she was not only there, but gracious, 
 thanks to this little storm. Yet at the bottom 
 of her heart — as was only to be expected in so
 
 250 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 vain a person — she was irritated less with 
 herself than with Mr. Lawley, as the cause, 
 however indirect or innocent, of lier mortifi- 
 cation. 
 
 Mabel during the drive devoted herself to 
 Mr. Lawley exclusively, in part to try to do 
 away the impression of her aunt's ungracious 
 outburst, and in part for another reason. We 
 do not say she was in love with George, or 
 that she considered George in love with her ; 
 we say only that she could neither look at him 
 nor speak to him with the frank unconscious- 
 ness and freedom from self-consciousness with 
 which she would look at or speak to anyone 
 else in the world. As for George, while affect- 
 ing to listen to Miss Masters, he liad eyes and 
 ears only for Mabel. She never looked so 
 lovely or talked so brightly, a sweet and secret 
 excitement s})eaking through her eyes and 
 thoughts. Even that gnarled old cynic Lawley 
 was fain to confess her power. In speaking 
 afterwards to George on one of his flivourite 
 topics — the general muddle of things in the 
 world, in wliich no one could fmd either clue 
 or coherence — he burst out witli ' There's that 
 Miss Masters ! She might have been anything,
 
 DRIFTING. 251 
 
 and she's a girl ! ' It was not an effective 
 argumentum ad hominem^ as George was quite 
 satisfied with Nature's ordering in this indi- 
 vidual instance ; but it expressed pithily Law- 
 ley's opinion at once of the sex in general, and 
 of Mabel in particular. The fact was, that 
 when Lawley could be got to converse with a 
 w^oman at all, he conversed with her as if she 
 was a very young man ; and a conversation of 
 this kind revealed incidentally that Mabel had 
 read and thought about what — for a girl — was 
 an immense and amazing range of subjects. 
 And this range of thought and reading seemed 
 to Lawley all the more prodigious in a girl, not 
 merely because in every case it came out inci- 
 dentally and in answer to his lead, but also 
 because in every case it was submitted to his 
 superior judgment with a deference that was 
 unfeigned, and therefore flattering to masculine 
 vanity. Without this deference, twice her 
 accomplishments would not have had half the 
 effect on any man, not even Lawley. Mabel 
 herself, we may say, w^as much more inclined 
 to be ashamed than proud of her acquisitions, 
 since they were held by the Eoxby School to 
 be as unfeminine as whistling or smoking.
 
 252 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' What ! have you read that, too ? ' asked 
 Lawley, in reference to some metaphysical 
 work. 
 
 ' I have repeated it, hke a plionograph. It's 
 one of the books I have read aloud to my 
 father, Mr. Lawley ; but I hope you won't 
 suspect me of understanding it. I couldn't 
 pronounce half the words properly.' 
 
 ' It's waste of time reading such stuflf/ 
 said Lawley, now perfectly at his ease and 
 speaking precisely as he w^ould speak to 
 George, but seeming to look rather through 
 Mabel than at her. ' Metaphysics are just like 
 eddies in a river, they whirl you round and 
 round till you are dizzy, and don't advance 
 you a yard.' 
 
 ' I'll answer for the dizziness ; but at least 
 they do me the good of making me feel how 
 stupid I am.' 
 
 ' Stupid ! It's tlie book that's stupid. 
 You're not stupid, and you don't tliink yourself 
 stupid either,' he added, in the sudden fear that 
 he was being trapped into paying a compli- 
 ment. Certainly Mr. Lawley, in liis inter- 
 course with ladies, seemed like the teapot in 
 the ' Biglow Papers ' —
 
 DRIFTING. 253 
 
 A teapot made o' pewter 
 Our Prudence had, tliet wouldn't pour (all she could du) to 
 
 suit her ; 
 Fust place the leaves 'ould choke the spout, so's not a drop 
 
 'ould dreen out, 
 Then Prude 'ould tip an' tip an' tip, till the holl kit hust 
 
 clean out ; 
 The kiver hinge-pin bein' lost, tea leaves an' tea an' kiver 
 'Ould all come out kerswosh ! ez though the dam hroke in a 
 
 river. 
 
 It was not an easy matter for Mabel to get 
 him to speak, but when he did speak he came 
 out with the shock of a shower-bath. Mabel 
 was a very womanly young woman, and there- 
 fore liked being bullied by a man she re- 
 spected. ' I don't think myself stupid in some 
 things, but I do in others.' 
 
 ' You're not stupid in anything,' said 
 Lawley decisively, being now reassured as to 
 her sinceritv. ' Understandini]^ such stuff is no 
 more a proof of cleverness than seeing in the 
 dusk is a proof of good sight. You don't 
 think a bat has better eyes than you, do 
 you ? If you have to read such books out to 
 your father, like Milton's daughters, it's a good 
 thing that, like them, you don't understand 
 what you read. At least, / think so,' said 
 Lawley, sinking his hands deep into his
 
 254 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 trousers' pockets, and leaning back in the wag- 
 gonette with a coolness and complacency that 
 confounded George. Was this Petruchio the 
 man that couldn't look a girl in the face ? As 
 for Mabel, this uncompromising disparagement 
 of her father's favourite studies by the only man 
 in Wefton of whom she ever heard her father 
 speak respectfully perplexed her considerably. 
 Her faith in her father's profound wisdom was 
 unshakable, but she had heard her father him- 
 self say more than once of Mr. Lawley, to Mr. 
 Meekins, that it was a disgrace to the Church 
 that such a man should be buried in a wretched 
 little country living. Colonel Masters, indeed, 
 knew Lawley only through articles of his 
 which appeared in a leading Eeview ; but he 
 had an inordinate idea of a literary success 
 which he had vainly sought himself. But if 
 her father had a high opinion of Mr. Lawley, 
 Mr. Lawley did not seem to return the com- 
 pliment — at least, he spoke very slightingly of 
 those profound studies of which her father was 
 a profound student. This, we say, perplexed 
 Mabel considerably and held her silent. Mean- 
 time, Lawley was regarding her somewhat m 
 the way in which lie would regard an author
 
 DRIFTING. 255 
 
 whose first book he was reviewiiif]^. He ou<2;ht 
 not only to point out its defects and beauties, 
 but to give the debutante what encouragement 
 he could. 
 
 ' Do you read new books, too ? ' he asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 ' I very seldom get the chance of reading 
 any except what you would " cast to the moles 
 and bats," ' said Mabel, smiling. 
 
 'I w^sh you'd let me send you one now 
 and then. I get batches of them every fort- 
 night nearly, and there's sometimes one worth 
 reading.' 
 
