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 m o 8 w 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 LOST FOR LOVE.
 
 LONDON: 
 ROBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD. N.W ,
 
 LOST FOR LOVE 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 EY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 2LontJon: 
 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1874. 
 
 [A II rights reserved. ]
 
 
 TO 
 
 »' 
 
 
 MR. AND MRS. JOHN TAYLOR 
 £(jis oStork is inscribe, 
 
 AS 
 
 AX EXPRESSION OF THE AUTHOR'S ESTEEM.
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ; Oui, sans doute, tout meurt ; ce monde est un grande reve, 
 Et le peu de bonheur qui nous vient en chemin, 
 Nous n'avons pas plutot ce roseau dans la main, 
 Que le vent nous l'enleve.' 
 
 Dr. Ollivant sat alone in his library and consulting- 
 room, a spacious chamber built out at the back of his 
 house in Wimpole-street, after his day's work was 
 ended — a long day and a heavy one ; for at six-and- 
 thirty years of age the doctor found himself possessed 
 of a great practice — a practice that recompensed him 
 largely for his devotion to science, but left little 
 margin in his life for pleasure. It may indeed be 
 doubted if Dr. Ollivant knew the meaning of that 
 word ' pleasure,' except so far as it was accessible to 
 him in dictionaries. His father had been a hard- 
 VOL. i. b
 
 A LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 working — the world added money-grubbing — country 
 practitioner, and, at the earliest stage in which the 
 infant brain is open to receive impressions, had 
 striven to imbue his son's mind with a correct idea 
 of life, contemplated always from his own particular 
 point of view : that life was meant for hard work — ■ 
 that without hard work no man could expect to suc- 
 ceed — that worldly success was the supreme good to 
 which the soul of man could aspire. 
 
 Cuthbert Ollivant learnt the lesson, but applied 
 it after his own fashion. Had he possessed no 
 higher brain than his father, he would most likely 
 have restricted his notion of success — or, as his 
 father called it, ' getting on' — to the consolidation 
 and improvement of his father's practice, the steady- 
 going old-fashioned family-surgeon business, in the 
 sleepy old town of Long Sutton, Devonshire. But 
 the lad happened to be endowed with a larger mind 
 than had illumined the Ollivant family within the 
 present century ; and for him success meant origi- 
 nality — the fruition of new ideas, a step forward in 
 the march of science ; or, if not absolute invention, 
 at least such an application of the wisdom of the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 6 
 
 past as should achieve some fresh good in the 
 present. 
 
 For a youth with such yearnings, Long Sutton 
 was not large enough. Samuel Ollivant well-nigh up- 
 rooted the scanty wisp of hair which encircled his bald 
 crown when, after walking the hospitals and going 
 through the usual curriculum, his son told him that 
 he would return no more to the sleepy little Devon- 
 shire town, where his race had abided and thriven 
 from generation to generation. His father might dis- 
 pose of the good old family practice to whomsoever 
 he would. He, Cuthbert, would remain in London 
 — had indeed been already elected parish-doctor in a 
 populous district by Bethnal-green. The pay was 
 of the poorest, he wrote cheerfully, but the expe- 
 rience would be immense. 
 
 Mr. Ollivant groaned and gnashed his teeth, and 
 told his wife that her son was an idiot ; but nothing 
 he could say to the benighted young man could shake 
 his purpose. Cuthbert began his work in the pur- 
 lieus of Bethnal-green at three-and-twenty years of 
 age, and went on with it steadily till he was twenty- 
 six ; and, except at Christmas time, when he came
 
 4 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 to the home of his forefathers for a duty- visit, Long 
 Sutton knew him no more. After three years' un- 
 flagging labour — there had never been such a parish- 
 doctor within the memory of the oldest overseer — 
 he went abroad, studied in France and Germany, 
 pushed on to St. Petersburg, made himself familiar 
 with every school of medicine, and was called back 
 to England, a few months before his thirtieth birth- 
 day, to attend his father's deathbed. 
 
 ' You've made a great mistake in life, Cuthbert,' 
 said the old man, during the one brief hour in which 
 he was able to talk rationally with his son. ' You 
 might have made this a splendid practice, if you had 
 worked with me for the last seven years ; as it is, 
 the business has fallen off. I've been getting- old ; 
 didn't like to have a stranger about me, so wouldn't 
 take a partner. Filby and Jackson have under- 
 mined me in the place, Cuthbert ; the practice isn't 
 what it was when you were a boy at school, by 
 three hundred a year. But I leave you a comfort- 
 able little bit of money, in spite of everything. It's 
 your mother's doing — there never was such a woman 
 to save money.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 5 
 
 The ' comfortable little bit of money' thus spoken 
 of amounted to some thousands, quite enough to 
 justify Cuthbert Ollivant in the step he took imme- 
 diately after his father's funeral. He sold the Long- 
 Sutton practice to Filby and Jackson, who already 
 had three-fourths of the town on their books, and by 
 this purchase established a monopoly. He would 
 have sold his father's household goods also, but here 
 his mother interposed. The chairs and tables might 
 be old-fashioned, cumbrous, inelegant ; but they 
 were the chairs and tables she had known all her 
 married life. 
 
 I Two-and-thirty years, Cuthbert ; think of that !' 
 
 I I do, mother, and for that very reason think we 
 ought to begin our new life with new furniture.' 
 
 ' I am too old to begin a new life, dear, and I 
 like the old things best.' This with a tender glance 
 at an ancient Spanish-mahogany sideboard that age 
 had made almost as black as ebony. ' They don't 
 make such things now.' 
 
 ' I'm rather glad they don't,' remarked her pro- 
 fane son. ' It will cost more money to move the 
 things than they are worth, I believe, mother ; but
 
 b LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 if you like them, they shall be moved. I'd as soon 
 sit upon one chair as another. I have no artistic 
 tastes.' 
 
 So the ancient sideboard, the secretaires, and 
 bureaus, and four-post bedsteads of a bygone age — 
 all pervaded by a certain grimness that stood for 
 respectability — were conveyed from Long Sutton to 
 the house which Cuthbert Ollivant had taken for 
 himself in Wimpole-street, and being set up there, 
 under Mrs. Ollivant's direction, made the London 
 house almost as grim and dark and ancient-looking 
 as the home of Cuthbert's infancy. Perhaps Wim- 
 pole-street itself is hardly the gayest or brightest of 
 thoroughfares. Its length is to the stranger akin to 
 despair, and it has been hardly dealt with as to 
 width, whereby the shadow of over-the-way broods 
 sullenly upon the fronts of the houses that turn their 
 backs to the afternoon sun. But Wimpole-street is 
 eminently respectable, fashionable even, or at any 
 rate appertaining to the West-end ; and Dr. Ollivant 
 — he had taken the higher degree in Paris, and 
 made haste now to obtain it in London — had chosen 
 Wimpole-street as a fair base for his operations.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 7 
 
 He had no more to do with Bethiial-green, but he 
 gave two hours of every morning — from eight till 
 ten — to gratis patients. For the first year of his 
 Wimpole-street life they were almost his only pa- 
 tients. Then little by little his fame spread; he 
 had taken to himself a specialty during his conti- 
 nental travels, namely, the treatment of heart-disease 
 — had written a little book upon this theme, and 
 published the same in London and Paris. By the 
 aid of this book he advertised himself into the notice 
 of a good many idle people who fancied they had 
 heart-disease, and a few who were real sufferers. 
 Rich old ladies and gentlemen, who lived alone and 
 lived too well, came to him, liked his manner — a 
 grave and somewhat cold reserve which was yet 
 courteous, and implied profound wisdom — and made 
 him their physician in ordinary. ' Ollivant on Car- 
 diac Diseases' and ' Ollivant on Auscultation' became 
 almost standard works. In a word, Cuthbert Olli- 
 vant had succeeded, and by the time five years had 
 run off the lease of the house in Wimpole-street had 
 made for himself a position which he deemed the 
 stepping-stone to future distinction.
 
 8 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 His mother lived with him now, as she had lived 
 with him from the beginning, the careful mistress 
 of his house, the intelligent companion of his brief 
 intervals of leisure. Her character presented a 
 curious mixture of the ultra-prosaic with the intel- 
 lectual and imaginative. She would lay down her 
 volume of Wordsworth or Shelley to order the din- 
 ner or give out a week's supply of grocery. She 
 made her son's money go farther than perhaps any 
 one else in the world could have made it go. She 
 would not suffer a stale crust of bread or a basin of 
 dripping to be wasted between January and Decem- 
 ber ; yet she contrived to retain the respect of her 
 servants, and was accounted a liberal mistress. Her 
 son's simple dinners were ordered with a discretion 
 and cooked with a nicety that could hardly have 
 been exceeded at a West-end Club. Every detail of 
 the table was perfection, though no modern elegance, 
 no phantom-like glass or rich-hued majolica, adorned 
 the board. The old-fashioned heavily-cut decan- 
 ters, the ponderous plate, sparkled and shone upon 
 the snowy linen ; and, pleasantest of all, was the 
 mother's face — a feminine likeness of the son's —
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 9 
 
 with deep earnest eyes, white teeth, and mobile 
 mouth. 
 
 It was half-past nine o'clock, a November night, 
 a wet night in a wet autumn, the rain beating hea- 
 vily on the skylight above the doctor's head. He 
 had dined, and spent his after-dinner hour with his 
 mother, talking literature and politics, for she made 
 it her business to be interested and well informed 
 in everything that interested her son, and had come 
 down to his own room to read — to read the last 
 scientific book worth reading. 
 
 An old-fashioned silver teapot, a breakfast cup 
 and saucer, stood on a Chippendale table at his 
 elbow. The doctor smiled to himself as he poured 
 out the tea — a grave half-ironical smile. 
 
 'Old-bachelor ways already,' he thought; ' tea- 
 drinking and midnight study. But, then, I never 
 was a young man — in the common acceptation of 
 the phrase.' 
 
 A double knock at the hall-door caught his quick 
 ear. 
 
 ' A cabman's knock,' he said, with a little discon- 
 tented look, and a longing glance at his open book ;
 
 10 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' some dropper-in come for an evening's gossip — a 
 nuisance, for I want to get at the bottom of this 
 fellow's ideas.' 
 
 ' This fellow' was the author of the book — a for- 
 midable volume of five hundred pages or so, half of 
 which were still uncut. 
 
 Dr. Ollivant was not famous for his social in- 
 stincts ; but, as he was apt to remark to his mother, 
 ' a man can't go through the world without some 
 people insisting upon knowing him ;' and a few 
 people had 'been pertinacious enough to establish 
 themselves on familiar terms with the doctor, in 
 spite of himself — self-elected friends. They were 
 for the most part of his own profession. He asked 
 them to dinner two or three times in the year, and 
 suffered them to drop in now and then of an evening, 
 but gave no active encouragement to their visits. 
 
 A card was brought him by his servant — an 
 elderly man, who had been his father's factotum, 
 and had accompanied the furniture from Long Sutton. 
 Dr. Ollivant looked at it listlessly, then brightened 
 with a flash of surprise. 
 
 ' Mark Chamney !' he exclaimed, in a half-dreamy
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 11 
 
 tone, ' Mark Chamney !' Then hurriedly to the ser- 
 vant, ' Show the gentleman in here directly.' 
 
 He began to poke the fire furiously — a man's 
 favourite form of hospitality, and then went to the 
 door to receive his visitor. 
 
 Mr. Chamney had been his school-friend more 
 than twenty years ago, when he was a lad at a west- 
 country public school — his bosom-friend in the days 
 when he had some kind of belief in friendship. 
 
 The unexpected visitor came out of the dim 
 light of the hall into the clear white light of the 
 doctor's study. A tall man, of the type known 
 as lanky, with long loose limbs and a cadaverous 
 countenance, redeemed from absolute ugliness by 
 honest blue eyes — eyes that were mild and tender as 
 a woman's. 
 
 This was Mark Chamney, the doctor's senior by 
 four years, and his protector in the days gone by. 
 Chamney had been a dunce and an athlete. Cuth- 
 bert, a fragile youth of fourteen, had construed 
 Homer and Tirgil for his friend, whose prompt 
 interference had shielded the younger boy from the 
 school bullies.
 
 12 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Cuthbert — himself in no manner deficient in 
 pluck — had worshipped Mark as the very incarna- 
 tion of force and courage — his Achilles, his Hector, 
 his Ajax ; and they had parted at the close of Mark's 
 last term, swearing to be friends for life, and had 
 never seen each other from that day until this. 
 
 Dr. Ollivant felt a faint pang of remorse at 
 sight of the altered face — the same, but 0, how 
 changed ! — remembering how little he had ever done 
 to perpetuate this boyish friendship. But was not the 
 other equally to blame ? The two men clasped hands. 
 
 ' I should have known you anywhere,' said Mark. 
 
 Dr. Ollivant could hardly echo the declaration. 
 He could only grasp his friend's hand a little harder, 
 and say : 
 
 ' You are about the only man in the world I 
 should be glad to see to-night, Chamney.' 
 
 ' And I'm glad to hear you say as much, Ollivant, 
 for I've come to claim the fulfilment of an old 
 promise — a long-forgotten one, perhaps.' 
 
 ' No,' said the other gravely, ' not forgotten, if 
 you mean our old vow of life-long friendship. I 
 have gone through life without acquiring the knack
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 13 
 
 of making many friends. I doubt if I have ever 
 made one real one since the days when you used to 
 take my part against the Goliaths of Hillersley 
 Grammar-school.' 
 
 This was said as heartily as it was in Cuthbert 
 Ollivant to say anything — heartiness not being a 
 characteristic of his manner. 
 
 ' Odd, that we should never have knocked up 
 against each other in all these years,' continued the 
 doctor after a brief interval of silence, during which 
 Mr. Chamney had dropped into a chair, with a 
 certain air of listlessness or fatigue, widely different 
 from that muscular exuberance which Cuthbert re- 
 membered at Hillersley. 
 
 I Hardly so odd as it may appear at the first 
 showing,' answered Chamney. ' Did you ever take 
 any particular pains to look me up ?' 
 
 I I don't believe I have had an idle day since 
 I left Hillersley.' 
 
 1 That means Xo. Well, Ollivant, if you had 
 looked for me, the result would have been pretty 
 much the same ; for I have spent the best part of 
 the interval on a sheep-run in Queensland.'
 
 14 LOST FOE LOVE. 
 
 The doctor felt relieved of some portion of that 
 remorse which had seemed to weigh upon his spirit 
 since Mark Chamney's entrance. 
 
 ' What took you to Queensland ?' he asked, ring- 
 ing the bell for the man-of-all-work, who seemed to 
 have an intuitive knowledge of what was wanted from 
 him, as he came immediately, furnished with case 
 bottles and a decanter of sherry on an old-fashioned 
 silver tray — one of the heirlooms of the house of 
 Ollivant. Even the case bottles were heirlooms, 
 heavier and clumsier than modern bottles. 
 
 ' What took me to Queensland ?' repeated the 
 visitor, extending his long legs upon the doctor's 
 hearth, and folding his gaunt arms. He was clothed 
 from head to foot in a light gray stuff, which made 
 him look his biggest. ' A speculative temper, and 
 an aversion to any mode of earning my living which 
 was open to me at home. I was not a genius like 
 you, Cuthbert. I always hated head-work, and was 
 plucked ignominiously in every examination at Hil- 
 lersley, as I daresay you remember. But I wasn't 
 bad at figures, as long as I didn't see 'em upon 
 paper. I heard of men doing wonders out yonder in
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 15 
 
 the sheep-line ; so, when my father — a prosperous 
 solicitor at Exeter — proposed making me his articled 
 clerk, I saved myself the trouble of disputing the 
 point, by running away. I needn't bore you with 
 the details of my flight. I left Exeter with a few 
 pounds in my pocket, and worked my way out to 
 Australia, before the mast. I had rather a hard 
 time of it for the first year or so, and made a nearer 
 acquaintance with starvation than I cared about. 
 But before the second year was over, I was manager 
 for a man who had been lucky enough to get hold of 
 one of the finest stations on the Darling Down?, 
 extending upwards of ten miles in every direction. 
 He held a squatter's lease from the government at a 
 mere nominal rent, and on muster days I have stood 
 at the gate and helped to count seventy thousand 
 sheep as they went through. My employer made 
 sixty thousand pounds in less than ten years, but 
 contrived to drink himself to death in the same 
 time. He had made me his partner a few years 
 before he died — delirium tremens and business 
 habits not being compatible — a fact of which he 
 was sufficiently conscious to know that he couldn't
 
 16 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 get on without me. At the time he died sheep 
 happened to be rather low ; I had saved enough 
 money, with assistance from the Australian banks, 
 to buy his share of the station ; and so began life 
 afresh at thirty years of age, worth twenty thousand 
 pounds after all debts were paid — went on from this 
 pretty comfortably, taking the bad with the good, 
 and kept hard at it for fifteen years more, when I took 
 it into my head I ought to come back to England and 
 see my daughter.' 
 