 Mabel flushed with pleasure. ' I should 
 be so much obliged to you, Mr. Lawley, not 
 only for the books, but for your choosing those 
 you think best for me. Since my aunt died I 
 have had no one ' Here she checked her- 
 self, in the fear that she seemed implicitly re- 
 proaching her father. ' I mean, I've read at 
 random since I escaped from the schoolroom.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid you'll think you've got back to 
 the schoolroom, or to the schoolmaster, any- 
 liow,' said Lawley, suddenly brought to liim- 
 self. Hitherto he had been looking rather 
 beyond Mabel than at her, in a dreamy way
 
 256 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 that had grown upon him from hving so much 
 alone. But when Mabel checked herself for a 
 moment, he naturally looked interrogali\'ely 
 into the Hushed and lovely face turned up to 
 liis, and his shyness returned upon him in a 
 moment, and ' covered him all over, thoughts 
 and all, like a cloak.' For the short remainder 
 of the journey he relapsed into liis reserve, and 
 Mabel felt as she used to feel when ^liss 
 Murdoch took from her and locked away some 
 interesting story, when its interest had just cul- 
 minated. 
 
 Her conversation, however, with Mr. 
 Lawley had the effect of rousing her aunt's 
 suspicions. It was quite evident to that old 
 lady's keen penetration that Mr. Lawley was 
 paying Mabel marked attention, wliicli Mabel 
 was receiving with marked favour. Now Miss 
 Masters, as we have already said, was irritated 
 most unreasonably with Mr. Lawley, and her 
 prejudice against him made her very particular 
 to find out his means, prospects, etc., before 
 she allowed this matter to go any further. 
 Therefore she did what she could to keep the 
 two apart for the rest of the day, and man- 
 oeuvred the matter so skilfully that George and
 
 DRIFTING. 257 
 
 Mabel were thrown together for a great part of 
 the afternoon, while the unhappy Mr. Lawley 
 was chained to the camp-stool of the exacting 
 artist. 
 
 YOL. I. S
 
 258 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A PROPOSAL. 
 
 On reaching the moors a council was held to 
 decide upon the best site for lunch. Mabel 
 proposed a hill at a little distance, and was of 
 course seconded by George and supported by 
 Lawley, on the ground that it would give Miss 
 Masters a fine view all round. Miss Masters, 
 however, being inclined for lunch and disin- 
 clined to walk a foot further than she could 
 help, thought it would be too far for the gentle- 
 men to carry the hampers, and that the view of 
 the hill was probably more picturesque than 
 the view from it. Accordingly they pitched 
 their tents where they were and proceeded to 
 unpack the hampers, which Lawley, after his 
 manner, had cranuned with enough pronsions 
 for forty people. 
 
 ' Do you think there will be enough ? ' he
 
 A PROPOSAL. 259 
 
 asked George doubtfully, as he handed him out 
 a fourth fowl. 
 
 ' There will hardly be one apiece, but we 
 may eke it out wdth the lamb and tongue. 
 Good heavens ! What an array of bottles ! ' 
 
 ' They do look rather a lot,' said Lawley, 
 himself somewhat dismayed, ' but except the 
 beer all are single bottles. I didn't know 
 what wine Miss Masters drank. There's just 
 one bottle of each,' he said, in a survey of the 
 corks, ' of port, sherry, champagne, claret, hock, 
 brandy, mint sauce, and custard.' 
 
 ' I drink custard, Mr. Lawley, thank you,' 
 said Mabel (who, by the way, had become a 
 teetotaller wdth Barney). 'As for Aunt, she 
 hardly ever touches anything but port, sherry, 
 champagne, claret, and hock.' 
 
 ' My dear ! ' 
 
 ' I didn't know you cared for brandy or 
 mint sauce. Aunt.' 
 
 ' The brandy was for Squire and another of 
 the children,' said Lawley apologetically. 
 
 ' I am quite sorry, Mr. Lawley, you took 
 tlie trouble to provide so many kinds of wine 
 for me. I hardly ever take any wine but 
 sherry,' said Miss Masters, less to acknowledge 
 
 s 2
 
 2C0 LOVE TKE DEBT. 
 
 Mr. Lawley's special consideration for her than 
 to disabuse him of the impression of her drink- 
 ing habits she felt Mabel's wild words must 
 have given. She sat upon her camp-stool 
 surveying tli rough her eyeglass, critically at 
 first, but at last complacently, the various 
 dishes Mabel and George were arranging as 
 Lawley handed them out of the hamper. Her 
 view of the lunch was so satisfactory that she 
 was positively charmed with the scenery. ' I 
 wouldn't have missed this for anything. I 
 really must take that bit.* 
 
 ' Which, Aunt ? The wing ? ' for George 
 w^as busy upon a fowl. 
 
 Mabel, from intercourse with the wooden 
 Miss Eoxby, had got into that way of ' uttering 
 her jests with a sad brow,' which, as we know 
 from both Cicero and Shakspeare, makes even 
 a thin joke effective. 
 
 'My dear,' rephed her aunt with some 
 scorn in her voice for Mabel's prosaic absorption 
 in the luncheon, ' I was speaking of sketching 
 that beautiful bit of hillside. Where are vour 
 eyes, Mabel ? You'll never be a painter if you 
 think only of lunch with such a view before 
 you.'
 
 A PROPOSAL. 26] 
 
 * Have you eyes ? 
 Could you on this fair mountain leave to feed 
 And batten on this moor ? ' 
 
 quoted George, pointing to the hill and the 
 moor, and looking into Mabel's face with a 
 mixed expression of amusement and admira- 
 tion. 
 
 ' It was Miss Mabel Masters who wished to 
 feed on the mountain, I thought,' said Lawley, 
 ' while Miss Masters was " the gentle lady 
 wedded to the Moor." You preferred to lunch 
 here, didn't you. Miss Masters ? ' 
 
 From this bewildering pedantry Miss Masters 
 could at least gather confirmation of her 
 suspicion of Lawley 's designs upon Mabel. It 
 was plain that, while Mr. Kneeshaw sided with 
 herself, Mr. Lawley sided with Mabel, as she 
 might have expected. 
 
 ' Yes ; I don't think I could get a better 
 point of view to sketch from. I hope you 
 will help me after lunch with your advice, 
 Mr. Lawley,' said that wily chaperon, 
 mindful of the danger of allowing Mr. Lawley 
 from her side for a moment. No doubt it 
 would have been better still to have tied Mabel 
 to her apron-strings ; but that young person,
 
 262 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 not having the least idea of the clanger to be 
 guarded against, was Httle hkely to be as 
 amenable as Mr. Lawley to disciphne. 
 
 Lunch, then, being over, to which Miss 
 Masters did the most ample justice, the distrac- 
 tion of the scenery notwithstanding, the un- 
 happy Mr. Lawley, who meditated having a 
 pipe in retirement, was summoned to her side, 
 shown her drawings, asked his opinion of each, 
 and his advice as to the standpoint for the one 
 in hand, and as to every point in its progress. 
 Lawley loved tobacco, and did not love tlie 
 society of silly old ladies ; and only a perfect 
 host and gentleman could have stood as lie 
 stood the severe and continuous strain upon 
 his manners for two mortal hours. Meantime 
 Mabel was amusing the children with such 
 mild games as the invalids could manage, until 
 they were tired (as they soon were) of move- 
 ment, and set to to make daisy chains. Daisies 
 were to be had only on the skirts of the moor, 
 and on the hill at its edge, and here Mabel, 
 Mary Ann, and George gathered them for the 
 others. Lawley was somewhat comforted to 
 see Knceshaw reduced to a sillier slavery than 
 his own, little thinking that the daisies were
 
 A PROPOSAL. 263 
 
 flowers of paradise to George. When the 
 three had reached the hill and wandered round 
 its base to the other side, George suggested that 
 Mary Ann had better carry back in her apron 
 what they had gathered. 
 
 ' They'll have nothing to go on with by 
 this,' he said considerately. ' You can come 
 back when you want more, Mary Ann, and 
 we shall have another lot for you.' 
 
 Mary Ann, however, preferred to make a 
 daisy chain of her own out of the superabun- 
 dance of daisies already gathered, and did not 
 return for more. George was madly in love. 
 He forgot everything and everyone but Mabel. 
 The mere touch of her hand in one of the 
 childish games doubled the beating of his 
 heart, and sent his blood in so mad a whirl to 
 his brain as to dizzy it. He walked after her 
 as in a dream, gathering the daisies she trod on 
 and treasiuring one she dropped. 'Amare et 
 sapere vix Deo conceditur.' He was only a 
 little madder than most with that delicious 
 delirium we all have, or ought to have, 
 endured and enjoyed ; and only those who 
 have lost their memory or have little in their 
 lives worth remembering can be so pitiable as
 
 264 • LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 to pity him, or so despicable as to despise 
 him. 
 
 * Let us sit down a moment, the view is 
 lovely from here,' said George, pointing to a 
 little hollow in the hill from which they could 
 see nothing, but would there be unseen them- 
 selves. 
 
 Mabel obeyed him with her heart fluttering 
 like a newly caught bird. She knew now what 
 George felt for her as well as if he had ex- 
 pressed it in words — better than words could 
 express it. How? We cannot tell. What 
 we call instinct is made up of a thousand 
 accumulated experiences and impressions and 
 associations, so atomic as to baffle analysis. 
 And a girl's instinct is quicker and truer than 
 a man's, because she is more observant ; but 
 she can no more account for her unerring 
 instinct than a marksman for his unerriufr aim. 
 which comes not only of a keen eye, but of 
 numberless minute observations and inferences, 
 that have been made unconsciously. We 
 cannot tell the grounds, then, of Mabel's 
 instinctive inference of George's feeling for her, 
 nor shall we say how much she was helped by 
 analogy to such an inference by the response
 
 A PKOPOSAL. 265 
 
 she found to that feehng in her own heart. 
 We are not going to pry into that sacred 
 chamber which she now bhished to look into 
 herself ; for in a heart hke Mabel's the purest 
 love when first detected ' trembles like a guilty 
 thing surprised.' 
 
 George seated himself beside her, but a 
 little backward, that he might gaze inoffen- 
 sively on her face. There was an awkward 
 silence, for while George was wrapped in his 
 worship, Mabel could think of nothing to say 
 that would not sound forced or foolish. She 
 reviewed and rejected one topic after another 
 till the tension became intolerable. 
 
 ' I mustn't forget my painting lesson, or 
 Aunt will think me more hopeless than ever.' 
 
 ' Don't go ! ' cried George, as she essayed 
 to rise, seizing her hand, and looking and 
 speaking as if life and death were in the 
 balance. 
 
 Shall we print in cold blood his headlong, 
 incoherent, passionate appeal ? 
 
 Be wise : not easily forgiven 
 Are these who, setting wide the doors that har 
 The secret bridal chambers of the heart, 
 Let in the day. 
 
 ' I couldn't help it/ said George des-
 
 206 LOVE THE L>EBT. 
 
 perately, witli a sudden drop to bathos. He 
 had put it to the toucli and thought he had 
 lost it all, because Mabel sat silent with averted 
 face. Yet she had not withdrawn her hand, 
 though George once, at the height of his 
 vehement pleading, had so pressed it that her 
 mother's ring bit into the next finger. But 
 intense longing is sometimes the father not of 
 belief, but of doubt, and George thought he 
 had thrown and lost. ' You are angry witli 
 me ? ' in a voice of despair. Mabel turned her 
 ferocious gaze upon him, and even George was 
 satisfied with all it expressed. 
 
 ' Don't ; please, don't ! ' she said, in answer 
 to what next proceeded from his lips uttered 
 close to her ear, but not addressed to that 
 organ ; for the reaction from despair carried 
 George over considerably to the other side. In 
 fact, Mabel had to disengage her hand to defend 
 her face. 
 
 ' It is bleeding^ ! ' he cried. 
 
 ' It's a bad omen,' Mabel replied lightly. 
 ' I have given you my hand, and see how you 
 have crushed it ! ' 
 
 George cried out upon his brutalit}', and 
 bent over the little wounded hand lying lost
 
 A PRorosAL. 267 
 
 in his own great palm as a mother over her 
 sick child, and kissed and soothed it and was 
 altogether lovelorn and silly. It would be 
 hard to find two persons with a keener sense 
 of the ridiculous than these two ridiculous 
 creatures, yet neither w^as in the least disposed 
 to laugh at the other 1 We old folk of course 
 can laugh at and — envy them, longing in vain 
 to exchange our cynical sense for their happy 
 insanity. For the laugh is not on our side after 
 all. Our wisdom may be so ripe 
 
 Possent ut jiivenes visere fervidi, 
 Multo non sine risii, 
 Dilapsam in cineres facem. 
 
 So these two prattled silly things with a sub- 
 lime meaning — bubbles rising from profound 
 depths. Shall we print their prattle ? As well 
 gather the drops of which the rainbow was 
 composed after they had fallen from heaven 
 — their glory was not their own, but of 
 the sun which transfigured them. Let us 
 leave them to themselves for the single, sweet, 
 swift hour that seems to glide from them in a 
 moment, 
 
 Like the snowfall in the river, 
 
 A moment white, then melts for ever.
 
 268 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Please, Mr. Kneeshaw ; ' George started 
 aside like a broken bow. He had been sitting 
 very close to Mabel, probably to take advantage 
 of the shadow of her sunshade, for his head 
 was under it. They were hidden in a cup-like 
 hollow of the hill, only visible to anyone who 
 stood, as Mary Ann stood now, directly in 
 front. 
 
 ' You've come for more daisies, Mary Ann,' 
 said George in the confused way a man speaks 
 when first roused from a vivid dream. 
 
 ' Please, sir, we are agoing home.' 
 
 '• Home ! ' cried George, looking at his 
 watch. ' By Jove ! it's five o'clock ! ' 
 
 Mary Ann, like most poor people's children 
 — especially if they are delicate children — was 
 a very precocious young person, and drew^ her 
 own shrewd conclusions from George's attitude 
 and Mabel's scarlet face. These conclusions 
 and their grounds she afterwards imparted to 
 Mrs. MacGucken, much to that matron's relief, 
 for she had great searchings of heart about this 
 picnic in general, and the invitation of ]Miss 
 Mabel Masters to it in particular. ' The master,' 
 she was often heard to say, ' was that soft that 
 any one who had the mind miglit whip him up
 
 A PROPOSAL. 269 
 
 as easy as a handkerclier off a hedge' an 
 
 unflattering comparison suggested by her losses 
 of hnen left to bleach near the highway. 
 