 ' Your daughter !' exclaimed Dr. Ollivant. ' Then 
 you had married ?' — as if it were the most unnatural 
 thing a man could do. 
 
 ' Yes,' answered the other with a profound sigh, 
 ' I married the dearest girl in the world. She had 
 come out to Hobart Town as a governess ; a solitary 
 young creature, with hardly a friend in the world ; 
 and I met her there in one of my summer holiday 
 trips, and loved her from the hour I first saw her. 
 I suppose the kind of life I led upon the farm — 
 standing up to my waist in water to see the sheep- 
 washing, and galloping thirty miles before breakfast 
 after strays — was calculated to make a man sus-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 17 
 
 ceptible to that kind of influence. Anyhow, I fell 
 over head and ears in love with Mary Grover, and 
 wasn't easy in my mind till I'd asked her to be my 
 wife. She hung back at first, but I only loved her 
 the better for her shyness ; and when I pressed her 
 hard, she told me in her own pretty words, which 
 were very different from mine, that she didn't want 
 to marry me, because she didn't think she was good 
 enough ; her family were a bad lot ; her grandfather 
 had been a gentleman, but his descendants had 
 come down somehow ; in short, she gave me to 
 understand they were a set of out-and-out scamps, 
 and that she had come to the Antipodes to get out 
 of their way. This did not move me one jot, and I 
 told her so. I wanted to marry her — not her family ; 
 and little by little I won her round. She owned 
 that she didn't dislike me ; that she liked me a 
 little, because I was strong and brave, she said — 
 dear soul, as if she could know anything about that ! 
 — and finally, that she would rather lead a solitary 
 life with me up on the Downs than teach children 
 French verbs and major scales in Hobart Town. 
 After that I wasn't going to waste any more time : 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 so we were married three weeks later, and I took rny 
 sweet young wife back to the farm. I had a good 
 wooden house on the station, with a ten - foot 
 verandah all round it, which had been built by 
 Jack Ferguson, my late partner, and I thought it 
 would do for us. But God only knows how it was 
 — whether it was the climate or the lonely life that 
 didn't suit her — my darling drooped and died only 
 two years after our marriage, and just one year after 
 she had given me a little daughter.' 
 
 'You should have brought her home,' said the 
 doctor. 
 
 ' The very thing I wished to do ; but she 
 wouldn't have it. She was unhappy even if I spoke 
 of such a thing ; she had some insuperable objec- 
 tion to returning to England, and I couldn't bear to 
 vex her, and I didn't know the end was so near. 
 She slipped away from me unawares — like a flower 
 that you've transplanted overnight and find dead in 
 the morning.' 
 
 He got up and began to walk up and down, the 
 room, deeply moved by this agitating remembrance. 
 Cuthbert watched him curiously. Then a wife was
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 19 
 
 a thing that a man might really care for — not a 
 hollow conventionality. 
 
 ' I am very sorry for you, Mark,' he said in a 
 friendly tone, still wondering how so big a man could 
 be so distressed by the loss of a woman. 'But you 
 have your daughter left, she must be a comfort to 
 you.' This was a mere mechanical attempt at con- 
 solation, Dr. Ollivant not having the faintest idea in 
 what manner a daughter could be a comfort to any 
 man. 
 
 1 She's the only joy of my life,' answered the 
 other, with a rough energy which contrasted strangely 
 with the doctor's grave tones — musical despite their 
 gravity ; for Dr. Ollivant's noble baritone voice was 
 one of his richest gifts. 
 
 1 And yet you could bring yourself to part with 
 her ?' said the doctor, with vague wonder. The 
 whole business was out of his line — part and parcel 
 of that world of the affections whereof he knew 
 nothing, except so much as he had heard of it from 
 his mother's favourite Wordsworth. 
 
 1 Could I see her droop and die like her mother ? 
 That might have been climate, though strong men
 
 20 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 thrive yonder. I could run no such risk with Flora 
 — a pretty name, isn't it ? her mother's choice ; so I 
 sent her home with a shepherd's wife, when she was 
 two years old. The woman took her straight to my 
 people at Exeter; hut hefore she was seven, my 
 mother died, and my father sent Flora to a hoarding- 
 school near London. He died soon after, and there 
 was the little thing friendless, and with strangers. 
 She seemed happy, however, at least her letters told 
 me so — dear little childish letters! — and she re- 
 mained in the same care until I came home a year 
 ago and took a house in London, and settled down 
 with my little girl — she was seventeen last April — 
 for the rest of my life.' This with a faint sigh. 
 
 ' And you have lived in London a year without 
 trying to find me out until to-night ?' said the doctor, 
 with an injured air. 
 
 ' You lived twenty years without making any 
 attempt to find me,' replied his friend. ' Shall I 
 tell you what Drought me to you to-night, Cuthhert? 
 It's hardly flattering to the ghost of our "boyish 
 friendship — if there's even as much as a ghost left 
 of that I-^-but I daresay you've found out hefore now
 
 LOST FOK LOVE. 21 
 
 that human nature is selfish. It was a book you've 
 written that induced me to come to you.' 
 
 ' A book of mine ! I never wrote anything but 
 medical pamphlets.' 
 
 ' Precisely. What's the name of your book ? 0)i 
 Cardiac Diseases. That's it, I think. Ever so long 
 before I left Queensland I had reason to suspect 
 there was something not quite right here,' — touching 
 his broad chest, — ' the gentlest hill winded me. I 
 had palpitation sometimes, at other times a dull 
 heavy feeling, as if my heart didn't move at all ; 
 sleepless nights, languor, a dozen disagreeable symp- 
 toms. Finding I couldn't walk as I used to walk, I 
 took it out of myself in hard riding ; but this didn't 
 mend matters. I began to think that I was nervous 
 or fanciful, and fought hard against my own sensa- 
 tions.' 
 
 * You consulted no medical man ?' 
 
 ' The faculty doesn't abound among our sheep- 
 walks. Besides, I shouldn't have liked to have my- 
 self overhauled by a stranger. I thought the voyage 
 home would do me good, and it did. But the home 
 life and this murky atmosphere have played the
 
 22 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 deuce with me ; and, in a few words, I've a notion 
 that I've come pretty near the end of my tether.' 
 ' You've had no doctor in England ?' 
 ' No. I suppose the life I led over the water 
 makes a man something of a savage. I've a rooted 
 antipathy to strangers. But as I was reading the 
 Times the other day your name caught my eye at 
 the top of a column. Ollivant is not a common 
 name. I remembered that your father was a doctor, 
 and I thought I might as well come and see if the 
 Dr. Ollivant of Wimpole- street was the little fellow I 
 used to save from a licking now and then at Hil- 
 lersley.' 
 
 'My dear old friend,' said the doctor, stretching 
 out his hand to his old schoolfellow with a warmth 
 that was not common to him, ' God grant that the 
 instinct which brought you to me may be an instinct 
 designed to accomplish your cure ! The fancied 
 heart-disease is, I daresay, only an effect of the 
 natural depression of mind which your bereavement 
 and your lonely life in Australia were calculated to 
 engender. Change of air, change of scene, new 
 pursuits — '
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 23 
 
 ' Have done nothing for me,' answered the other, 
 with conviction. 
 
 Dr. Ollivant looked at his friend for the first time 
 with the searching gaze of the physician. To the 
 keen professional eye that haggard visage, lantern 
 jaws, and faded eyes betokened a shattered constitu- 
 tion, if not organic disease. 
 
 1 Come to me to-morrow morning,' he said, in 
 his soothing professional tone, ' and I will make a 
 careful examination. I daresay I shall find things 
 a great deal better than you suppose.' 
 
 ' To-night is as good as to-morrow morning,' 
 answered Mr. Chamney, as coolly as if it were a mere 
 business question that he wanted settled. ' Why not 
 to-night ?' 
 
 ' To-night, if you prefer it. Only I thought you 
 might like to devote this evening to a little friendly 
 talk about old times, and that you'd come up-stairs 
 to the drawing-room and let me present you to my 
 mother.' 
 
 * I shall be very glad to know your mother, and 
 to talk about old times. But I'd rather have that 
 other question settled first.'
 
 24 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' So be it then. Just take off your coat and 
 waistcoat, like a good fellow. I'll lock the door, to 
 make sure against interruption.' 
 
 The doctor took a stethoscope out of a little 
 drawer near at hand, and began his examination 
 with that quiet professional air which has a certain 
 soothing influence, the air of a man who only re- 
 quires to ascertain what is wrong in the human 
 machine in order to set it right straightway. His 
 face grew graver as he sounded and listened, graver 
 and more grave as the examination proceeded, till at 
 the end of about ten minutes, which seemed longer 
 to the patient, he lifted his head from Mark Cham- 
 ney's broad chest with a faint sigh, and put down the 
 stethoscope. 
 
 ' You find I was right,' said Mr. Chamney, with- 
 out a break in his voice. 
 
 ' I fear so.' 
 
 * Come, why put it doubtfully like that ? You 
 know so.' 
 
 ' There is disease, I admit,' answered the other 
 cautiously ; ' I should do wrong to deny that. But 
 that kind of disease is not always fatal. With care
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 25 
 
 a man may live to a good old age, in spite of organic 
 derangement as bad, perhaps worse, than yours. I 
 have known a man so affected live to eighty, and die 
 at last of bronchitis. You must take care of your- 
 self, Chamney, that's all you have to do.' 
 
 And then the doctor proceeded to describe the 
 necessary regimen, a regimen chiefly of deprivation. 
 The patient was to avoid this, not to do the other, 
 and so on ; no violent exercise, no excitement, no 
 late hours. 
 
 ' It's a poor dead-and-alive kind of existence,' 
 said Mr. Chamney, when the doctor had finished ; 
 ' and I thought when I came home I should be able 
 to enjoy myself a little ; follow the hounds, charter a 
 yacht, and take my little girl about the world — see 
 life, in short. But this puts an end to all those 
 notions. If it were not for Flora's sake I think I'd 
 sooner chance it, and get as much as I can out of 
 life while it lasts. But I haven't a friend in the 
 world that I can count upon for my darling when I'm 
 gone.' 
 
 'You may count upon me,' said Dr. Ollivant, 
 ' and upon my mother into the bargain.'
 
 26 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 1 Do you know I had some idea of that when I 
 came to you to-night, Cuthbert ? If he's my Ollivant, 
 and as good a fellow as he promised to be, he might 
 be a friend for my little girl when I'm gone, I said 
 to myself. And your mother is still living, is she ? 
 That's comfortable.' 
 
 ' Yes, and likely to live for many years, thank 
 God,' answered the doctor. ' You must bring your 
 daughter here to-morrow, Mark. I'm a busy man, 
 as you may suppose ; but my mother has ample 
 leisure for friendship.' 
 
 1 I'll bring her. By the bye, there was one thing 
 you did not tell me just now ; but it hardly needed 
 telling. With disease of that kind a man would be 
 liable to die at any moment, wouldn't he ?' 
 
 ' Why — yes — in such cases there is always the 
 possibility of sudden death.'
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' Eyes of some men travel far 
 For the finding of a star ; 
 
 Up and down the heavens they go, 
 Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
 I'm as great as they, I trow. 
 SiEce the day I found thee out, 
 Little Flower !' 
 
 lift. Chamxey brought his daughter to see Mrs. 
 Ollivant next day, at an hour when the doctor was 
 absent on his daily rounds ; but the lady had been 
 fully prepared for the visit, and received her son's 
 friend, and her son's friend's only child, as it were 
 with open arms. She was full of talk about her 
 visitors when Cuthbert came in to dinner at seven 
 o'clock. 
 
 ' They stayed to luncheon, and were with me 
 more than two hours. I never saw a sweeter girl 
 than Miss Chamney, or Flora, as both she and her 
 father insisted I should call her.'
 
 28 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' Pretty ? ' asked the doctor rather listlessly, with 
 a man's usual question. 
 
 'I hardly know whether you would call her ab- 
 solutely pretty. Her features would not bear being 
 measured by line and rule ; but there is a sweetness, 
 a freshness, a youthful innocence about her that are 
 more winning than beauty. To my mind she is the 
 very incarnation of Wordsworth's Lucy.' 
 
 Dr. Ollivant shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 1 1 never had an exalted opinion of Wordsworth's 
 Lucy,' he said ; ' a girl who was very well beside the 
 banks of Dove, but would not have been noticeable 
 elsewhere. I like beauty to be brilliant, flashing, 
 something that inspires admiration and awe, like a 
 tropical thunderstorm.' 
 
 1 Then you will not admire Miss Chamney. But 
 she is a fascinating little thing, for all that.' 
 
 1 Little !' exclaimed the doctor contemptuously, 
 ' a mere stump of a woman, I suppose, like a lead- 
 pencil cut down.' 
 
 ' No, she is rather tall than otherwise, but very 
 slim. The most girlish figure — ' 
 
 * All angles,' muttered the doctor.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 29 
 
 I And with a languid kind of grace, like a flower 
 with a slender stem — a narcissus, for instance.' 
 
 ' Wants tone, I daresay,' said the doctor. ' Well, 
 mother, I can't say that your description inspires me 
 with any ardent desire to make the young lady's ac- 
 quaintance. However, if you are satisfied that is the 
 grand point ; for you will he a much more valuable 
 friend to her than ever I can be. And she will have 
 need of friends when poor Chamney is gone.' 
 
 ' He looks very ill, Cuthbert. Do you think him 
 in actual danger ?' 
 
 I I give him a twelvemonth,' answered the doctor. 
 ' Poor fellow ! And the poor girl ; it is so much 
 
 worse for her. She seems so fond of him. I never 
 saw such affection between father and daughter.' 
 
 ' Indeed !' said the doctor, eating his dinner with 
 his usual calmness. He was not by any means 
 heartbroken because the friend of his boyhood had 
 come back to him with the seal of death upon his 
 herculean frame. He was sorry with a temperate 
 sorrow, thought the situation of father and daughter 
 touching, but was accustomed to the tranquil con- 
 templation of touching scenes. And he was prepared
 
 30 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 to befriend the orphan to the best of his power when 
 her day of bereavement should come, to defend her 
 as her father had defended him when he was a little 
 lonely lad at Hillersley Grammar-school. 
 
 He waited for his first leisure day to go and call 
 upon his friend, half in friendship, half profession- 
 ally ; but he meant to take neither fee nor reward 
 from his old schoolfellow. Mr. Chamney had hired 
 for hir^self a large house in Fitzroy-square, hardly 
 conscious that it was not at the fashionable end of 
 London. It was a broad airy place, and one square 
 seemed to Mark very much like another. It could 
 matter very little to the resident, when his curtains 
 were drawn and his lamps lighted, whether the 
 square were called Fitzroy or Belgrave. 
 