 On this occasion, however, Mr. Lawley was 
 kept quite clear of temptation — unless Miss 
 Masters is to be considered in that incredible 
 light. That sagacious and cautious chaperon 
 never let him stray farther from her side than 
 to the children, and was so absorbed by her 
 suspicions of him that it never occurred to her 
 to think anything of Mabel's stroll with George. 
 She saw the two go off together with Mary Ann 
 in their company, and, not having noticed the 
 child's return in the interval she was in no 
 wise disquieted on seeing the three return, still 
 together, after over an hour's absence. Lawley, 
 though his thoughts were little given to runnino- 
 on such subjects, could not help putting the 
 right construction on this otherwise unaccount- 
 able desertion of him and his invalids by Mabel 
 and George. When it came near the time to 
 return, therefore, he thought it more consider- 
 ate to send Mary Ann in search of them than to 
 surprise them himself; and he felt rather proud 
 of his discretion when he saw the expressions 
 on the faces of the three as they hurried back —
 
 270 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Mabel looking still conscious, George confused, 
 and Mary Ann disgustingly knowing. 
 
 ' My dear Aunt ; how quickly you have 
 done it ! It's so like, too ! ' 
 
 ' Like what, dear ? That's a sketch of 
 Derwentwater. I didn't know you had been to 
 the Lakes.' 
 
 ' We shall just have time for a pipe, Knee- 
 shaw.' 
 
 ' I hope Miss Masters doesn't object to the 
 smell of tobacco,' said George, speaking to the 
 aunt but looking at the niece. 
 
 ' " Which kiniT, Bezonian ? " ' irrunted 
 Lawley. 
 
 ' I don't in the least object to the scent of 
 tobacco in the open air,' said Miss Masters 
 graciously, admiring, with her head drawn 
 back and on one side, the last consummate 
 touch she had given her sketch. George, 
 having looked in vain for Mabel to interchansje 
 one last glance with him (for that young 
 woman, conscious of Mr. Lawley 's cynical 
 scrutiny, would not lift her eyes from her 
 aunt's sketch), was hauled off a dejected 
 prisoner in Lawley 's custody. 
 
 As they walked away together George
 
 A PROPOSAL. 271 
 
 roused himself from his dehcious reveries by a 
 prodigious effort. ' Well, what have you been 
 doing ? ' he asked coolly. 
 
 ' You may well ask. I've been admiring 
 the works of the old Masters,' growled Lawley, 
 giving vent through this ungallant pleasantry 
 to his long-gathering irritation. ' You've been 
 going in for the modern, I should say.' 
 
 George was silent for a moment, wondering 
 whether Mabel would object to his confiding 
 their secret to Lawley. Having determined 
 this point in his own mind, he said, wdien they 
 had seated themselves, and Lawley had taken 
 out and filled his pipe, ' Lawley, she has 
 accepted me ! ' 
 
 ' Phew ! ' wdiistled Lawdey, who, being just 
 in the act of lighting his pipe, dropped the 
 fusee in amazement. ' Got to that ! Why, 
 liow long has it been going on ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, some time,' said George dreamily. 
 
 ' What ! before to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Before to-day ! ' 
 
 'Then you meant to propose when you 
 refused St. George's ? ' asked Lawley, rather 
 bewildered. 
 
 George thus forced back to face his night-
 
 272 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 long struggle and his heroic resolution of a few 
 hours since, wliich seemed now so dim and far 
 away, was confounded at this presentation of 
 his folly and feebleness. 
 
 ' No, I didn't,' he said desperately ; ' I 
 meant this morning to give up both her and 
 the living^.' 
 
 'But what about her? If she accepted 
 you to-day she must have cared for you before 
 this morning.' 
 
 Here was a consideration for a misogynist 
 to urge ! But Lawley had been extraordi- 
 narily struck with Mabel. 
 
 'I didn't know she cared for me, and I 
 didn't know I cared so madlv for her. I was 
 carried off my feet, Lawley.' And then he 
 raved frantically about Mabel like a boy, as he 
 was. 
 
 Lawley listened to his wild rhapsody with 
 more sympathy than he showed. 'By the 
 way,' he said, when George paused for breath, 
 ' we mustn't forget to post this letter of yours,' 
 taking the refusal of St. Geor<]fe's from his 
 pocket. 
 
 ' Lawley, it's cruel of you ! God ! what 
 must I do ? '
 
 A PKOPOSAL. 27 
 
 o 
 
 ' I'll tell you what you must not do. You 
 mustn't drag a girl like that into hopeless 
 poverty, or a hopeless engagement either. If 
 you must give up the Church and struggle for 
 a living God knows how, you must give her 
 up. It won't do to fling yourself out of the 
 boat and drag her to drown with you.' 
 
 ' I caiit give her up,' groaned George. 
 
 ' You could give her up this morning, and 
 may be in the same mind to-morrow morning,' 
 said Lawley, in a tone of irritation that seemed 
 to George uncalled-for and unaccountable. 
 The fact was not merely that Lawley, being 
 himself ' a still strong man,' was impatient of 
 feeble vacillation, but that he felt indignant 
 that the happiness of a girl like Miss Masters 
 should be at the mercy of such vacillation. 
 Perhaps, at the bottom of his heart, this cynic 
 and misogynist grudged George the briUiant 
 conquest he seemed to make and hold so heed- 
 lessly. 
 
 ' We had better get back, hadn't we ? ' said 
 George, with sudden suUenness, repenting 
 bitterly of having confided his sacred secret to 
 such sacrilegious hands. 
 
 ' Look here, old fellow,' said Lawley, with 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 a frank friendliness which was irresistible, 
 putting his hand on George's knee. ' It's no 
 use being angry with me for looking at this 
 thing from the girl's side. She's not like other 
 girls. She'll not accept a man as she'd accept 
 a partner for a waltz, and change partners as 
 lightly ; ' speaking with a bitterness which was 
 the irritation of an old wound that still throb- 
 bed at times. ' When you do come across a 
 girl like that, it's not fair to make it a toss-up 
 whether you propose to her or not. It was a 
 toss-up you know,' nodding at George. 
 
 Lawley praise any girl so ! And that girl 
 Mabel ! He was the prince of confidants ! 
 
 ' I tell you, Lawley, I didn't know how I 
 worshipped her. It seems a whole year since 
 this morning. And as for her caring for me, 
 I couldn't have believed it. I can hardly 
 believe it yet ; ' looking back to where she 
 stood, as if for reassurance that it wasn't a 
 dream. 'But give her up now! Can't you 
 understand that a man might give up a lottery 
 ticket of one in ten thousand who wouldn't 
 give up the prize for the world ? ' 
 
 ' Well, then, if you are going to stick to 
 her you must stick to the Church, and to this
 
 A PROPOSAL. 275 
 
 living, too,' said Lawley, coolly lighting a 
 niatcli and holding George's letter over it till it 
 was consumed. 
 
 George watched the auto-da-fe in silence, 
 but with a troubled face. 
 
 'You'll thank me for this before you're a 
 year older,' continued Lawley. 
 
 ' I don't know,' said George doubtfully. 
 
 ' Are you glad I made you come with us 
 to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Glad ! ' 
 
 'You see what a difference a few hours 
 have made in your mind.' 
 
 ' It's not the time that has made the differ- 
 ence.' 
 
 ' Of course it's not the time that has made 
 the difference. It's change of circumstances. 
 And a cliange of circumstances will make all 
 the difference in the world in your views. You 
 take what I must call a morbid view of your 
 position in the Church now — I don't see how 
 you could help taking it. You got let in for 
 one of the worst curacies in England — one of 
 the worst curacies in England, I should say,* 
 repeated Lawley deliberately. ' Dr. Clancy 
 may have been a very good man for converting 
 
 T 2
 
 276 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 the heathen to Christianity — I don't know 
 about that — but a better man for converting 
 Christians to heathenism you could liardly find 
 in England. It's not easy for any thinking 
 man to listen to him in or out of the pulpit for 
 a year \vithout his faith being shaken. Besides, 
 he made you as uncomfortable as he could ; 
 put you into the most galhng harness, and took 
 care that it should gall ; and when you were 
 disheartened and disgusted and in the worst 
 frame of mind for forming a fair judgment of 
 anythmg, you had this burlesque of religion 
 put before you at every turn as the thing you 
 had sworn to hold and teach. Every parson 
 you met was appointed by Clancy, and echoed 
 his ideas of a clergyman's obligations, till you 
 came to 
 
 Think the rustic cackle of your bourg 
 The murmur of the world. 
 
 It will be a different thing altogetlier when 
 you have a church of your own, and are no 
 lono^er worried, bulhed, and muzzled. Tou 
 can then say out what you believe and what 
 you don't beheve, and can leave the tilings you 
 doubt alone. You'll get a safety-valve to blow 
 off* steam and ease the boiler, and you'll come
 
 A PROPOSAL. 277 
 
 back to a healthy state of miud. You'll find 
 then that you believe more than you thought, 
 and that others beheve less than you thought, 
 and that you have at least as good a right in 
 the Church as a Methodist like Clancy or a 
 Eomanist like Gant.' 
 
 There was some truth and much plausi- 
 bility in Lawley's way of putting the thing, but 
 it would hardly have convinced and converted 
 George that morning. Now, however, he 
 could no longer look at things by that ' dry 
 light ' of w^hich Bacon speaks — ^^^^17 ^rjpr) 
 cro(l)0JTdT7] — but by a light ' which was infused 
 and drenched in his affections.' 
 
 ' I shall accept it,' said George, rising 
 suddenly. 
 
 ' Of course you'll accept it,' Lawley replied, 
 also rising and putting back his pipe into its 
 case. ' You're the luckiest fellow I ever heard 
 of. Here you are, a young fellow of twenty- 
 five, without interest and with no great good 
 looks or brains, and you get in one day the 
 best living in Wefton and a girl too good for a 
 duke ! ' 
 
 Here, of course, George took up the 
 wondrous tale, and as they walked back went
 
 278 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 wild with praise of Mabel, till Lawley had to 
 quote, from Bon Gaultier, — 
 
 "Tis the most infernal bore 
 Of all the bores I know, 
 To have a friend who's lost his heart 
 A short time ago.' 
 
 On their return they found the horses to. 
 Miss Masters seated in the waggonette, and 
 Mabel lifting in the last of the children. 
 George was just in time, under the pretext of 
 helping her in, to press her hand, and to convey 
 through that dumb alphabet of love all the un- 
 utterable thinii^s he felt in the lonjr interval 
 since he had last seen her. During the drive 
 home Mabel was shy and embarrassed ; George, 
 since he could not bring himself to speak to 
 her as a mere acquaintance, was silent but 
 happy in the mere touch of her dress ; while 
 Lawley amazed them both by an extraordinary 
 flow of talk and spirits. Mabel's shyness and 
 embarrassment not only gave him courage, but 
 suggested tliat the greatest kindness he could 
 do her would be to take all the talk to himself. 
 Now Lawley, when lie was in the vein and 
 chose to exert himself, was a most brilliant 
 talker. He had a keen and caustic wit, dry
 
 A PKOPOSAL. 279 
 
 humour, and a memory, like an old curiosity 
 shop, stored with all manner of out-of-the-way 
 and interesting things. Mabel heard him with 
 the most flattering interest and admiration, 
 while George was more than once drawn out of 
 his delicious reveries to listen. All three were 
 so absorbed, that the sudden pulling-up of the 
 carriage at The Grange was their first warning 
 of the close of the journey. 
 
 ' Here we are ! ' said Lawley, with some- 
 thing like a sigh. Mabel turned suddenly 
 towards George to look her farewell. George, 
 however, had no idea of being put off with a 
 look, however loving. 
 
 'Would you kindly allow me to write a 
 note in your house, to post on my way home ? ' 
 asked he of Miss Masters, whom the sudden 
 pull-up had waked out of an uneasy sleep. 
 
 ' Certainly, Mr. Kneeshaw. Perhaps Mr. 
 Lawley, too, would come in and have a cup of 
 tea ? ' with, however, a doubtful look at the 
 children. Mr. Lawley politely declined, on the 
 plea of having to see his charges home ; and so 
 the party broke up.
 
 280 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 GUAKDIAXS. 
 
 George whispered to Mabel as he handed her 
 out, ' I must see you for a moment ; ' and 
 Mabel, speaking upon this hint, said to her 
 aunt as they entered the house — 
 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw might write his note in the 
 nursery, Aunt, while tea is getting ready.' 
 
 ' The niu"sery ' was the study of the 
 gynecium : first a nursery, tlien a schoolroom, 
 now Mabel's sanctum, it had kept its original 
 name. 
 
 ' Very well, my dear ; you can show Mr. 
 Kneeshaw into it,' said this incomparable 
 chaperon. 
 
 ' Is this the nursery ? What a pretty 
 room ! ' It was not a pretty room in itself, but 
 books, pictures, flowers, nicknacks, arranged 
 neither primly nor confusedly, but with a
 
 GUARDIANS. 281 
 
 ' sweet disorder, a wild civility,' redeemed its 
 natural plainness. 
 
 'Yes, this is tlie nursery. You're looking 
 for the broken toys ? There have been plenty 
 of them, but they're hidden away,' said Mabel, 
 with an undercurrent of deep and sad meaning 
 in her voice and in her eyes. ' It has always 
 been my own room ever since I can remember. 
 My very own^ you know.' 
 
 ' My very own ! ' echoed George, with 
 another meaning expressed through his eyes, 
 and through his hands holding both of hers, 
 and through his lips pressed passionately to 
 hers. 
 