 The house had been built on a grander scale 
 than most of the surrounding mansions ; the hall 
 was spacious, paved with black and white marble, 
 the staircase wide, the rooms large and lofty. Black 
 marble pillars sustained the dining-room ceiling, the 
 mantelpieces were elaborately carved. It was a house 
 which, with appropriate furniture, might have been 
 made very handsome ; but Mr. Chamney had fur-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 31 
 
 nished it sparsely with the mere necessaries of exist- 
 ence, as if it had been a lodge in the wilderness. 
 And he had bought his goods and chattels second- 
 hand, selecting them haphazard at various brokers' 
 shops, as he roamed the lighted streets after night- 
 fall ; now a huge sideboard, now a table, now a dozen 
 or so of chairs, or a set of dark, gloomy-looking 
 window-hangings. 
 
 To his daughter, who came direct from the bare 
 benches and deal tables of a boarding-school, the 
 house and its appointments appeared splendid ; and 
 then the glory of having a house of her own ! She 
 told her father that there was something wanting 
 in the drawing-room — it had an empty look compared 
 with Miss Mayduke's drawing-room at Notting-hill. 
 But that sacred chamber was beautified and adorned 
 with the w T ater- coloured landscapes, Berlin -wool 
 chair-covers, wax-fruit and decalcomanie of Miss 
 Mayduke's young ladies, and had only achieved its 
 present perfection in the progress of years. Xo 
 drawing-room could burst Minerva-like into existence 
 from the brain of an upholsterer. 
 
 1 1 must work you some chair-covers, papa,' said
 
 32 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Flora, and immediately bought several pounds of 
 Berlin wool and a dozen yards of canvas. The 
 chair-covers progressed at the rate of a hundred 
 stitches or so per day, and in the mean time the 
 Fitzroy-square drawing-room presented a desert waste 
 of second-hand Turkey carpet, broken by distant 
 islets in the shape of chairs and tables, all alike old- 
 fashioned and irrelevant; a ponderous mahogany 
 loo-table, four ancient ebony chairs with carved backs, 
 six rosewood ditto inlaid with brass, a modern sofa 
 or two, an office-table in the back drawing-room, in 
 which apartment Mr. Chamney wrote his letters and 
 read his newspaper. One spot of brightness re- 
 deemed the barren waste ; in the centre window of the 
 front drawing-room Miss Chamney had established an 
 aviary, — half a dozen canaries in a big cage, and an 
 Australian parrot in a circular temple of polished 
 brass, dependent from the ceiling. The canaries did not 
 sing much. It seemed as if the atmosphere of Fitz- - 
 roy-square were not conducive to melody, for the birds 
 had been warranted vocal when Miss Chamney bought 
 them. But they fluttered and chirped in a cheerful 
 manner, and sometimes even essayed a feeble warb-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 33 
 
 ling. The Australian stranger made a noise like the 
 creaking of a door, which it repeated at intervals 
 throughout the day, to its own evident satisfaction, 
 as if it found therein an adequate expression of its 
 feelings. The noise was hideous, but the bird was 
 handsome, and that, Miss Chamney said, made 
 amends ; one could not expect everything from a bird. 
 She was standing by the big cage administering 
 to the canaries when Cuthbert Ollivant first saw her. 
 Her father was out when he called, so he had asked 
 to see the young lady herself, unwilling to waste his 
 drive to the regions of Fitzroy — quite out of his beat, 
 which lay Mayfair way, among narrow streets of small 
 houses, where the fanciful old maiden ladies and the 
 obese old bachelors over-ate and over-drank them- 
 selves. He had come up-stairs repeating the poet's 
 lines about the maiden by the banks of Dove, smiling 
 to himself at his mother's sentimentality, being him- 
 self in no way given to sentiment. The maid-servant 
 opened the drawing-room door for him, and he went 
 in unannounced, and saw her, Flora Chamney, for 
 the first time, bending down to minister to a lan- 
 guishing canary. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' My mother was right after all,' he said to himself, 
 making up his mind, after his manner, at the first 
 glance. ' She is the sweetest girl I ever saw in my life.' 
 
 ' Sweet' was an adjective which people applied 
 involuntarily to Flora Chamney. A small oval face, 
 with large gray eyes, dark lashes, dark brows finely 
 pencilled, darkest brown hair which rippled natu- 
 rally upon the ivory forehead, a long slender throat, 
 a figure slim almost to a fault, perfect hands and 
 feet — in short, a delicately-finished picture rather 
 than a striking one. A gray merino gown, a narrow 
 linen collar, a blue ribbon tied loosely round the 
 throat, were all the aid the picture took from dress ; 
 but there was a grace and sweetness about the whole 
 which reminded Cuthbert Ollivant of a Greuse he had 
 once seen sold at Christie and Manson's for eleven 
 hundred pounds sterling — a kit-cat figure of a girl 
 caressing a dove. 
 
 He found no difficulty in introducing himself. 
 Flora gave him her hand with a frank smile. 
 
 ' You can be only one person in the world,' she 
 said ; ' for we have no other friends. You must be 
 Dr. Ollivant.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 35 
 
 ' Yes, I am Dr. Ollivant. I am very glad you 
 have learned to think of me as a friend.' 
 
 1 You wouldn't wonder at that if you heard papa 
 talk of you. He is never tired of telling me what a 
 good little fellow you were at Hillersley Grammar- 
 school ; and such a prodigy of learning ! If he had 
 not said so much of your affection for him, I should 
 have been rather inclined to feel afraid of you.' 
 
 1 Afraid of me ! But why?' he asked, looking at 
 her with a half- wondering admiration, and thinking 
 that if he had married early in life, he too might have 
 had a daughter like this. But then all daughters 
 were not like this. 
 
 1 Because you are so clever. At Miss MaydukeV 
 — taking it for granted that he must know all about 
 Miss Mayduke — ' I was always afraid of Miss Kilso, 
 who spent her whole existence at the top of the class, 
 and knew the precise date of every event that has 
 ever happened since the Flood, and could do the dif- 
 ferential what's-its-nanie, and hyperboluses and 
 things, and took the first prize every half !' 
 
 1 Then you don't like clever people ?' said the doc- 
 tor, smiling gently at the hyperboluses.
 
 36 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 * I like them very much, when they are nice.' 
 
 ' Musical, for instance, or artistic ?' he suggested, 
 with a consciousness that he was neither of those 
 things. 
 
 1 Musical people are darlings; and I like artists. 
 There are plenty in this neighbourhood, but we don't 
 know them. There is a young man who lives three 
 doors off, who ought to be as clever as Raffaelle ; at 
 least, he has hair of the same colour as Kaffaelle's, 
 and a Grecian nose.' 
 
 ' Science, I conclude, is less interesting to you ?' 
 
 Miss Chamney made a wry face, as at the idea 
 of something nasty. 
 
 ' That means steam-engines and cotton-looms and 
 things, doesn't it ?' she asked, in her winning child- 
 ish way, which made even her foolish speeches plea- 
 sant to hear. 
 
 ' It means a good deal more than steam-engines 
 sometimes. But one can hardly expect a young lady 
 to be interested in it, any more than one can expect 
 the flowers to know their own Latin names, or be 
 learned in botany. You are fond of birds, I see.' 
 
 * I try to make companions of them,' she answered,
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 37 
 
 ' when papa is out. But I find it rather uphill work. 
 They put their heads on one side and chirp when I 
 talk to them, hut we don't get beyond that. I really 
 think the parrot has the most intellect, though his 
 note is not musical.' 
 
 The Australian, which had creaked intermittently 
 throughout the conversation, creaked his loudest at 
 this, as if in approval. 
 
 ' I have given them the names of my favourite 
 heroes,' said Flora, looking at her canaries, ' but I am 
 afraid they are not very sure of their identity. That 
 little fat one with the topknot is the Yicar of Wake- 
 field ; the one with a black wing is Hamlet ; that 
 little perky bird is David Copperfield ; that bright 
 yellow one is the Prince who found the Sleeping 
 Beauty in the wood. I don't think he had any name 
 in the story, had he ?' she asked, appealing to the 
 doctor, as if his recollections of nursery lore were of 
 the freshest, ' so I have called him Prince Lovely. 
 The others are all fairy-tale princes.' 
 
 * And have you no one besides your birds when 
 your father is away ?' 
 
 'No one. Papa's old friends — people he knew
 
 38 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 when he was a boy, that is to say — are all Devonshire 
 people, and he says he doesn't care about hunting 
 them up, not having been particularly fond of them 
 in his boyhood. There are my old schoolfellows ; 
 and papa told me if I wanted any companions I could 
 have them. But when I went to see Miss Mayduke 
 six months ago, all my favourites had left, and I 
 hadn't the courage to go to their own homes in search 
 of them. I should have had to see their papas and 
 mammas, and — I daresay it's very foolish, but I have 
 such a horror of strangers.' 
 
 I Yet you hardly seemed to be horrified by me 
 when I came in just now unannounced.' 
 
 * 0, that's quite different ; papa has talked so 
 much about you, and your mother was so kind to me 
 the other day, you seem like an old friend.' 
 
 I I hope I may never seem any less.' 
 
 'And it is such a comfort to me to think that you 
 are a doctor, and can take care of papa's health. He 
 has not been very well lately. But you will keep him 
 well, won't you ?' 
 
 1 1 will do all that science can do to keep him 
 well,' answered the doctor gravely.
 
 LOST FOE LOVE. 39 
 
 ' Can science do that ? Then I shall love science 
 with all my heart. How stupid of me to forget just 
 now that medicine is a science ! And I have always 
 thought medicine one of the grandest things in the 
 world.' 
 
 < Really ?' 
 
 1 What can be grander than the art of saving 
 people's lives ? — I reverence a great physician.' 
 
 The doctor was curiously touched by this avowal 
 — sweet flattery from those childish lips. 
 
 ' It would have been worth my while to undergo 
 all the pains and penalties of marriage if I could have 
 had such a daughter,' he thought. 
 
 The short winter's day — one of the first days 
 in December — was closing. The fire had burned 
 low, neglected by Flora in her devotion to the 
 canaries ; the lamplight from below flashed here 
 and there upon the bare walls ; the room looked 
 big and dark and empty — a gloomy home for so fair 
 a creature. 
 
 ' I should have made her surroundings ever so 
 much brighter if she had been my daughter,' thought 
 the doctor.
 
 40 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' You must find life rather dreary in this big 
 house, when your father is away ?' he said. 
 
 'No,' she answered, with a smile that brightened 
 all her face in the twilight ; ' I have never known what 
 it is to be dull. First and foremost, I am so happy in 
 the thought that papa has come back to me for ever.' 
 
 ' Unstable happiness,' thought the doctor. ' Brief 
 for ever.' 
 
 ' And then, even when papa is out — though I am 
 always sorry to lose him even for so short a time — I 
 am able to amuse myself. I have a piano in my 
 room up-stairs, and my paint-box.' 
 
 ' You paint, then ?' asked the doctor, himself the 
 most unaccomplished of men, and wondering how 
 many accomplishments might go to the sum total 
 of an educated young woman. 
 
 ' 1 spoil a good deal of paper ; but it's so nice 
 being near Eathbone-place ; one can always get more, 
 and moist colours in little tubes that squirt out. It's 
 enchantment to work with them.' 
 
 ' I should like to see some of your paintings.' 
 
 ' I shall be very pleased to show you the first I 
 finish,' answered Flora doubtfully ; ' but they don't
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 41 
 
 very often come to that. They look beautiful at first, 
 and I feel I really am getting on ; and then some- 
 how they go wrong, and after they've once taken the 
 turn, the harder I work at them the worse they go.' 
 
 ' Landscapes or figures ?' 
 
 ' 0, either. I've been doing the human figure 
 lately — a nymph at a fountain — in chalks ; but chalks 
 are so dirty, and the human figure is rather unin- 
 teresting without clothes. Hark ! that's papa's knock.' 
 
 It was ; and Mark Chamney came striding up the 
 stairs presently, and burst into the drawing-room, 
 out Of breath, but looking big enough and strong 
 enough to defy the destroyer Death. But it was only 
 the large outline left of the once herculean form ; 
 the clothes hung loose upon the shrunken figure. 
 
 1 That's right,' he said, pleased at finding those 
 two together. ' Then you two have contrived to 
 make friends without me ?' 
 
 ' We were friends already,' answered Flora; 'for 
 I knew how you liked Dr. Ollivant.' 
 
 'You'll stop to dinner, of course ?' said Mark; 
 1 and Flora shall sing to us while we drink our wine.' 
 
 The doctor hesitated. He was a reading man,
 
 42 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and bis quiet evenings were very precious to him. 
 His mother would wait dinner for him. No, that 
 might be avoided, for his brougham was below, and 
 he could send the man home with a message. But 
 she would be not the less disappointed ; he so rarely 
 dined away from her. Duty and reason cried ' Dine 
 in Wimpole-street,' but the voice of inclination 
 drowned them, and he stayed where he was. 
 
 ' I never take wine after dinner,' he said ; * but 
 I'll stay to hear Miss Chamney sing.'
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 • It seems to me that the coming of love is like the coming of 
 spring — the date is not to be reckoned by the calendar. It may- 
 be slow and gradual ; it may be quick and sudden. But in the 
 morning, when we wake and recognise a change in the world with- 
 out, verdure on tbe trees, blossoms on the sward, warmth in the 
 sunshine, music in the air, then we say Spring has come !' 
 
 The young man whom Miss Chamney had observed 
 from her window occasionally — her neighbour at the 
 distance of three doors — was an art-student — not a 
 student of the plodding, drudging order; for the 
 young man had the misfortune to be rich, and it 
 mattered very little to him, from a prudential point 
 of view, whether he were industrious or idle. But 
 as he had a passion for art in the abstract, and an 
 ambitious desire to win a name in the list of modern 
 painters, he worked, or seemed to work, furiously. 
 He was, however, somewhat spasmodic in the man- 
 ner of his toil, and, like Flora, was apt to find the
 
 44 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 finish of a picture harder work than the beginning. 
 Like Miss Chamney, he discovered human anatomy 
 taken by itself, without the adventitious charm of 
 raiment, to be a dryasdust business ; that the human 
 skeleton with its various bones is not altogether satis- 
 fying to the imagination ; that the prolonged study 
 of limbs unconnected with bodies, however various 
 in the development of their muscles, is apt to pall 
 upon the ardent spirit. 
 
 ' I suppose Eubens did this kind of thing,' said 
 this Mr. Leyburne, after a hard day's work in a pri- 
 vate life school, not very far from Fitzroy-square. 
 ' He could never have done that foreshortening of 
 the dead Christ in the Antwerp Museum if he hadn't 
 gone in his hardest for anatomy. But, 0, how I wish 
 I were through it all, and at work upon my first his- 
 torical picture ! It does seem such bosh, sometimes, 
 these everlasting fists and elbows and knee-joints. 
 It isn't as if I meant to make my reputation in half- 
 naked Greeks and Komans, Jason and the Golden 
 Fleece, Theseus and Ariadne, Horatius what's-his- 
 name, and that kind of stuff. If ever I grope my 
 way farther back into the mist of ages than the
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 45 
 
 Spanish Armada, may I be convicted of half a column 
 of anachronisms by the Times critic. No, Mary 
 Stuart and Bothwell, the murder of the Eegent 
 Moray, from a window in Linlithgow, — that's the 
 kind of thing for my money.' 
 
 Thus spoke Walter Leyburne, half in soliloquy, 
 half in confidence, to his fellow- students, as he shut 
 his day's work in his portfolio, and prepared to take 
 his homeward way. A bright-looking young fellow, 
 nay, handsome, and with an expression that was 
 radiant as a summer morning ; blue eyes ; straight 
 Greek nose ; light auburn moustache, with drooping 
 ends, sedulously trained, only half concealing a some- 
 what feminine mouth ; auburn hair, worn long in 
 the Raffaelle fashion, artistic suit of black velvet, 
 boots which would not have disgraced a club in Pall 
 Mall, long supple white hands without gloves, a 
 sprig of stephanotis in his buttonhole, a black-velvet 
 Glengarry in place of the regulation chimney-pot, — 
 a curious admixture of Bohemianism and foppery in 
 his costume. 
 
 This was the gentleman whom Flora had occasion 
 to remark once or twice a dav from her window.
 
 46 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 She might have seen him half-a-dozen times a day 
 had she kept watch for him, his erratic habits caus- 
 ing him to tramp backwards and forwards between 
 his lodgings and the outer world a good deal more 
 often than was necessary to his artistic pursuits. 
 He had chums and companions in arts scattered 
 about the neighbourhood, and when seized by an 
 original idea, would fling on his Scotch bonnet and 
 rush forth to impart his inspiration to the ear of 
 sympathy. He had appointments for friendly oyster- 
 luncheons, or bitter-beer and sandwiches at a tavern 
 in Rathbone-place, or he wanted something in the 
 artist's-colour way in that district. Thus he was 
 always flitting to and fro, on some pretence or other. 
 He went every night to a theatre or some other place 
 of amusement, to hear the ' Chough and Crow' and 
 eat welsh-rarebits at Evans's, to play billiards at a 
 public table ; and he came home after midnight in a 
 hansom cab, whose doors he flung asunder with a 
 shameless bang. Flora's bower was in the front of the 
 house, so she was wont to hear these post-midnight 
 returns, and this young man's cheery voics chaffing 
 the cabmen. He appeared to pay thes3 functionaries
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 47 
 
 with a lavish generosity, for there were never any com- 
 plainings or remonstrances, only an interchange of 
 witticisms and friendly good-nights. 
 
 It must be a wild, wicked kind of life, thought 
 Flora ; and yet the art-student seemed rather an 
 amiable young man. Was there no one — no near 
 relation — father, mother, uncle, aunt, or sister to 
 check this headlong career, no restraining influence 
 to snatch such a good-looking young man from per- 
 dition ? Flora was really sorry for him. 
 
 She was overwhelmed with astonishment when 
 her father came home from the City — he paid oc- 
 casional visits to that mysterious region — and rubbed 
 his great hands cheerily, exclaiming : 
 
 ' Flora, I have made an acquaintance. Our circle 
 is widening. If we go on in this way I must get you 
 a brougham to take you out when you pay visits. 
 Only, unfortunately, this is a young man with no- 
 body belonging to him, so far as I can make out.' 
 
 'A young man, papa!' said Flora. 'Who can 
 that be ? A younger brother of Dr. Ollivant's ?' 
 
 ' Ollivant never had such a thing as a brother. 
 You must try a little nearer home, Flo. What
 
 48 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 should you say to that young man in the black- velvet 
 jacket — the young man you've teased me about so 
 often — making me get out of my easy-chair with " Be 
 quick, pa, he's just turning the corner ; do look" ?' 
 
 ' Why, papa, you don't mean that you could go 
 up to him in the street and ask him to be friends 
 with you ?' cried Flora, blushing to the roots of her 
 hair at the mere thought of such an outrage of the 
 proprieties, as taught without extra charge by Miss 
 Mayduke, of Notting-hill. 
 
 'Not exactly. But what do you think of that 
 young man being intimately connected — indirectly — 
 with my past life ?' 
 
 Flora shook her head resolutely. 
 
 1 It couldn't be, papa. It would be too ridiculous.' 
 
 ' I don't see that. Why ridiculous ? Because 
 he wears a black- velvet coat, or because you've no- 
 ticed him from your window ?' 
 
 ' But what do you mean, and what can he have 
 to do with your past life ? It isn't as if you were 
 a painter.' 
 
 ' His uncle wasn't a painter, Flo ; but he was 
 my employer, and afterwards my partner in Queens-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 49 
 
 land. He married early in life, but had neither 
 chick nor child, as you've heard me say.' 
 
 Flora nodded. She had heard her father relate 
 his Australian adventures very often indeed, but was 
 never tired of hearing them. 
 
 1 And when he died all his money went to his only 
 sister's only son. He left it to the sister, and her 
 heirs, executors, and assigns, not knowing that she 
 was dead and gone when he made his will. He had 
 never taken the trouble to send her a ten-pound note, 
 or to inquire if she wanted one, and died leaving her 
 sixty thousand pounds.' 
 
 'But what has all that to do with the young 
 painter who lives three doors off?' asked Flora, 
 puzzled. 
 
 ' Only that he is the nephew who inherited the 
 sixty thousand pounds.' 
 
 'Good gracious!' exclaimed Flora with a disap- 
 pointed air ; ' and I thought he was a struggling 
 artist who would have to commit suicide by and by 
 if he couldn't sell his pictures. That accounts for 
 his conduct to the cabmen.' 
 
 ' What conduct ? What cabmen ?' 
 
 VOL. I. e
 
 50 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Flora explained. 
 
 ' And do you mean to say you have made his 
 acquaintance, papa ?' she asked afterwards. 
 
 1 By the merest accident. When I came home 
 I put a little money — only a few odd thousands — 
 into shipping, as you know — never had a secret from 
 you, my darling. I went down to John Maravilla's 
 office — he's the agent, you know — this morning to 
 make an inquiry or two, and who should I see hut 
 our friend in the velvet jacket — he had dressed him- 
 self more like a Christian to come into the City, hut 
 I knew him hy his long hair — lounging across Mara- 
 villa's desk asking questions about ships and ship- 
 ping. Maravilla, who was rattling on in his usual 
 way, chuckling as if he had made half a million of 
 money since breakfast, introduced us. " You ought 
 to know Mr. Leyburne," he said ; " he has a six- 
 teenth in the Sir Galahad." " I ought to know the 
 name of Leyburne," said I, " ships or no ships. 
 Had you ever anybody belonging to you called Fer- 
 guson ?" "I'm happy to say I had," answered the 
 young man with the long hair; "'for if I hadn't, I 
 should never have had a share in Sir Galahad. My
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 51 
 
 uncle, John Ferguson, left me all his money." " He 
 was my first and only employer, and best friend," 
 said I ; and we were on the most intimate terms in 
 less than five minutes ; and he's going to dine with 
 us this evening.' 
 
 1 Papa !' cried Flora, with a little joyous burst. 
 
 1 What, you're pleased, are you, missy?' said the 
 father thoughtfully. 
 
 ' I doat upon painters, papa, and he looks cleverer 
 than the others who live about here.' 
 
 1 He has the interest of sixty thousand pounds to 
 pay for his fine clothes, my dear, unless he has con- 
 trived to fritter away any of the principal. Yes, he's 
 coming at seven o'clock this evening. I thought we 
 ought to be civil to him for the sake of his poor old 
 uncle, who was a good friend to me in spite of the 
 brandy-bottle.' 
 
 ' Of course, papa, it's the least we can do to be 
 kind to him, and perhaps he'll help me a little with 
 my painting. I'm copying a study called " Gulnare," 
 with long plaits and the dearest little Greek cap, but 
 the flesh tints will come so very purple in the shadows, 
 as if poor Gulnare had been taking nitrate of silver. 
 
 UBRWN 

 
 52 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Leyburne — rather a pretty name, isn't 
 it ? — could tell me how to improve my flesh tints.' 
 
 1 Perhaps,' said her father absently. ' Strange, 
 isn't it, missy, that I should come across this young 
 fellow ? "When I hunted up Cuthbert Ollivant, I 
 thought he was the only friend I had or was ever 
 likely to have in the world, and now this young man 
 seems as if he were a kind of nephew of mine.' 
 
 ' Of course he must be, since he is Mr. Ferguson's 
 nephew, and Mr. Ferguson made your fortune. But, 
 O, papa,' cried Flora, shaking her head solemnly, 
 ' I'm afraid he's rather a wicked young man.' 
 
 1 How do you mean wicked, Baby ?' 
 
 This was a favourite pet name for Flora. As he 
 had called her Baby and thought of her as Baby in 
 the far-away Australian days, so it best pleased Mark 
 Chamney to call her Baby now. 
 
 'Wild, papa — dreadfully dissipated. He comes 
 home late every night, in hansom cabs, and it's ever 
 so much wickeder to ride in a hansom than a four- 
 wheeler, papa, isn't it ? Mrs. Gage told me so. 
 " Hansom cabs and wildness go together, Miss Flora," 
 she said.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 53 
 
 Mrs. Gage was a mysterious female — elderly, 
 lachrymose, and had seen better days — whom Mr. 
 Chamney had picked up for his housekeeper. 
 
 1 Never mind Mrs. Gage. I hope there's no harm 
 in that young fellow, in spite of his late hours. I 
 should be sorry to think it, for there's something 
 frank and pleasant in his manner, and I shouldn't 
 have asked him here if I thought he was dissipated.' 
 
 ■ Perhaps twelve o'clock or a quarter past isn't so 
 very late, papa ?' said Flora thoughtfully. 
 
 I You're very exact, Baby.' 
 
 I I can't help hearing him, papa — just under my 
 window, as it were.' 
 
 Flora was in quite a flutter of excitement all the 
 afternoon. They had positively no friends except Dr. 
 and Mrs. Ollivant. It was quite a wonder for them 
 to expect any one to dinner. She made her father 
 take her to Covent Garden to buy fruit for dessert, 
 and chose bananas and pomegranates and prickly 
 pears, and divers other recondite productions of 
 nature, all of which belied their good looks and were 
 flavourless to the palate. But it was her childish 
 fancy to adorn the table with something uncommon —
 
 54 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 picturesque, even — which might charm the painter's 
 eye by its novel form and colour. Mrs. Gage had 
 been bidden to prepare a good dinner, but as that 
 worthy woman's mind never soared above oxtail soup 
 and cod's head and shoulders, roast beef and boiled 
 fowls, there w r as no such thing as originality to be 
 hoped for from her. 
 
 ' I don't suppose he cares very much what he eats,' 
 thought Flora, who had fixed ideas upon the subject 
 of this young man. ' He looks superior to that. But, 
 0, I hope he won't drink a great deal and get hor- 
 ribly tipsy, so that papa will never ask him again.' 
 
 This idea was dreadful. But what can one ex- 
 pect from a young man who comes home late in a 
 hansom ? 
 
 There was an interval between the return from 
 Covent Garden, laden with those curious products of 
 the tropics, and seven o'clock. Flora devoted this 
 time to arranging and rearranging her drawings, un- 
 decided which she should venture to show Mr. Ley- 
 burne. She must show him one of them, or how could 
 she hope for any enlightening counsel upon the sub- 
 ject of flesh tints ? But seen in the light of her new
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 55 
 
 timidity, they all appeared too bad to exhibit. Juliet's 
 mouth was out of drawing; Gulnare's left eye had 
 a decidedly intoxicated look ; an old man with a white 
 beard — a study of ' Benevolence' — was more purple 
 by candlelight than she could have supposed possible. 
 A group of camellias had been obviously copied from 
 originals — cut out of turnips ; a vase of fuchsia was 
 painfully suggestive of pickled cabbage. Flora shut 
 her portfolio in despair. 
 
 ' I'd better show him all of them, and then he'll 
 know what a miserable dauber I am,' she said to her- 
 self. ' How I wish he were poor, so that it would be 
 a charity to take lessons of him !' And then she ran 
 into the next room to dress ; shook down the wealth 
 of her dark rippling hair, and rolled it up again in 
 the most bewitching manner imaginable — one broad 
 massive plait twisted round the small head like a 
 diadem ; and put on a blue-silk dress — the dress her 
 father had praised so often — rich lace encircling the 
 graceful throat, loose sleeves half revealing the soft 
 round arms. She had unlimited money to spend 
 upon finery, and indulged her girlish fancy with all 
 manner of prettinesses, lockets, ribbons, and laces
 
 56 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 — all the things she had longed for in her school- 
 days. 
 
 The dingy maroon curtains were drawn and big 
 fires burning in the two drawing-rooms, whereby 
 those apartments had almost a cheerful look despite 
 their bareness. Mark Chamney was seated in his 
 favourite arm-chair, hard as a brick-bat but capacious, 
 with his legs extended across the hearth-rug in his 
 accustomed attitude, reading the evening paper. 
 
 ' Can't think what the deuce men find to amuse 
 them in the papers,' he said. 
 
 ' That's what you always say, papa ; yet you never 
 read anything else.' 
 
 1 1 can't say I care about books, Baby. I like to 
 know that what I'm reading is the last thing I could 
 read. What's the good of history, for instance? this 
 week falsifies last week. I don't care about knowing 
 what has been — I only want to know what is. How 
 smart you've made yourself, missy ! You don't often 
 favour me with the sight of that blue gown.' 
 
 ' I thought as we had company, papa — ' 
 
 ' Company ! the young man from next door but 
 three ! That's his knock, I daresay.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 57 
 
 Flora's heart gave a little flutter. She was think- 
 ing of those dreadful daubs up-stairs, and wondering 
 whether she would ever muster courage to exhibit 
 them — wondering a little too what this young painter, 
 of whom she had only caught flying glimpses at a dis- 
 tance, would be like when she saw him face to face. 
 
 He came into the room while she was wondering, 
 was introduced to her, and snook hands with her in 
 a rapid easy manner that was not ungentlemanlike. 
 
 He was certainly good-looking, of that there could 
 be no doubt ; handsome even ; faultlessly arrayed in 
 evening-dress. The only eccentricity in his appear- 
 ance was the long fair hair. Flora had expected to 
 see him in his black-velvet coat, with perhaps a smear 
 of paint here and there to show that he had only just 
 laid aside his palette, and, behold, he was dressed 
 like any other young man, spotless, irreproachable. 
 Flora was almost disappointed. 
 
 He was the easiest young man in the world to get 
 on with, his communicative disposition serving as a 
 key wherewith to open the doors of friendship's tem- 
 ple. He told them all about himself; his longings, 
 his aspirations, his intention of going to Rome by
 
 58 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and by for a year or two, to work hard ; as if there 
 were something in the air of that eternal city which 
 must needs make him industrious. 
 
 He asked a great many questions about his 
 departed uncle, whom he had never seen, and the 
 strange life among the lonely sheep-walks, and thus 
 drew Mark Chamney on to talk confidentially, and to 
 tell his longest stories. Altogether it was a most 
 cheerful dinner-party, much more cheerful than when 
 Dr. Ollivant had dined with them ; Dr. Ollivant, 
 although far better informed, .not being so good a 
 talker as Walter Leyburne. 
 
 After the dessert, which was a success, in spite of 
 the spikiness and stringiness of the tropical fruits, 
 they went up-stairs together. It had been an extreme 
 relief to Flora to perceive that the painter drank 
 nothing but a tumbler of claret throughout his re- 
 past. He was not therefore prone to intemperance, 
 which she imagined a common vice among men of 
 genius who came home after midnight. It was so 
 nice, too, to find him eager to drink the tea she 
 poured out for him presently, just as if he had been 
 the most correctly-minded of the curate species.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 59 
 
 He caught sight of the open piano while he was 
 sipping his tea, and brightened visibly. 
 
 'You play and sing/ he said. 'I thought as 
 much.' 
 
 1 Only easy music,' she answered shyly; 'little 
 bits of Mendelssohn, where the accidentals are not 
 too dreadful, and old songs that papa likes. I have 
 a book full — dear old things, that belonged to poor 
 mamma. I am afraid you would laugh at the very 
 look of them — such faded notes and common-looking 
 paper ; but they sqjjTto me prettier than any I can 
 buy at the music-sellers'.' 
 
 'I am sure they are pretty,' replied Walter with 
 enthusiasm ; ' or you would not sing them.' 
 
 ' His manner to girls in general, no doubt,' 
 thought Flora. 
 
 She went to the piano at her father's bidding, and 
 sang one after another of the old ballads her mother 
 had lovecj, the tender plaintive music of years gone 
 by — 'We met,' and 'She wore a wreath of roses,' 
 ' Young Love lived once in a humble shed,' and ' The 
 light guitar;' while Walter Leyburne hung over the 
 piano enchanted, and looked and listened — there were
 
 60 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 no leaves to turn, for Flora played from memory — and 
 fancied that his hour was come ; that Destiny, which 
 had done pretty well for him by flinging sixty thou- 
 sand pounds into his lap, desired to bestow upon him 
 this still higher boon, for uie perfection and com- 
 pletion of his lot. 
 