 ' Is this wliat vou wanted me for ? ' makinf:^ 
 her escape to a table where, with her back 
 turned to him to hide her burning blushes, she 
 opened a desk for him to write at. George 
 followed, and put his arm round lier, and told 
 her for the first time of the offer of the living, 
 and showed her Mr. Pickles' letter. 
 
 ' What does he mean by saying, " I have 
 only just learned the obligation I am under to 
 you for saving my son's life " ? ' 
 
 ' He thought I was knocked down by 
 accident.'
 
 282 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Weren't you ? ' 
 
 Then George had to explain how the thing 
 had been, and Mabel learned for the first time 
 her hero's heroism, not merely in risking his 
 life to save that of the worthless Clarence 
 Pickles, but in leaving that gentleman's account 
 of the affair uncontradicted. Indeed, this con- 
 temptuous magnanimity of silence struck Mabel 
 as more noble than the rescue itself, which it 
 was a mere matter of course that her hero 
 should attempt. 
 
 'Bayard!' she said jestingly, but showing 
 her earnest admiration throug^h her shinincr 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Vice Barney dismissed,' laughed George. 
 ' But shall we accept it, dearest ? ' asking the 
 question for the opportunity it gave of this 
 delightful identification of their ftiterests. It 
 also gave him an opening to speak of their 
 marriaore as continj^^ent on his induction into 
 the living ; but Mabel put this startling subject 
 aside to speak on another that was uppermost 
 in lier mind. To her secrecy seemed deceit, 
 and she could not feel happy in her engage- 
 ment until her father knew and approved of it. 
 And yet she had a miserable misgiving that her
 
 GUARDIANS. 283 
 
 father would disapprove of it, and that it would 
 be another of the broken toys of her life to be 
 hidden away. George, when she expressed 
 her scruples to him, fell in at once with her 
 wish, as he himself, from a feeling he would 
 not face, was eager to rivet irrevocably their 
 engagement. 
 
 Accordingly it was arranged that he should 
 have the fateful interview with Colonel Masters 
 that evening, if possible. Then the pair 
 relapsed, after this lucid interval, into delirium, 
 from which they were roused by Miss Masters 
 calling for Mabel. 
 
 ' There ! Tea is ready ! ' cried Mabel, in 
 dismay ; ' and you haven't written your note, 
 and I haven't taken my things off. What will 
 Aunt think ? ' 
 
 ' She'll think the tea cold ' — which was pre- 
 cisely what she did think. She was simply 
 disgusted at being kept waiting. Even when 
 all went well with her, and she was in the best 
 temper possible, she hadn't much thought to 
 spare to anyone else ; but upon the least dis- 
 comfort she shrank into her shell altogether. 
 
 ' What a time you've taken to get ready, 
 Mabel,' she said peevishly. ' And Mr.
 
 284 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Kneeshaw hrtsn't written his note yet, I suppose. 
 I'm sure he'd not wish us to wait tea for him. 
 Shall I send liim a cup into the nursery ? ' 
 
 This happy thought was welcomed by 
 Mabel, who did not care to take her aunt into 
 confidence as to the reason or result of 
 George's interview with her father. George 
 could go to him direct from the nursery, where 
 she would await his return and report. 
 
 ' Jane could take it in to him, ' urged Miss 
 Masters. 
 
 ' I think I shall take it myself,' said Mabel, 
 looking as unconscious as she could, with such 
 little success that even a man would have taken 
 in the situation at a glance. Miss Masters' 
 only thought, however, was that it was 
 undignified in Mabel to attend upon Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, 
 
 ' My dear, I think it would look better if 
 Jane took it in.' 
 
 But Mabel, without arguing the point, pro- 
 ceeded to prepare a tray, and as the matter 
 was of slight importance to Miss Masters com- 
 pared with her having her own tea at once and 
 in comfort, Mabel was allowed to take it to 
 Geori2je without further remonstrance.
 
 GUARDIAXS. 285 
 
 ' I was just coming,' said George. 
 
 ' I thought it better you should go from 
 here to see my father,' said Mabel, with a 
 tremor in her voice. Slie felt that the happi- 
 ness of her hfe would be decided in a few 
 minutes. 
 
 ' He'll give his consent, dearest,' said 
 George, speaking assuredly, but looking up 
 interrogatively into her wistful eyes. 
 
 ' I don't know,' she answered tremulously. 
 
 ' But if not ? ' he asked, clasping both 
 her hands in his, and appealing to her as for 
 life. 
 
 ' If not,' she faltered, with a childlike ex- 
 pression of piteous helplessness in her face — ' If 
 not, you must help me to do my duty, George.' 
 
 ' My darling, I can't give you up,' he cried, 
 rising and straining her to his breast. 
 
 She lay passive in his arms a moment, 
 thinking it might be a farewell embrace ; and 
 then, disengaging herself with a smile that shone 
 through tears, said, ' It mayn't be good-bye 
 after all, you know ; ' and then, after a pause, 
 ' I shall ask him to see you now,' she said, and 
 was gone. 
 
 ' Father, Mr. Knecshaw wishes to see you.'
 
 286 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 Colonel Masters Avas sitting solitary over his 
 wine. 
 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw ? Who's he ? ' 
 ' One of the curates of the parish church.' 
 ' What does he want ? At this hour, too.' 
 ' Shall I ask him to call to-morrow morn- 
 ing?' 
 
 ' What does he want ? ' he asked again 
 petulantly ; and then, after a pause, which 
 Mabel didn't fill, ' No ; I'd better get it done 
 with at once, whatever it is. Tell Jane to 
 show him in.* 
 
 ' Here, Father ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, here. It's a subscription, I suppose.' 
 This was not encouraging. Mabel returned 
 to George pale and dejected, but trying to look 
 cheerful. ' Come,' she said, with rather a wan 
 smile. ' You'll be patient and forbearing,' she 
 turned to say entreatingly, before they entered 
 the dininoj-room together. Georf]fe nodded 
 with a smile, thou<:^h his heart rather foiled 
 him. This lion that guarded his Una must be 
 rather a savac^e beast. Yet Mabel's warninsr 
 was uncalled for. Colonel Masters was brutal 
 only at home, but exquisitely pohte to 
 strangers. He prided himself on being a
 
 GUARDIANS. 287 
 
 gentleman, and he knew that gentlemanhness 
 obhgecl him to be courteous to everyone but 
 those of his own household, and to be specially 
 gentle with women, children, and clergymen. 
 No doubt he lost his self-command when he 
 lost his temper, but under ordinary circum- 
 stances he was punctiliously and even painfully 
 polite. 
 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw, Father.' 
 
 'How do you do, Mr. Kneeshaw? Pray 
 take a seat. Mabel, tell Jane to bring another 
 glass.' Colonel Masters was favourably im- 
 pressed with George's appearance. In the first 
 place, he didn't look a clergyman, for, like his 
 friend Lawley, he was ritualistic enough to 
 express his disbehef in sacerdotalism through 
 his dress, which was httle distinguishable from 
 that of a layman ; and, in the second place, he 
 was a perfect gentleman in appearance and 
 bearing. 
 