 Mark Chamney lay back in his armchair, smoking 
 — tobacco had been the chief solace of his lonely life 
 on the other side of the world, and it was not to be 
 supposed that his little girl would deny him the 
 comfort of his pipe wheresoever he chose to enjoy it 
 — and watching the two figures at the piano. 
 
 The young man seemed all that youth should be 
 — candid, generous, ardent. It was a curious hazard 
 that had made them neighbours. It seemed some- 
 thing more than hazard which had created these two 
 young creatures so near of an age, and with so many 
 fancies and attributes in common. 
 
 'It would seem almost the natural course of events, 
 if — ' thought Mr. Chamney, and did not take the 
 trouble to finish the sentence in his own mind, the 
 conclusion being so obvious. 
 
 After having dutifully sung her father's favourite
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 61 
 
 ballads, Flora ventured to speak, with extreme shy- 
 ness and faltering, about painting. 
 
 1 I'm afraid it is very difficult to paint,' she said, 
 in a speculative way, still perched upon the music- 
 stool, looking down at the keyboard and fingering the 
 black notes dumbly, as if seeking inspiration from 
 sharps and flats. 'I don't mean like Raffaelle, or 
 Titian, or any of those — ' 
 
 * Heavy swells,' interjected Walter, seeing her at 
 a loss. 
 
 She laughed a little at this, and grew a shade bolder. 
 
 1 But just tolerably, to amuse oneself.' 
 
 1 Why, then, you paint !' cried the young man, 
 enraptured. 
 
 ' I didn't say that.' 
 
 ' 0, yes, you did. Pray do show me what you 
 have done.' 
 
 ' They're so horrid,' pleaded Flora. 
 
 ' No, they are beautiful, equal to Rosa Bonheur's.' 
 
 1 0, no, no. And they are not animals.' 
 
 'I insist on your showing them to me this 
 moment.' 
 
 Her father rang the bell, and ordered Miss
 
 62 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Chamney's portfolio. There was no time for reflec- 
 tion. Before she could collect her senses, the book 
 was open on the table, and Walter Leyburne was 
 looking over the drawings, with little muttered ex- 
 clamations, and frownings, and smilings. 
 
 ' Upon my word there's a good deal of talent in 
 them,' he said cheerily, and then began to show 
 what was wrong, where the drawing was out, or the 
 brush had been used too heavily. 
 
 ' You shouldn't have been in such a hurry to go 
 into colour,' he said, at which Flora despaired; for 
 what is life worth to the artistic mind of seventeen if 
 one cannot dabble with colours ? 
 
 1 Drawing is such dry work,' she exclaimed, rais- 
 ing her pretty eyebrows. 
 
 ' Not if you go into it thoroughly,' replied Mr. 
 Leyburne, forgetting sundry expressions of disgust 
 and impatience that had fallen from his own lips a 
 few days ago in relation to the muscles of a gladiator. 
 * I wish your papa would let me come in now and 
 then for half an hour, and put you on the right tack ; 
 and I could lend you some casts to copy. You 
 ought to draw from the round.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 63 
 
 Flora beamed with smiles, but looked at her 
 father doubtfully. 
 
 'I don't see any objection,' said Mr. Chamney; 
 1 name your time, and I'll be here to see that Baby 
 is an obedient pupil.' 
 
 The business was settled on the spot, and a 
 farther arrangement made, to the effect that Mr. and 
 Miss Chamney were to inspect Mr. Leyburne's stu- 
 dio next day. 
 
 1 It might amuse you to see a hard-working 
 man's painting-room,' said Walter, with extreme 
 pride in the epithet 'hard-working.' 'And if you 
 will do me the honour to lunch with me, I'll make 
 things as comfortable as a miserable dog of a 
 bachelor can ever hope to make them.' 
 
 This with extreme scorn of his condition, as if he 
 were the most abandoned of earth's inhabitants. 
 
 Flora clasped her hands joyously. ' 0, papa, do 
 let us go!' she cried; 'I never saw a painter's 
 studio in all my life.' 
 
 "Whereupon the invitation was accepted, Mr. 
 Chamney desiring nothing better than to be led by 
 the light hand of his little girl.
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 'I am too old for mere play, too young to be without a wish. 
 What can the world afford me ? " Thou shalt renounce !" " Thou 
 shalt renounce !" That is the eternal song which is rung in every 
 one's ears ; which, our whole life long, every hour is hoarsely 
 singing to us.' 
 
 After the luncheon in the painting-room came 
 another dinner at Mr. Chamney's, a lesson twice a 
 week, an intimacy which ripened daily — until after a 
 fortnight of this rapid progress it suddenly occurred 
 to Mr. Chamney that he ought to make his new 
 friend, Leyburne, known to his old friend, Ollivant. 
 The curious hazard that had brought about this 
 friendship would be sure to interest the doctor ; nor 
 could he fail to be interested in that romantic notion 
 which lurked unexpressed in the mind of Flora's 
 father. 
 
 A little note from Mrs. Ollivant to Flora came 
 just at this time :
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 65 
 
 ' Dear Miss Chamney, — Why don't you come to 
 see me ? Perhaps I ought to have told you that I 
 am an old woman — though you might see as much 
 as that for yourself — with a rooted affection for my 
 own fireside, so you must not expect visits from me. 
 We are so near each other that I think I may ask 
 } T ou to spend your evenings with me now and then 
 without any farther invitation. If your papa will 
 come with } t ou, so much the better. The doctor will 
 always be pleased to see him. 
 
 ' By the way, I hear you are a very sweet singer, 
 and I must beg you to bring your music. 
 1 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 ' Letitia Ollivant.' 
 
 ' Then the doctor must have praised my singing,' 
 thought Flora, wonderingly ; ' and he hardly said a 
 civil word about it to my face. Only looked at me 
 with those dark solemn eyes of his. So different 
 from Mr. Leyburne.' 
 
 Mr. Leyburne had been led on to confess to a 
 tenor voice, and there had been evenings devoted to 
 'La ci darem la mano' and ' SulF aria.' 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' We'll go to Wimpole-street this evening,' said 
 Mr. Chamney, when he had read Mrs. Ollivant's 
 note. 
 
 'Yes, papa; but suppose Mr. Leyburne should 
 call ?' 
 
 ' We can't help that, Baby. I'm always glad to 
 see him when he likes to drop in ; but we can't be 
 at home every night.' 
 
 'No, papa,' rather regretfully; 'but we were 
 getting on so nicely with "La ci." ' 
 
 'There'll be plenty of time for "La ci." You 
 see, Flora, I feel as if the doctor ought to be told 
 about our new acquaintance.' 
 
 ' But what can it matter to him, papa ?' 
 
 ' Why, in the first place he is my oldest friend, 
 and in the second place I look upon him almost as 
 your guardian.' 
 
 ' My guardian, papa !' with an alarmed look. 
 ' What can I want with a guardian when I have 
 you?' 
 
 ' While you have me, — no, dear. Only — only 
 people die, you know — ' 
 
 'Papa, papa,' flying to his breast, and clinging
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 67 
 
 to him passionately, ' how can you say such dreadful 
 things ?' 
 
 1 A fact in natural history, Baby. A universal 
 epidemic. "We must all take it, sooner or later. 
 Don't be frightened, pet. I don't mean to say that 
 I am going off the hooks yet awhile. But I made 
 my will the other da}' — a necessary act in every 
 man's life, you know, darling — and I put Ollivant in 
 as your guardian and trustee. There isn't any one 
 you'd like better, is there, Flo ?' 
 
 ' 1 shouldn't like any one. I don't want a 
 guardian or a trustee ; I only want you.' 
 
 'And you shall have me, darling, as long as 
 God pleases. May it be long, dear, for both our 
 sakes !' 
 
 Flora echoed the prayer faintly, choked by sobs. 
 
 Mrs. Ollivant received them in her prim drawing- 
 room, where not an object was disarranged from one 
 week's end to another ; the crimson tabinet-covered 
 chairs — bought a great bargain by the country prac- 
 titioner at a local sale — with their backs always 
 glued to the wall ; the tables with the same blotting-
 
 68 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 books and envelope-cases, scent-bottles and albums, 
 wbich Cuthbert remembered in his earliest boyhood, 
 adorning the chief apartment at Long Sutton ; the 
 mantelpiece ornaments of the same era; a grim- 
 looking black -and -gilt clock in the sham -Greek 
 fashion of the French Consulate ; a pair of black- 
 and-gilt candelabra sustained by sphinxes ; some 
 cups and saucers of Oriental ware ; the looking-glass 
 over the chimney framed in black-and-gilt, corre- 
 sponding with an oval mirror at the other end of the 
 room ; a pair of attenuated console-tables between the 
 long narrow windows, surmounted by meagre strips 
 of looking-glass, and adorned with more cups and 
 saucers. The carpet was an ancient Brussels, of a 
 vegetable or floral design, which had once presented 
 the various colouring seen in mixed pickles, but was 
 now faded to the palest of drabs, and yellowest of 
 greens, and dingiest of browns. Altogether the 
 room had a meagre and faded aspect ; but Mrs. Olli- 
 vant thought it beautiful, and suffered not a speck of 
 dust to rest upon the shining surfaces of tables and 
 chair-backs. 
 
 She was sitting at her work-table, reading by the
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 69 
 
 light of a shaded lamp, when her visitors were an- 
 nounced, alone. An hour's talk after dinner was 
 the most her son could afford her, and the hour 
 having expired, he had withdrawn to his study. 
 
 1 Light the candles, James,' she said to the 
 butler, ' and tell your master Mr. and Miss Chamney 
 are here. I doubt if any other name would tempt 
 him away from his books,' she said graciously. 
 
 The man lighted a pair of wax candles in the 
 Egyptian candelabra, which faintly illumined the 
 region of the mantelpiece, and were reflected feebly 
 in the dark depths of the looking-glass. 
 
 The dimly-lighted room seemed dreary to Flora, 
 even after the barrenness of the Fitzroy-square 
 drawing-rooms. Life there was a kind of bivouac, 
 which was not without its charm. But here every 
 object told of days gone by ; of people who had long 
 been dead ; hopes that had never known fruition ; 
 dreams that had been dreamed in vain ; the un- 
 speakable melancholy that belongs to commonplace 
 objects that have grown old. 
 
 Mrs. Ollivant, like her surroundings, had the air 
 o f belonging to an age gone by. She wore her hair
 
 70 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and her dress in the same fashion that had obtained 
 at Long Sutton seven-and- thirty years ago. Her 
 dark hair was half- hidden by the Mechlin-lace lappets 
 which had been one of her wedding presents, and 
 fastened with a tortoiseshell comb that had been 
 her mother's. So had the amethyst brooch which 
 united her lace collar. Her iron-gray silk gown was 
 made as scantily and as plainly as Miss Skipton, the 
 chief dressmaker of Long Sutton, had made her 
 dresses when she married. She had changed nothing 
 — the hand of Time had even respected the calm 
 thoughtful face, and had scarcely marked the progress 
 of the quiet years by a wrinkle. Passion had ploughed 
 no lines there, rancour had left no ugly imprint. It 
 would have been hard to imagine a face which indi- 
 cated a more tranquil existence, a serener soul. 
 And yet there was an indefinable melancholy in the 
 countenance, as of a woman who had only half lived, 
 whose life had been rather like the winter sleep of 
 hibernating animals than the ardent changeful exist- 
 ence of warm-blooded mankind. 
 
 She brightened, in her own calm way, at sight of 
 Flora, held out her arms, to which the girl came half
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 71 
 
 shyly, and kissed her with a more maternal kiss than 
 Miss Mayduke. 
 
 ' So good of you, Miss Chamney — ' 
 
 1 Flora, if you please, dear Mrs. Ollivant.' 
 
 ' Flora, of course. So good of you, Flora, to re- 
 member an old woman.' 
 
 ' I have not so many friends that I could forget 
 you; and if I had ever so many, I'm sure I shouldn't. 
 But we've made a new one, and papa is going to tell 
 you all about him.' 
 
 ' A new friend !' 
 
 ' A new friend !' echoed a voice by the door. They 
 turned and saw Dr. Ollivant standing there with a 
 serious attentive face. He came slowly into the room, 
 like a man who "was half worn out by the day's work, 
 and shook hands with his visitors — Flora first, with 
 a brief but keen scrutiny of the eager blushing face, 
 and then with her father. 
 
 1 And where may you have picked up your new 
 friend, Chamney?' he asked, dropping into his fa- 
 vourite chair, while Flora, at Mrs. Ollivant's entreaty, 
 took off a coquettish little hat and a sealskin jacket. 
 
 1 Where did I pick him up ? You may well say
 
 72 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 that. It was a regular case of picking up. I think 
 I told you the other night that I am interested in 
 shipping ; only to the extent of a few loose thousands, 
 but still interested.' And then he went on to tell his 
 story, at which Dr. Ollivant looked unutterably grave, 
 as if listening to the confession of a felony, and 
 speculating how he could assist his friend to escape 
 penal servitude. 
 
 Flora watched him with the deepest mortification. 
 He did not show one ray of enthusiasm ; he did not 
 attempt to congratulate them upon the acquisition 
 of this treasure, a young painter with a charming- 
 tenor voice and the most good-natured readiness to 
 instruct her in the art of correct drawing. 
 
 ' If you ask my candid opinion, Chamney,' said 
 the doctor at last, with that brooding face of his .still 
 turned to the fire, and not to his friend, ' my opinion 
 is that you have done a very foolish thing.' 
 
 < Eh ?' 
 
 ' A most inconsiderate thing. You admit a young 
 man to a position of intimacy. You open your doors 
 to him, and make him, as it were, a member of your 
 own family, simply upon the strength of his having
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 73 
 
 had a particular man for his uncle, without a single 
 inquiry as to his character, or the remotest knowledge 
 of his antecedents. What is this Mr. — Leyburne, I 
 think you said, the better for being the nephew of a 
 certain John Ferguson, a man who drank himself to 
 death in the wilds of Australia ?' 
 
 'I owe John Ferguson every penny I possess,' 
 muttered Chamney. 
 
 I Perhaps. And I daresay he owed it to you that 
 he didn't lose or squander every penny he possessed. 
 At any rate I cannot admit that this Leyburne has 
 any lien on your gratitude. And if you take my 
 advice, having let a scamp into your house in an evil 
 hour, you will take the earliest opportunity of kick- 
 ing him out of it. Of course I mean in a metapho- 
 rical sense.' 
 
 I I should hope so,' said Flora, half crying. She 
 had hardly ever felt so disappointed. It seemed so 
 hard to find such a want of sympathy and friendliness 
 in their oldest friend. ' Mr. Leyburne is not at all 
 the kind of young man to submit to be kicked, even 
 by papa. And as for his being a scamp, it is very 
 cruel and unjust of you to say such a thing, Dr. Olli-
 
 74 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 vant, about a person you don't know. I'm sure if 
 you were to see his studio you'd think very differently ; 
 everything so neat and orderly and; if one may say 
 so, gentlemanlike; and casts in the most difficult 
 attitudes, beautifully copied in chalk. He showed us 
 the copies, didn't he, papa ?' 
 
 Mr. Chamney nodded. He had taken his lecture 
 meekly enough. Had not little Ollivant been accus- 
 tomed to lecture him two-and-twenty years ago, upon 
 the subject of his inaptitude for the study of Virgil, 
 and his sluggishness of intellect with regard to hy- 
 perbolas and parabolas ? 
 
 Dr. Ollivant looked at Flora with a curiously con- 
 templative gaze, half scornful, as of a foolish child, 
 half interested, as in a rather amusing young woman. 
 
 ' Very well, let it be so,' he said. ' We will sup- 
 pose the young man to be perfection.' 
 
 'He sings beautifully,' murmured Flora. 
 
 'We will admit him to be an acquisition. Don't 
 be alarmed, mother, Miss Chamney and I are not 
 going to quarrel. You'll sing my mother some of 
 those old ballads, by and by, won't you, Miss Cham- 
 ney ?'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 75 
 
 ' Call me Flora, please,' she said, pacified by his 
 half- apology. ' No one calls me Miss Chamney.' 
 
 ' Not even Mr. Leyburne T 
 
 * 0, yes, he, of course. But he is a young man.' 
 
 ' That makes a difference, I suppose. Then I shall 
 call you Flora ; or, if you are angry with me, as you 
 were just now, perhaps I may call you Baby, like 
 papa.' 
 
 ' No, please, I can't allow that ; nobody but papa 
 must call me a foolish name.' 
 
 The doctor's factotum now appeared with the 
 tea-tray, and at the doctor's bidding lighted more 
 candles on the old-fashioned cabinet piano. Mrs. 
 Ollivant made tea with the presentation urn and tea- 
 pot that testified to her husband's skill in restoring 
 health to the sickly inhabitants of Long Sutton, — 
 made tea in the homely old English fashion, and was 
 gratified when told her tea was good. 
 
 After tea Flora consented to sing, but not quite 
 with her usual willingness. She had not forgotten the 
 doctor's unkindness about her painter — her painter 
 — the first genius she had ever known, the first 
 human creature she had ever heard talk familiarly of
 
 76 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Titian and Bubens and Keynolds, as if he had painted 
 side by side with them. Nor did the doctor's grave 
 dark eyes, fixed on her so often with a calm scrutiny, 
 inspire such confidence as on his visit to Fitzroy- 
 square. Then she had liked him, and trusted him, 
 and been ready to open her guileless heart to him as 
 her father's friend. To-night she looked at him with 
 a new feeling, almost akin to horror, thinking that if 
 God took away her father this man would only stand 
 between her and the desolate outer world. This 
 man would be her legal defender : perhaps her ty- 
 rant. 
 
 She had the vaguest notions of a guardian's 
 power, what he could or could not do. But it seemed 
 to her that his power must be very great. He was, 
 as it were, a father by law — and would have all a 
 father's authority, with none of a father's love. 
 
 And then that bare suggestion that her father 
 might die, that an awful severance might end their 
 happy union, had come upon her spirit like a sudden 
 blast from the frozen north. She was half heart- 
 broken as she sat down to sing her little collection of 
 old ballads, and the voice with which she began the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 77 
 
 ' Land of the Leal' was even more plaintive than its 
 wont. 
 
 that she too might feel herself drifting gently 
 away to that better land, so that when her father's 
 time came there might he no parting ; that she who 
 loved him so dearly might never be left in the barren 
 world without him ! 
 
 Mrs. Ollivant praised her voice, but wondered she 
 should choose such sorrowful songs — she had sung 
 her saddest that night. She was very quiet all the 
 evening, sitting by the fireside listening to her father 
 and the doctor. Mrs. Ollivant's little attempts to 
 draw her out failed altogether. She had a new sense 
 of unhappiness since that brief conversation with her 
 father, and felt as if she could never be joyous again. 
 
 Mark Chamney talked about Australia, his favour- 
 ite topic, and Dr. Ollivant listened with his quietly at- 
 tentive manner, saying little more than was necessary 
 to keep his friend in full swing. Later he asked some 
 questions about Mr. Chamney's plans for the future. 
 
 ' You don't mean to waste all your life in that old 
 house you have taken, I suppose ?' he said. ' It's 
 very well for a professional man like me to live mewed-
 
 78 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 up in a London house all the year round ; but I've 
 always considered that a man is only half alive who 
 lives always in the same place. You'll travel, I sup- 
 pose, when the winter is over, and show your daugh- 
 ter something of the world — something more than 
 she could find out from her maps and geographies at 
 school.' 
 
 ' I should like it well enough,' answered the other 
 thoughtfully ; ' only you know I'm a kind of patient 
 of yours. Do you think I'm strong enough for that 
 sort of work ?' 
 
 Flora watched the doctor's face breathlessly at this 
 point, but that calm visage told her nothing, or only 
 that Cuthbert Ollivant was by nature serious and 
 thoughtful, not a man to speak lightly or be lightly 
 moved from any purpose of his own. 
 
 ' Not to Mont Blanc or the Jungfrau, perhaps/ 
 he said with his quiet smile — that reassuring smile 
 which had so often given birth to vain hopes in the 
 breasts of those that beheld it. But then hope is 
 the best medicine for a patient, the most potent 
 stimulus for a nurse ; and a doctor who was not 
 hopeful would rarely cure.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 79 
 
 ' You're not strong enough to go to work in the 
 same wild way you would have done twenty years 
 ago,' he went on ; ' but I believe change of scene 
 and easy-going travelling — travelling is made un- 
 commonly easy nowadays — would do you a world 
 of good, as well as afford pleasure to Miss Chamney' 
 — he could not quite bring himself to call her by 
 her pretty Christian name yet awhile — - who must 
 inevitably suffer if you keep her shut-up in Fitzroy- 
 square much longer.' 
 
 1 But I am not shut up,' the girl answered eagerly ; 
 ' we go for nice walks — don't we, papa? — in the other 
 squares, and sometimes in Regent's Park. I am 
 quite happy in London. But do you really think 
 travelling would do papa good, Dr. Ollivant ?' 
 
 ' 1 do, most decidedly.' 
 
 'If so, let us travel at once. I am ready to 
 start to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I should recommend waiting for fine weather.' 
 
 1 Then we will wait for fine weather. We will do 
 whatever is best for papa. But he is not ill, is he, 
 Dr. Ollivant ?' 
 
 '111!' exclaimed Mark Chamney; 'why, what
 
 80 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 could put such a notion into this foolish Baby's 
 head ?' A timely reply, which saved Dr. Ollivant 
 the embarrassment of being obliged to answer with 
 one of his professional circumlocutions. He felt as 
 if he could hardly endure to speak anything less 
 than the truth to this girl, even at the risk of break- 
 ing her heart. ' Will you dine with us to-morrow 
 night, Ollivant, and see what kind of a fellow our 
 new friend is ?' Mr. Chamney said by and by, when 
 Flora was putting on her hat. 
 
 * Certainly. Miss Chamney's enthusiasm has 
 awakened my curiosity. I should like to behold this 
 paragon.' 
 
 Mrs. Ollivant gave a little sarcastic laugh, like an 
 echo of her son's scornful tone. His opinions were 
 her opinion. For him to dislike or disapprove was 
 enough for her. That slow solitary life at Long 
 Sutton had given her only this one creature to love 
 and admire. From the hour of his birth she had 
 worshipped him, had lived upon the thought of him 
 during their severance, and existed only to please 
 him now that they were reunited. He was her 
 fetish.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 81 
 
 ' Come now, Mrs. Ollivant,' said Mark in his 
 hearty way, unmindful of that ironical laugh ; ' you'll 
 come with your son, won't you ? Flora, beg of Mrs. 
 Ollivant to come.' 
 
 But Flora could not forgive that disparaging 
 laugh, and said nothing. Mrs. Ollivant excused 
 herself on the ground of never going anywhere — in- 
 deed, her son had never made for himself friends, 
 at whose festive gatherings she might have been a 
 guest. He had lived his own life, which was a 
 solitary and sequestered life, and she had lived only 
 for him. 
 
 ' My son will be with 3'ou,' she said, ' and he 
 will be able to form an opinion of your new ac- 
 quaintance. He is an acute judge of character.' 
 Her tone implied that the doctor was going to sit 
 upon Walter Leyburne in the combined character 
 of judge and jury. 
 
 * Papa,' said Flora, while they were going home 
 in the cab, ' I begin positively to dislike your 
 Ollivants.' 
 
 ' No, Baby,' cried Mr. Chamney alarmed, 'for 
 God's sake don't say that. Such worthy people ; 
 
 VOL. I. g
 
 82 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 such straightforward, conscientious people — and the 
 only friends I have in the world.' 
 
 ' Except Mr. Leyhurne, papa.' 
 
 ' My darling, we mustn't count Mr. Leyhurne. 
 You're so impetuous, Flora; and I hegin to feel I 
 have done wrong in asking him to my house — ' 
 
 ' Only since that horrid doctor has talked you 
 into thinking so, papa.' 
 
 * My dearest child, you must not say such 
 things. There isn't a better fellow in the world 
 than Ollivant.' 
 
 ' But, papa, it's more than twenty years ago 
 since you saw anything of him ; time enough for a 
 man to develop into a murderer. He might be very 
 well as a schoolboy, but I'm sure he's odious as a 
 man.' • 
 
 ' Flora, this is shameful !' exclaimed Mr. Cham- 
 ney, getting angry. ' I insist upon your speaking 
 with proper respect of Dr. Ollivant. I tell you 
 again, he is my only friend. A man who lives the 
 lonely life I lived for twenty years has no chance of 
 making many friendships ; and I rely on his pro- 
 tection for you when I am gone. There, there, don't
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 83 
 
 cry. What a foolish girl you are ! I am only 
 talking of future possibilities.' 
 
 ' If it were possible that I could lose you, and 
 be thrown upon the mercy of that man, I think I 
 should throw myself out of the cab this moment,' 
 said the undisciplined Flora, sobbing.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 1 Is it thy will, thy image should keep open 
 
 My heavy eyelids to the weary night? 
 Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken, 
 "While shadows, like to thee, do mock my sight ?' 
 
 The undisciplined Flora relented a little next day 
 when the doctor came to dinner, and deported him- 
 self with a peculiar graciousness towards Walter 
 Leyburne. There had been time for Cuthbert Olli- 
 vant to think in the interval, and he had suffered no 
 little shame and self-scorn at the thought of his 
 petty burst of temper with reference to the unknown 
 painter. 
 
 ' If I am to be his daughter's guardian some day 
 — and God only knows how soon the day may come 
 — I have some right to interfere, so far as to pre- 
 vent that good-natured simpleton bringing danger- 
 ous people into his house ; a painter, too ; and a 
 Bohemian, no doubt. And that silly girl is evidently
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 85 
 
 in love with him already. But it was foolish of me 
 to lose my temper about it.' 
 
 Very foolish, no doubt; and Cuthbert Ollivant 
 was not a man prone to foolishness. He wondered 
 at his own impetuosity, and determined to make up 
 for his folly by extra civility to the obnoxious 
 painter, by a calm and dispassionate consideration of 
 the entire subject. 
 
 ' A good-looking young man, with sixty thou- 
 sand pounds, bound to Chamney by the associations 
 of the past, and met with by the merest hazard in 
 the city of London. It seems like a story-book. 
 And the natural conclusion of the story would be a 
 marriage between the painter and Flora Chamney. 
 I wonder whether it will end that way. I fancy that 
 is what Chamney has in his head ; and he wants me 
 to approve.' 
 
 He was walking up and down his consulting- 
 room at the close of his day's labour, meditating 
 upon this subject, as he had meditated many times 
 during his daily round. 
 
 1 After all, it would be the best thing that could 
 happen for me. If she marries in her father's life-
 
 86 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 time, she will want no guardian except her husband. 
 And what should I do with a pretty girl for my 
 ward ? It's all very well to say my mother would 
 take the care of her, and the management of her, off 
 my hands. I should be responsible for her welfare 
 all the same, And if she took it into her head to 
 marry a scamp then, it would be much worse than 
 her marrying a scamp now.' 
 
 A quiet contemplation of the subject in this 
 light was calculated to make Dr. Ollivant well dis- 
 posed towards Mr. Leyburne ; yet he had no friendly 
 feeling for that person as he walked from Wimpole- 
 street to Fitzroy-square. It was a calm clear even- 
 ing, and even London in November was not utterly 
 odious. 
 
 He found the subject of his thoughts standing 
 by the drawing-room fire talking to Flora — talking 
 as if they had been first-cousins, allied by a lifetime 
 of recollections and associations. Walter Leyburne's 
 frank fair face was turned to him with a friendly 
 smile in the lamplight, as Mr. Chamney introduced 
 the two men ; and the doctor was compelled to con- 
 fess to himself that the face was pleasant, and even
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 87 
 
 handsome. But, then, how many a scamp has a 
 pleasant handsome face ! It is almost an attribute 
 of scamphood. A scamp with sixty thousand pounds, 
 however, is a less common character. 
 
 Perhaps something in the young man's cordial 
 easy manner pleased Dr. Ollivant in spite of his 
 prejudices; perhaps he had schooled himself by an 
 effort to seem friendly. In any case, he did make 
 himself agreeable to Mr. Leyburne, and regained 
 Flora's good opinion. He saw the change in her, 
 and divined its meaning. 
 
 ' To win her good-will, I have only to be civil to 
 this fellow,' he said to himself. 'A poor compli- 
 ment to me, as an individual.' 
 
 The little dinner was the gayest they had yet 
 had in Fitzroy-square. Dr. Ollivant would not 
 allow Mr. Leyburne to have the talk all to himself. 
 He talked of every subject that was started, and 
 talked well — with that tone of calm superiority 
 which superior age and superior learning impart — 
 spoke of art even, showing himself master of all the 
 critic's technicalities. 
 
 'I did not know you cared about pictures,' said
 
 8b LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Flora, looking at him as if she beheld him suddenly 
 in a new light, with some touch of wonder too, as if 
 he were not the kind of man she could have supposed 
 capable of appreciating pictures, or music, or flowers, 
 or any of the more delicate charms of life. 
 
 'Yes,' he said, in his quiet way, 'I do like — ■ 
 good pictures. There is about one in every year's 
 exhibition that I should care to possess.' 
 
 ' What a pity for all the other fellows !' said 
 Walter, piqued by the conviction that the doctor 
 would not like his pictures. 
 
 1 1 didn't see any pictures in Wimpole-street,' 
 said Mr. Chamney. 
 
 { No ; the Wimpole-street furniture is my mo- 
 ther's, just as it came from Long Sutton — ugly, but 
 familiar. It was hard enough to root her out of the 
 Devonshire soil. I was obliged to bring away a 
 little earth about the roots. In short, the old chairs 
 and tables do well enough for me. I have not gone 
 in for the refinements of life.' 
 
 ' Which means that you are a confirmed old 
 bachelor, I suppose ?' said Chamney, with his good- 
 natured laugh.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 89 
 
 'I suppose so. I believe it is an understood 
 thing that a man who doesn't marry before he's 
 thirty is a confirmed bachelor. And yet there are 
 instances of passion after that age, or history lies 
 strangely.' 
 
 ' Mark Antony, for example,' cried Walter, with 
 a keen recollection of that useful personage to the 
 art-world, Cleopatra. 
 
 The dinner was altogether agreeable. Dr. Olli- 
 vant appeared in a new light — not the grave quiet 
 physician, with dark contemplative eyes and a lean- 
 ing to silence, but a man of many words — words 
 that had a colour and sparkle about them, like 
 finely-cut gems — enthusiastic, eloquent even. And 
 above all, he was gracious to Walter Leyburne. 
 Flora was subjugated ; wondered that there could 
 be such a clever man in the world, as it were un- 
 known and unappreciated ; for she reckoned it as 
 nothing that a man should have secured a fair prac- 
 tice, and a name in his profession, at five-and-thirty. 
 There was a latent bitterness, a minor strain faintly 
 audible in the doctor's most brilliant talk ; a vague 
 sadness that touched the tender girl-nature. She
 
 90 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 was inclined to pity him a little, as a man who had 
 
 grown old in the dismal drudgery of a learned pro- 
 it 
 fession, and lived a lonely joyless life in a house 
 
 that had a dreary look despite its well-ordered com- 
 fort. 
 
 She glanced from the doctor to Youth and Hope 
 incarnate, in the person of Walter Leyburne ; a 
 creature all smiles and brightness, whose nature 
 seemed brimming over with joy, like a glass of spark- 
 ling wine in which a thousand tiny bubbles come 
 leaping up to the surface, as if they would say, ' We 
 are the emblems of all earthborn joys ; see how 
 soon we vanish !' 
 
 Yes ; that contrast between the slave of science 
 and the disciple of art touched her ; so she spoke to 
 the doctor in her kindest tones, out of pure pity. 
 