 After a glass had been brought for George, 
 and nervously filled and sipped, and after a 
 few common -place remarks on common-place 
 matters, there fell an awkward silence, which 
 grew more difficult to break the longer it 
 lasted. ' Colonel Masters,' George at last
 
 288 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 blurted out, * you will he surprised at my call- 
 iug upon you, at such an hour, but the fact is I 
 , — I — proposed to-day to Miss Masters, and she 
 has accepted me, subject to your approval.' 
 George had arranged and repeated aloud to 
 himself in the nursery a gradual and most 
 diplomatic approach to this delicate subject, 
 and this headlong plunge was the result! 
 Colonel Masters set dow^n untasted the glass 
 he had half raised to his lips. 'With Miss 
 Masters ! ' he exclaimed. He had for a 
 moment an idea that George meant his sister. 
 But no ; this was not possible. He must mean 
 Mabel. 
 
 ' Mr. Kneeshaw, do you know^ her age ? ' 
 It was now George's turn to think the aunt 
 w^as in question. He could not help being 
 more amused than enraged at this revolting 
 misunderstanding, and exclaimed in turn, with 
 an irresistible smile, ' Her age ! Your daughters 
 
 age?' 
 
 'Yes,' replied the Colonel, to George's 
 amazement, not disconcerted in the least ; ' my 
 daughter's age. You must have known, Mr. 
 Kneeshaw, that she was little more than a child ; 
 yet you put this thing into her head ! '
 
 GUARDIANS. 2S9 
 
 Was it possible, thought tlie bewildered 
 George, that Mabel, with a mind and body so 
 superbly developed, was only fourteen or fifteen 
 years of age ? He had heard of the precocious 
 mental and bodily development of Indian-born 
 children ; could Mabel be a singular instance of 
 this singular precocity? 
 
 ' I hope you'll excuse the question, Colonel 
 Masters ; but how old is your daughter ? ' 
 
 Colonel Masters was puzzled in his turn. 
 How old Avas Mabel ? By an intricate calcula- 
 tion, made upon a comparison of the dates of 
 his going to India, of liis first furlough, etc., he 
 found, to his utter amazement, that Mabel must 
 be nineteen, and might be twenty-one. Upon 
 this confounding discovery, his first thought 
 was, as usual, of himself, and of what to him 
 was the sorest of subjects — his age, which 
 seemed to hurry on by a kind of geometric 
 progression — each year so much shorter than 
 the last — crescit eundo. His next thought w^as 
 how to extricate himself from the rather 
 absurd position he had taken up without com- 
 promising his dignity. 
 
 ' You must allow us elders to have different 
 ideas from yours of youth, Mr. Kneeshaw,' he 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 said, evading, of course, a direct answer to 
 George's question. ' I daresay we are behind 
 the age, but we think our daughters should not 
 marry earlier than their mothers before them.' 
 (Mabel's poor mother, by the way, had been 
 married at eighteen.) 'But, even putting that 
 point aside, Mr. Kneeshaw,' contimied Colonel 
 Masters, with an air of much magnanimity, 
 ' you are yourself very young — only just 
 entered the Church, I should say,' looking 
 interrogatively at George, who nodded ac- 
 quiescence. ' Now the Church is a \ery 
 honourable profession — a most honourable 
 profession — but a very precarious profession. 
 Promotion in the Church, I need not tell you, 
 always depends on some one beside a man's 
 self, and on something beside his merits. 
 Indeed,. it seems to me that in the Church the 
 best men are always the last promoted, and 
 the silliest, like froth, get to the top at once. 
 Not a promising look-out for you, Mr. Knee- 
 shaw,' with a- complimentary bow. 
 
 ' I have strong confirmation of your view 
 of Church preferment in my pocket,' laughed 
 George, with new hope ; 'it's a letter from
 
 aUARDIANi?. 291 
 
 Mr. Pickles offerino; me the livinfi^ of St. 
 George's/ 
 
 ' Indeed ! A good living, Mr. Kneeshaw ? ' 
 ' He says it will probably be seven hundred 
 pounds a year.' 
 
 Colonel Masters woidd have given way at 
 once if he hadn't made such a foolish fuss about 
 Mabel's youth. He knew as little of his 
 daughter's character as he knew of her age, 
 and he had no doubt at all that she would 
 marry Mr. Kneeshaw, whether he gave his con- 
 sent or not. Besides, she was as likelv as not 
 to fancy some parson or other, and Mr. Knee- 
 shaw was much above the average parson of 
 Colonel Masters' acquaintance in bearing, 
 appearance, and prospects. He didn't seem 
 like a man either who would dun him for 
 money if he needed it, while he was unlikely to 
 need it with a good living to start with. This 
 was a great point with the Colonel. But, on 
 the other hand, who was to read for him ? 
 That was the main thing to be thought of, after 
 all. He had cjot used to Mabel, and was not 
 likely to find one who would suit him so well. 
 Besides, he would have now to pay for such 
 help. It was disgusting how selfish people 
 
 u 2
 
 292 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 • 
 
 were. After all the expense and trouble he 
 had been at to bring this girl up, just when 
 she was beginning to be of some little use to 
 him, she was ready to leave him for the first 
 man that asks her. Still, as she was sure to 
 leave him some time for some one, it was as 
 well she didn't fall into the hands of an adven- 
 turer, who would have been always trying to 
 extort money from him. On these grounds 
 the Colonel would have given his ungracious 
 approval of their engagement, if he had not 
 committed himself against it on the absurd plea 
 of Mabel's extreme youth. At this point of his 
 meditations, which passed in a moment through 
 his brain, a way out of the difficulty suggested 
 itself, by which he would be rid at once, and 
 once for all, of the business. 
 
 'I think this is rather a woman's matter, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw,' he said, in a tone of some con- 
 tempt. ' My sister will be fitter to deal with it 
 than I. If you will permit me, I shall refer 
 you to her.' 
 
 ' If I can get her approval, I may hope for 
 yours ? ' asked George, relieved, and indeed 
 overjoyed, but contemptuous of Colonel Masters* 
 contempt.
 
 GUARDIANS. 29 
 
 o 
 
 ' Certainly,' said the Colonel, decisively, 
 dismissing the subject as having not much in 
 it to begin with, and being now thoroughly 
 threshed out. He passed at once to topics of 
 some importance, in w^liich, however, George 
 showed but a languid interest. He rose, as 
 soon as he could, without ungraciousness, and, 
 making an apology for intruding at such an 
 imseasonable hour, hurried away to report to 
 Mabel. 
 