 The three gentlemen went up to the drawing- 
 room with Flora directly after dinner, and she had 
 Dr. Ollivant on her hands while she poured out the 
 tea, Mr. Chamney andthe painter having planted them- 
 selves on the hearth-rug to fight out a political battle. 
 Mr. Leyburne was a Eadical, who derived his prin- 
 ciples from Shelley and Leigh Hunt, and was some-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 91 
 
 what astonished to find his pet theories hear no 
 better blossom than broken park-palings and trade- 
 unionism ; Mr. Chamney was a Conservative, on the 
 ground of having money in the Funds. 
 
 ' Xo man with an interest in the government 
 securities of his country has a right to be a Radical,' 
 he said. ' The man who has anything to keep is 
 bound to be a Conservative. I was a thorough-paced 
 "rad" when I worked my way out to Melbourne; 
 but the day I began to save money was the day on 
 which I went over to the opposition. Don't talk to 
 me of the Revolt of Islam. "What I see around us, 
 sir, is the revolt of the tailors, the tinkers, the 
 bakers, the candlestick-makers — a revolt whose in- 
 evitable result is the impoverishment of the well-to- 
 do classes.' 
 
 While they were arguing this thesis, Dr. Ollivant 
 was making his peace with Flora. A pleasant 
 business it seemed to him, that business of recon- 
 ciliation — and so new. To sit by the lamplit table 
 and watch the fair hands moving noiselessly among 
 the teacups, the sweet face bent a little in womanly 
 solicitude, the soft eyes looking up at him half-shyly,
 
 92 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 half-confidingly, now and then, as his words made 
 some special appeal to her attention. It was the 
 newest thing that life could offer him ; as strange 
 as if he had found himself emperor of half the world. 
 
 ' You were very angry with me last night, I'm 
 afraid ?' he said, with a smile that was rather pro- 
 voking, Flora thought, as if he remembered her in- 
 dignation with some sense of amusement, as at the 
 anger of a petted child. 
 
 ' I thought you unkind and unjust,' she ans- 
 wered. 
 
 1 Because I ventured to express a doubt of your 
 paragon — not having seen him, remember, and being 
 therefore unaffected by the magic of his numerous 
 graces.' 
 
 ' That sounds as if you were still sneering at 
 him. But now you have seen him, I hope you think 
 a little better of him.' 
 
 ' I think him a very agreeable Toung man, after 
 the pattern of numerous other young men. But I 
 am not even yet reconciled to his introduction here 
 — to the privileged position which he occupies — 
 while your father knows so little about him.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 93 
 
 I We know that he is the nephew of papa's old 
 partner.' 
 
 I I cannot recognise that as a certificate of cha- 
 racter. George Barnwell was a nephew. However, 
 I will say no more, since you like him so much.' 
 
 1 1 like him because he is so kind to me,' replied 
 Flora, blushing a little, but still answering with her 
 accustomed frankness. * He is teaching me to draw 
 correctly, and he sings — delightfully.' 
 
 She would have used a stronger word — divinely 
 — but checked herself, in fear of Dr. Ollivant's 
 ridicule. 
 
 1 What ! he sings, does he ? It seems he has all 
 the gifts.' This was said with a regretful sigh, that 
 moved Flora again to pity. 
 
 ' He is not a clever doctor like you,' she said, 
 eager to console ; ' he cannot bring hope and healing 
 to the sick and sorrowful, nor can he talk like j-ou. 
 I thought he was the best talker in the world, till to- 
 night.' 
 
 The doctor smiled his slow thoughtful smile. 
 Was it possible that his deeper thought and wider 
 knowledge had impressed even this shallow frivolous
 
 94 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 girl ; that she had discovered in him at least some- 
 thing which her new favourite lacked ? 
 
 Not much longer did he enjoy the privilege of 
 her sole attention. She was called away to sing 
 presently. 
 
 'A duet, if you like, Mr. Leyburne,' she said. 
 So the doctor heard the two fresh young voices 
 blending harmoniously, each taking strength and 
 sweetness from the other. If he had been a younger 
 man — a man without fixed purposes and desires to 
 fulfil in life — he might almost have envied Walter 
 Leyburne his pleasant tenor voice, seeing what a 
 strong link it made between these two. But in his 
 character of a man who had dispensed with all small 
 passions and petty vices, sustained always by the 
 real business of his life, he could only listen and 
 approve ; or perhaps speculate vaguely upon what 
 that hypothetical younger man might have felt. 
 
 Once seated at the piano, Flora did not leave it 
 till she rose to bid her visitors good-night. The 
 old music-books afforded inexhaustible amusement. 
 ' Do you know this ?' and ' "Will you sing this ?' 
 the two said to each other again and again as they
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 95 
 
 turned the leaves. Whereupon there were attempts 
 which sometimes resulted in success, sometimes in 
 failure ; efforts which were hardly intended for the 
 amusement of the doctor or his host, who withdrew 
 to the back drawing-room by and by, and sat by the 
 fire talking. Dr. Ollivant faced the larger room, 
 and could watch the two figures by the piano as he 
 talked — and did watch them, as if his words had 
 been little more than a running commentary on that 
 group. 
 
 1 Well,' said Mark Chamney, ' what do you think 
 of him ?' 
 
 1 What can I think of him after so short an ac- 
 quaintance, except that he is good-looking enough, 
 and agreeable enough, and, I should think, conceited, 
 enough ?' replied the doctor, with his dark watchful 
 eyes upon the figure by the piano. 
 
 1 There you are wrong. He has no conceit ; on 
 the contrary, he has a deprecating way of talking 
 about himself and his own ambition which is very 
 winning.' 
 
 ' Only a novel form of conceit. The man who 
 runs himself down is always a vain man. He is so
 
 96 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 assured of his own transcendent merits, that, out of 
 mere condescension and good-nature, to let himself 
 down to the level of the ruck, as it were, he pretends 
 to think lightly of himself. I have seen that kind 
 of conceit in my own profession. And then you 
 admit him to be ambitious ; ergo, he believes in 
 himself.' 
 
 ' His chances of success would be small if he 
 didn't.' 
 
 ' And yet, I suppose, he is a sorry dauber ?' 
 
 ' No, indeed. I don't pretend to be a judge of 
 such matters. A picture to me is a picture, so long 
 as there's plenty of colour about it. His struck me 
 as rather bright and lively.' 
 
 'Bright and lively!' said the doctor, with a 
 shrug. ' Yes, I know the kind of picture ; the sort 
 of thing that would make a good sign for an oil and 
 colour shop. However, the young man is well 
 enough in the abstract, Chamney, and I really don't 
 want to quarrel with you about him. Only, to my 
 mind, he is out of place in this house.' 
 
 ' How out of place ?' 
 
 ' Your daughter is young and pretty — rather
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 97 
 
 romantic, I fancy. He is good-looking and adven- 
 turous. Have you never speculated upon the pos- 
 sibility of their falling in love with each other ?' 
 
 1 The very thing I have speculated upon ; a thing 
 I look upon as almost inevitable.' 
 
 ' !' said the doctor gravely, with a curious 
 little droop of his flexible lower lip. ' In that case 
 I had better withdraw my objections.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, you had better give me a 
 friend's advice with a friend's candour.' 
 
 1 And with the usual risk of giving mortal offence 
 by my friendly truthfulness.' 
 
 1 Now, look here, Ollivant,' said Mr. Chamney, 
 coming closer to the doctor. ' Of course I know that 
 you're — well, say diabolically clever — and that it's 
 only natural for you to crow over me now as you used 
 to crow over me when we were schoolboys, while I 
 was fool enough to like you in spite of the crowing. 
 But this business is one that touches my daughter, 
 and in anything that concerns her interest I protest 
 against being crowed over. You must give me your 
 advice honestly, without chopping logic, as between 
 man and man.' 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' As between man and man !' repeated the doctor 
 with a musing air. ' I never quite caught the mean- 
 ing of that phrase, though it always seems to stand 
 for a good deal. Upon my word, Chamney, it appears 
 to me that there is no room here for advice. You 
 have set your heart on the match already ; and the 
 young lady,' with his eyes always turned towards the 
 piano, ' seems on the high-road to the same way of 
 thinking.' 
 
 ' Do you see any reason for supposing he would 
 not make her a good husband ?' asked Chamney, 
 coming straight to the point. ' He has sixty thousand 
 pounds. I can give my girl about half as much ; and 
 he is a thoroughly good fellow.' 
 
 ' An opinion you have arrived at after a fortnight's 
 acquaintance,' said the doctor. 
 
 ' Come, Ollivant, I told you just now I want 
 advice, not crowing.' 
 
 ' What put this idea into your head ?' 
 
 ' Can you ask me that when you know my un- 
 certain lease of life ? What more natural than that 
 I should want to see my darling married before I 
 die ; that I should like to know the man to whose
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 99 
 
 keeping all her future life is to be given — all the 
 long years which I shall not see ; the years in 
 which she will ripen into womanhood, and have 
 children to love and honour her ? I should like to 
 know the father of her children, though I may never 
 live to see them.' 
 
 1 Do you think a fortnight's knowledge is enough?' 
 
 1 Am I a fool ? No, it is only an idea in embryo 
 that I have trusted to you. I am not going to 
 mortgage my darling's future until I can see pretty 
 clearly ahead. But I thought it only right to let 
 you into the secret of my fancy ; to let you see the 
 young man, and form your own judgment of his 
 character.' 
 
 ' I am not so keen a judge as to discover a man's 
 worth or worthlessness in a single evening. I should 
 think your protege somewhat shallow and frivolous ; 
 but then that does not matter much to a woman, 
 who is apt to be shallow and frivolous herself.' 
 
 1 That's an old bachelor's notion of women. Then 
 you reserve your opinion, I suppose '?' 
 
 * I reserve my opinion until I have seen a little 
 more of your paragon.'
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 1 The Devil and 
 This fellow are so near, 'tis not yet known 
 Which is the eviler angel.' 
 
 ' Bather the ground that's deep enough for graves, 
 Eather the stream that's strong enough for waves, 
 
 Than the loose sandy drift, 
 Whose shifting surface cherishes no seed 
 Either of any flower or any weed, 
 
 Which ever way it shift.' 
 
 Within a half-mile radius of Fitzroy-square there 
 are streets which, although perhaps not absolutely 
 disreputable — and it is not easy to know in London 
 whether a street is disreputable or not — have a cer- 
 tain air of squalor, dispiriting to the mind of the 
 wandering pedestrian or the cab- driven voyager who 
 may happen to pass through them. Residents are 
 doubtless unconscious of that depressing influence. 
 ' Be it ever so humble,' says the song, ' there's no 
 place like home ;' and the scene which, to the passer- 
 by, is suggestive of low spirits may, to the inhabitant 
 of the spot, breathe only of shrimps and water-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 101 
 
 cresses and the muffin-bell, and all the tender asso- 
 ciations of the domestic hearth. 
 
 Yoysey-street was a street of this order ; a broad- 
 ish street, and with ample room and verge enough in 
 the way of pavement, but purblind at one end, which 
 only held communion with the outer world by a 
 narrow isthmus of alley, where noisy children rioted 
 all day long, and drunken men and women bawled 
 by night, and which possessed for its chief attractions 
 an eel-pie house, and a pork-butcher, popularly sup- 
 posed, in the immediate neighbourhood, to purvey 
 the finest pork in London. To eat spare-rib or 
 griskin from Billet's was to enjoy a feast which 
 Eoman emperors might have envied, in the opinion 
 of Yoysey-street and Cave-square round the corner. 
 
 There was a court dressmaker in Yoysey-street ; 
 a young person who exhibited stale fashion-plates 
 and pink-tissue models of elaborate costumes in her 
 window, and who made bonnets at half-a-crown, and 
 dresses at four-and-sixpence, for the surrounding 
 gentry, so that her connection with the Court must 
 have been wholly a matter of imagination and door- 
 plate. There was a chandler's shop at each end, and
 
 102 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 another in the middle. Indeed, the Voysey-streeters 
 seemed to live almost entirely upon chandlery, and 
 to be curiously independent of butchers' meat. There 
 was a small shop for fish, of the dried and salted 
 order, with occasionally a tub of bulky oysters, or a 
 few limp-looking plaice, to be had a bargain on sultry 
 summer evenings. There was a newsvendor, who 
 vended a variety of other articles, in the way of to- 
 bacco, small fancy goods, brandy-balls and jumbles, 
 fireworks in the festive season of November, and 
 walking-sticks all the year round, and who retailed 
 a good deal of information respecting the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood gratis across his own counter. 
 These, with one more, a ladies' wardrobe, were all 
 the shops in Voysey-street ; the rest of the houses 
 were as private as any house could be in which 
 several families abounding in small children in- 
 habited the various floors, whose lodgers, with 
 furniture and without furniture, seemed to change 
 with all the changes of the moon, whose front 
 parlours were sometimes small academies for the 
 instruction of youth, miscellaneous as to sex and 
 age, whose back parlours sometimes sank as low as
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 103 
 
 mangling. Perhaps one of the shabbiest of the 
 houses in this region of depression and decay was that 
 whose parlour-windows exhibited the flabby stock-in- 
 trade of a ladies' wardrobe. It is curious to observe 
 the air of squalor and disreputability which pervades 
 cast-off garments thus exposed for sale ; as though 
 the mere fact of repudiation debased the things, like 
 a son or daughter turned out of doors. There is a 
 hang-dog aspect about that sealskin jacket, which 
 whispers of midnight wanderings and unholy lurkings 
 at street corners ; an air half dejection, half indiffer- 
 ence, marks that black-lace bonnet, with its garland 
 of tumbled rosebuds and bent front. Very difficult 
 is it to imagine fresh and fair girlhood in that 
 crumpled pink ball-dress, or waving that broken fan. 
 And that plum-coloured satin, gorgeous in its decay 
 — who could believe that it was ever the garb of 
 respectable matronhood ? There are wine splashes on 
 the skirt that tell of nocturnal revels, mirth too wild 
 for gladness. The chance pedestrian glances at the 
 window and hurries by with a shudder. Those tawdry 
 garments hanging limply behind the dingy windows 
 look to him* like ghosts of the unhallowed dead.
 
 104 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Not thus meanly, however, thought Mrs. Gurner, 
 the proprietress of the ladies' wardrobe, of that avo- 
 cation which she had chosen for the support of her 
 declining years. To her mind it was a pursuit at 
 once honourable and genteel. On the gentility she 
 dwelt with peculiar fondness. There was no counter, 
 she remarked, and there were no weights and scales ; 
 none of the paraphernalia of plebeian trades. Ple- 
 beian trades— chandlery, shellfish, sweetstuff, and 
 the like — might be brisker ; but they were inherently 
 obnoxious to the mind of a bred-and-born lady, as 
 compared with the exchange and barter of second- 
 hand garments. That species of commerce was in a 
 manner professional. You did not even ticket your 
 goods, but speculated your price according to the 
 appearance or disposition — as indicated by physiog- 
 nomy and manner — of your customer. It was a 
 matter, Mrs. Gurner observed, of private ' contact.' 
 
 Mrs. Gurner's years had been declining for a con- 
 siderable time, or rather had declined to a certain 
 point, and there remained stationary. She had been 
 faded and elderly when she first came to Voysey- 
 street, nineteen years ago. She was faded and
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 105 
 
 elderly still. It was believed in the neighbourhood 
 that she had worn the same cap throughout that 
 period — a structure of rusty black lace adorned with 
 roses ; but this was not strictly true. The substruc- 
 ture was possibly the same, but the flowers had 
 bloomed and faded with the changing years ; only 
 never being new or clean, the change had not been 
 noticeable. 
 
 1 1 suppose it's only natural that, having plenty 
 of handsome clothes always at my command, I 
 shouldn't care about 'em,' said Mrs. Gurner, in her 
 low-spirited way ; ' anyhow, I don't. I should 
 scarcely take five shillings' value off that plum- 
 coloured satin if I was to wear it a month. Three - 
 pennorth of benzine would bring it round again from 
 any harm I should do it. But I don't feel the tempt- 
 ation. Give me my old black silk ; I always feel 
 the lady in it.' 
 