 Meantime Mabel, after going through tlie 
 form of taking tea with her aunt, had returned 
 to the nursery, where she paced up and down 
 in a suspense that would have shocked Miss 
 Eoxby. Indeed, that correct person would have 
 disapproved of the facility, not less than of the 
 intensity, of Mabel's affections, and in this, 
 perhaps, some of our readers may agree with 
 her. We must again remind them that Mabel, 
 since her mother's death, had been famishing 
 for love, as her father simply tolerated her, and 
 Miss Murdoch was as stern as steel. It was 
 their indifference which made George's con- 
 quest of her seemingly so easy. When he, 
 seeming ' scarce other than her own ideal 
 knight,' fell down and worshipped her, the
 
 294 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 gratitude she felt at first slipped easily and soon 
 into a warmer feeling. And this feeling had 
 lain so long fallow tliat it yielded now all the 
 richer harvest. Thus .George got more than 
 the reversion, which was tlie most the Duke 
 looked for from Olivia: — 
 
 Slie that bath a heart of that fine frame 
 To pay this debt of love but to a father, 
 How will slic love, wlien the ricli golden shaft 
 I lath killed the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her ! 
 
 Tlie affection which had been cliilled by her 
 father and aunt now broke into blossom all the 
 more luxuriant from the long winter that had 
 kept it back. Her heart was like a tree that 
 struggles up in the gloom of a dense forest, 
 which cannot put forth a single shoot till it 
 gains the sun at last ; but then its whole pent- 
 up life burst's out together, and it is crowned 
 like a palm, all its glory at the top. 
 
 ' Well ? ' she asked, as she met George at 
 the nursery door. George at first rciissured 
 her only by his look, for he was eager to set at 
 rest an anxiety of his own. Putting his hand 
 imder her chin and lifting up her fjxce towards 
 him, as if she were a child, he asked in turn, 
 ' How old are you ? '
 
 . GUARDIANS. 295 
 
 ' How old ? Oh, I'm ever so old. I shall 
 be twenty in October,' she said, with tlie re- 
 gretful air of a septuagenarian. 
 
 ' Twenty ! Thank God ! ' said George, 
 affecting to laugh off as a joke a relief that was 
 real. ' I tliought you were an infant pheno- 
 menon. Your father seems to tliink you about 
 twelve.' 
 
 ' He said I was too young ? ' 
 
 ' He said you were little more tlian a 
 child ; but in the end he referred me to your 
 aunt.' 
 
 Mabel knew her father's utter contempt for 
 her aunt, to whom he would certainly not refer 
 anything he thought of tlie least importance, 
 and she was provoked into saying, with a 
 bitterness unusual in her, ' He refers all little 
 housekeeping matters to aunt.' 
 
 Geors^e hastened to heal the hurt. 
 
 ' I'm not sure that he didn't think it was 
 your aunt's hand I was asking for. He seemed 
 rather hazy about it, and tliought it safest to 
 refer me to her,' he said, laugliing. 
 
 This irresistible joke cleared the cloud off 
 Mabel's face.
 
 20G LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 ' Aunt will make the same mistake, if you 
 don't mind. I don't think I shall trust you in 
 a tete-a-tete with her.' 
 
 ' Let's go together, then, and ask her bless- 
 ing on our knees. Is she still in the drawing- 
 room ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; she expects you there when you 
 have finished your letter. I needn't announce 
 you this time.' 
 
 ' You'll not come ? ' 
 
 ' Come ? No. I should be de trop. Be- 
 sides, I have heard your proposal speech 
 already at the rehearsal this afternoon.' 
 George's answer was not in words, and Mss 
 Masters had to wait some time longer in the 
 drawing-room before he appeared. 
 
 ' It must have been a foreign letter, !Mr. 
 Kneeshaw. When my brother was in India it 
 took me hours to send him all the news.' 
 
 * No, indeed, Miss Masters, it was a letter 
 to Wefton — to Mr. Pickles, accepting a living 
 lie was good enough to offer me.' George was 
 determined to begin at the right end this 
 time. 
 
 ' I hope it's a good living, Mr. Kneeshaw.' 
 
 ' It will be about seven hundred pounds a
 
 GUAKUIAXS. 2U7 
 
 year and a bouse. It is tlie new clun-cli of St. 
 Georsje's.' 
 
 Miss Masters' o])inion of George went uj) ;il 
 a bound. ' I'm sure I con^jratulate you 
 lieartily, Mr. Kneeshaw. Lt's very quick pro- 
 motion.' 
 
 ' And yet I'm not satisfied, Miss Masters. I 
 came to ask you for something more.' 
 
 ' Me ! ' If George had given the old lady 
 time to get her thoughts together, she would 
 certainly have made the mistake Mabel pre- 
 dicted. 
 
 ' Yes,' he hurried on to say ; ' I came to 
 ask you for the hand of your niece.' 
 
 'Mabel! Why I thought—but you'd 
 better see her father.' 
 
 ' I have seen him, Miss Masters, and he 
 referred me for an answer to you.' 
 
 Miss Masters was very much flattered by 
 this proof of her brother's confidence, and 
 pleased at the consequence it gave her ; but 
 her first thought, like her brother's, was, of 
 course, of her own convenience and comfort. 
 If Mabel married, her chaperon's occupation 
 would be gone. 
 
 ' You are both very young,' she said, in the
 
 298 LOVE THE DEBT. 
 
 liope of at lenst postponing the wedding. This 
 was too bad. She also, like her brother, 
 seemed to expect that George's 
 
 Vejret al>le love should grow 
 "Vaster than empires, and more slow ; 
 While she should, if she please, refuse 
 Till the conversion of the Jews. 
 
 ' Mabel is twenty, and I twenty-five. ' Be- 
 sides,' George adroitly added, 'she would 
 always liave you to advise her. Miss Masters.' 
 
 Mss Masters, thinking with her brother 
 til at tlie marriage would come off with or 
 without her consent, decided that it would be 
 wisest to make to herself new friends and a new 
 home. But she must first make the most of 
 her new importance. 
 
 ' You've taken me so muc-h by surprise, 
 Mr. Kneeshaw, that I hardly know what to 
 say. You must give me a little time to think 
 the matter over, and talk it over with my 
 brother, before I can give you an answer. A 
 woman's happiness is a very serious thing/ 
 she added sententiously and solemnly, as if 
 matrimony and misery went together inva- 
 riably. 
 
 ' You don't think I shall make her happy ? '
 
 GUARDIANS. 209 
 
 asked George, rather taken aback by this 
 dismal way of looking at the thing. 
 
 ' I think she will be as happy witli 3'ou as 
 with any one, Mr. Kneeshaw — quite ; but a 
 woman is much happier unmarried,' nodding 
 very decidedly. 
 
 ' But you shoidd consider our sex,' urged 
 George, much relieved ; ' a man is so much 
 happier married. Isn't it a little selfish of 
 you to look only at your own side of the 
 question ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps I was a little selfish,' confessed 
 Miss Masters musinojlv, as if recallincY all the 
 hearts she had broken. 
 
 ' You've done mischief enough already, Miss 
 Masters. You owe our sex some reparation. 
 Make it to me by giving me Mabel.' It was 
 an audacious venture, but perfectly successful. 
 
 ' Well, we shall see,' she said, with a smile 
 that made George happy. 
 
 EXD OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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