 A curious psychological fact this, tending to prove 
 that an individual's inner consciousness may present 
 to him an image widely different from that outward 
 form which he wears before the eyes of his fellow- 
 men. Mrs. Gurner, in the decomposed remains of a
 
 106 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Mack-silk dress — a garment which was at once 
 greasy, rusty, and of a dull greenish hue that sug- 
 getted mouldiness, worn at the elbows, split under 
 the arms, frayed at the cuffs, and ragged at the hem 
 — may have felt a lady, but she certainly did not 
 look one. But a black-silk gown in Voysey-street 
 had a certain permanent value, independent of actual 
 wear and tear ; and as a man receiving the Order of 
 the Bath writes himself K.C.B. or C.B. ever after- 
 wards, so in Voysey-street a lady wearing black-silk 
 raiment at once and for ever established her claim to 
 gentility. 
 
 Mrs. Gurner, though she was given to speak of 
 herself, in relation to rent and water-rate, as a lone 
 female, was not positively alone in the world. Her 
 son and her son's daughter shared her humble abode. 
 The son pretended to do a good deal — he was a 
 genius in his way, and esteemed himself, in a large 
 measure, independent of the trammels that confine 
 the footsteps of ordinary mankind — and succeeded in 
 doing very little. He did, however, contribute to the 
 expenses of the establishment in a spasmodic manner; 
 or the establishment must inevitably have suffered
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 107 
 
 that complete collapse with which it was periodically 
 threatened by landlord and tax-gatherer. For it is 
 not to be supposed that the profits arising out of the 
 exchange and barter of ten pounds' worth of second- 
 hand soft goods could have paid for the shelter, food, 
 and clothing of three full-grown persons. 
 
 Jarred's daughter helped her grandmother in the 
 business and housework, waited on the lodgers, ran 
 of errands, did whatever cleaning may have been 
 done where everything seemed always dirty, and 
 endured not a little reproof of a low-spirited kind, 
 which the girl herself described as ' nagging,' from 
 her elderly relative. The elderly relative ' took the 
 lead,' as she called it, in the business, and cooked 
 the viands for # the family table ; a work of extreme 
 care and nicety, for it is curious to observe that 
 people whose food is of a limited or even fortuitous 
 character, mysterious as the provender which the 
 ravens brought to the prophet, are apt to be extremely 
 particular about the cooking thereof. Jarred was as 
 keen an epicure in his way as any gourmet at the clubs. 
 
 That apartment which, in a more conventional 
 state of society, would have been called the drawing-
 
 108 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 room, but which in Voysey-street was always spoken 
 of as the first-floor front, was held sacred to the uses 
 of Mr. Jarred Gurner. It was the most important 
 room in the house and the best for letting, as Mrs. 
 Gurner said, with her chronic sigh, and to relinquish 
 it to Jarred was to relinquish a reliable source of 
 income. But Jarred's avocations required a north 
 light, and the first-floor front faced the north — nay, 
 more, had a central window, which had been extended 
 to the ceiling for the convenience of some artistic 
 resident in days gone by, before Voysey-street had 
 sunk below the artistic level. 
 
 Jarred was an artist, and the tall window suited 
 him to a nicety. He was a professor of the art of 
 doctoring pictures and of doctoring violins, and won- 
 derful were his ways in both arts, but most especially 
 in the latter, which is an intricate and mysterious 
 process approaching conjuration ; since, by the appli- 
 cation of certain varnishes and a smoky chimney, 
 Jarred could sometimes convert the most common- 
 place of fiddles into an Amati or a Guanerius. He 
 conjured a little with the pictures, too, as well as 
 with the fiddles, and could transmute the handiwork
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 109 
 
 of any out-at-elbows dauber in his neighbourhood 
 into a genuine Teniers or Ostade, a Rubens or Van- 
 dyke, to suit the turn of the market. 
 
 Half the pictures in Wardour-street had been 
 through Jarred's hands. The simpering, bare- 
 shouldered, flaxen-ringleted beauties of the Lely 
 school, — he knew them to the turn of their little 
 fingers, the pattern of their lace tuckers ; had sat 
 staring at them meditatively many a night as he 
 smoked his black-muzzled pipe, and wafted the 
 tobacco-clouds across their vapid smiling faces, while 
 he calculated the odds on an outsider or reviewed the 
 performances of an established favourite. Jarred 
 had various strings to his bow. He did a little in 
 the stock-jobbing way now and then — of course in 
 the pettiest form — took shares in new joint-stock 
 speculations and sold them again, or failed to take 
 them up and defied the directors, since it would have 
 been throwing good money after bad to set the 
 mighty engines of law to work with a view to making 
 Mr. Gurner keep his engagements. He had put his 
 hand to almost everything, as he used to boast in his 
 playful way, ' from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter.'
 
 110 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 He had even done a little in the private-detective 
 line, and although a mere outsider, had been ac- 
 knowledged by some of the master minds in that 
 noble profession to be good at following up a trail. 
 
 He was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built man, 
 with something of a gipsy look in his swarthy face 
 and glittering black eyes — small eyes, but with an 
 unusual brightness that made them striking. Per- 
 haps his gipsy life had given that cast to his 
 features ; that reckless, dare-devil turn to eye and 
 lip, and even the crisp wave of his coarse black hair. 
 You could have expected to meet him on a country 
 common, with gold rings in his ears and a hawker's 
 box upon his back, seeking whom he might devour. 
 There was something gipsyish in his way of living 
 even in Voysey- street, and yet not social — a solitary 
 Bohemian this, who liked best to take his meal by 
 himself, at the snuggest corner of his hearth, in his 
 one comfortable chair, and to sit alone and smoke 
 and scheme afterwards. The women of his house- 
 hold were a bore to him. The wretched little room 
 clown-stairs, where they lived, and slept, and cooked, 
 and ate, — the miserable make-believe parlour behind
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 11 L 
 
 the shop, in which the bed by night vainly essayed 
 to pass for a cheffonier by day, — was rarely hon- 
 oured by his presence, and when his mother or his 
 daughter came to his room, they knocked at the 
 door in all humility before presuming to enter. Only 
 when Jarred was in an especially good humour, 
 when things had gone well with him in the City or 
 in the betting-ring, when he had planted an Amati 
 or a Rubens, did he deign to eat his supper with his 
 kindred in the stuffy little chamber below stairs. 
 Then his soul would expand over sprats or fried 
 tripe, and he would tell them his schemes or impart 
 his indignation against that destiny which had not 
 provided him with unlimited capital. 
 
 'I could do anything with capital!' he would 
 declare. ' Give me a thousand pounds for my ful- 
 crum, and I would die the equal of Rothschild.' 
 
 His daughter used to sit with her elbows on the 
 table, although severely admonished thereupon by 
 her grandmother, who never forgot to be genteel, 
 and gaze open-mouthed and open-eyed upon her 
 father. 
 
 He had contrived to instil into her youthful
 
 112 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 mind the profoundest belief in his genius, even 
 without taking any pains to effect that end ; for his 
 wild talk of his own talents, and the things he ought 
 to have done and would yet do, when Fate should 
 cease her opposition, was for the greater part mere 
 soliloquy, or the letting-off of the superfluous steam 
 which a lively imagination and an extra pint of six- 
 penny ale will engender in the human mind. 
 
 Louisa Gurner believed implicitly in her father, 
 and lived in a chronic state of anger against society 
 at large for its neglect and ill-usage of him. It 
 seemed a hard world in which such a man as Jarred 
 Gurner could not have place and power, carriages 
 and horses, a fine house to live in, costly raiment, 
 and the fat of the land for his daily provender. 
 There must be some cog-wheel loose, some endless 
 web out of gear, in the machinery of a universe in 
 which Jarred had to wear shabby boots and eat 
 scanty dinners. This feeling, fostered by the father's 
 wild talk, had grown with Louisa's growth, and now 
 found expression in a lurking discontent which per- 
 vaded the girl's nature, and was even visible in her 
 handsome young face ; a delicate likeness of the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 113 
 
 father's, the eyes Larger and softer of hue, the mouth 
 smaller and more refined in form, but the same dark 
 skin and wavy black hair, the same half-gipsy look, 
 the same defiant pride in every lineament. As the 
 beauty of fallen angels was the beauty of Louisa 
 Gurner; a fairness in which even admiring eyes 
 found something akin to the diabolical. Yet, as 
 Mr. Gurner was wont to observe in moments of good- 
 humour, 'Loo was not half a bad girl.' Neither 
 selfishness nor vanity found a congenial soil in the 
 flower-gardens of Yoysey-street. Other vices might 
 spring up there and thrive apace ; but for these deli- 
 cate flowers of evil there was but scanty nutriment. 
 Louisa, having never known what it was to find her 
 inclinations studied or her desires ministered to, had 
 resigned herself, even before she turned up her back 
 hair and lengthened the skirts of her shabby gowns, 
 with advancing womanhood, to take life as she found 
 it. It was her lot to accept the offal as her share of 
 the sacrifice, to sit in the most uncomfortable chair, 
 sleep on the veriest edge of her grandmother's bed, 
 get up the earliest in the house and go to bed the 
 latest, run on errands in wet weather, wear her 
 
 VOL. I. i
 
 114 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 shoes long after they had ceased to be any particular 
 use as a protection for her feet, eat the tail ends of 
 mutton-chops and the gristly trimmings of the steak, 
 and very often to find the guerdon of her daily sacri- 
 fice in a jobation from her father, larded with an 
 oath or two, or an hour or so of intermittent nagging 
 from her grandmother. 
 
 A hard life, and Loo knew it — knew, too, that 
 she was handsomer than her neighbours, and sharper 
 of intellect. Her glass — a sorry mirror for beauty, 
 with the quicksilver worn off the back in blotches, 
 like a skin disease — told her that there was more of 
 life and colour in her face than in the common run 
 of faces, all more or less pinched and pallid and aged 
 by premature cares, that belonged to the young wo- 
 men of Voysey-street. Nor was she often in the 
 streets for a quarter of an hour without hearing- 
 some outspoken compliment to her good looks. But 
 this knowledge inspired no vanity. What was the 
 use of good looks without fine dress and a carriage ? 
 
 ' I think I'd as lief be ugly,' she said to herself, 
 ' or liefer, for then I shouldn't be bothered or in- 
 sulted when I'm out on an errand.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 115 
 
 One solitary pleasure brightened this joyless life. 
 When Jarred's temper had been sweetened by the 
 prospering of some scheme, or the success of some 
 experiment in the doctoring line, he would suffer his 
 daughter to bring her needlework up to his room 
 and sit there while he smoked, or varnished, as the 
 case might be. She had her favourite corner by the 
 fire in winter — Jarred always kept a good fire, how- 
 ever pinched might be the handful of coals in the 
 shrunken grate below — her favourite seat on the 
 window-ledge in summer, half in the room and half 
 out of it. But oulytoo rare were those brief glimpses 
 of bliss, for, as it has been already remarked, Jarred 
 kept his womankind at a distance, and Louisa's 
 evenings were usually spent in a depressing duologue 
 with her grandmother, whose conversation was at 
 best a prolonged monody upon one perpetual theme 
 — the hardness of life for the race of Gurner. 
 
 On this wet winter's night, less than a week after 
 the little dinner in Fitzroy-square, Louisa has been 
 allowed to bring her work up to Jarred's room, a 
 worsted sock of her father's which she cobbles 
 laboriously. It is the only work she is ever seen to
 
 116 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 accomplish, and it seems, to the casual observer, 
 always the same sock, the same yawning gulf sun- 
 dering sole from heel, the same dilapidation at the 
 toe; but she plods on mechanically, and makes no 
 moan. Not that Louisa is fond of needlework. 
 ' There never was such a poor hand as our Loo at 
 her needle,' says Mrs. Gurner, when she holds forth 
 upon her niece's imperfections. Loo has a passion 
 for novel-reading and for music — will sit upon the 
 ground or the fender, a slatternly crouching figure, 
 for hours together, if only let alone so long, poring 
 over a tattered romance, or will steal up to her 
 father's room when he is abroad to pick out tunes, or 
 accompany her snatches of song on the battered old 
 piano that lurks — a convenient shelf for empty 
 pewter pots, clay pipes, boots that want mending, 
 and old newspapers — in one corner of the room. 
 She is not voiceless, Loo, but has a powerful undis- 
 ciplined contralto, which is the very opposite of 
 Flora Chamney's clear carol. Nor is she quite as 
 ignorant as the majority of young women in Voysey- 
 street, though she has graduated only in the Voysey- 
 street academies. She has managed to pick up
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 117 
 
 some shreds and patches of education from her 
 father — enough, at least, to teach her the sordid 
 misery of her existence, and the bare fact that there 
 is a higher kind of life somewhere beyond the regions 
 of Voysey-street. She has learned to be angry with 
 destiny for casting her lot in this back slum, and is 
 in this respect unlike the aborigines, who talk as if 
 Toysey-street were the world, and round the corner 
 the edge of another universe which they have no 
 desire to penetrate. There are dwellers in Yoysey- 
 street who hardly know what it is to turn that corner 
 in all the days of their life. Their ambitions and 
 desires are all bounded by Yoysey-street, and the 
 court where the celebrated pork-butcher turns his 
 sausage-machine. If they grew rich — a contingency 
 remote to the verge of impossibility — they would 
 make no eager rush to Prince's-gate or Park-lane. 
 They would only riot in the luxuries of Yoysey 
 street ; sup continually upon tender pigling ; wallow 
 in the humbler varieties of shellfish ; go to a theatre 
 now and then, perhaps, or even take an eight-hour 
 view of ocean ; but only to come back with hearts 
 more fondly turned to Yoysey-street. This is the
 
 118 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 condition of mind proper to Voysey-street — simple 
 as the soul of the Hawaian savage, whose bread- 
 fruit groves and coral-bound bays are all he knows 
 of land or sea ; but education had removed Louisa 
 from this Arcadian simplicity, and to her vitiated 
 mind Voysey-street was hateful. 
 
 . She sat upon her favourite corner of the fender 
 on this particular evening, sometimes darning assi- 
 duously, and sometimes stopping, with her sock- 
 clad arm stretched lazily across her lap, to stare at 
 the fire and meditate, a slovenly figure, with dark 
 hair loose about its brow, clad in a worn stuff gown, 
 whose original colour had been disguised by dirt 
 until it had as much depth of tone as one of Jarred's 
 sham Eembrandts. 
 
 A slatternly figure, but somewhat picturesque 
 withal, needing but transference to a background of 
 Spanish posada to be as fine a piece of colour as a 
 picture by John Philip. 
 
 She wore a little scarlet handkerchief round her 
 throat, which made a patch of brightness against that 
 deeper tone, and her dark eyes reflected the firelight; 
 a picturesque light, which brightened the pale olive
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 119 
 
 skin, flickered on the full red lips, set firmly in a 
 thoughtful mould wherein there was a shade of 
 melancholy too much for youth, even in Voysey- 
 street. Jarred — smoking his pipe in luxurious idle- 
 ness, after a couple of hours' gluing and varnishing, 
 which he called a hard day's work — was content that 
 his only child should sit and stare at his fire, but 
 was in no humour for talk, and was not going to put 
 himself out of the way for her amusement. 
 
 I What's for supper ?' he asked anon, pausing to 
 refill his pipe. 
 
 I I think it's tripe, father.' 
 
 1 Think ! You oughtn't to think about a fact. It 
 is or isn't tripe. You can't think about it.' 
 
 'I beg your pardon, father,' the girl answered 
 meekly ; ' it is tripe. I fetched it myself.' 
 
 ' Then I hope you fetched it double, with plenty 
 of fat ; that thin stuff your grandmother gives me 
 sometimes is no better than stewed washleather. 
 Hark ! there's the street-door bell. "Who can that 
 be to-night '?' 
 
 ' Some one for grandmother, perhaps,' speculated 
 the girl.
 
 120 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' Very likely.' 
 
 But Mr. Gurner bestirred himself nevertheless^ 
 put away a dissected violin in a convenient drawer, 
 flung a cloth over an ancient-looking Holy Family 
 born three weeks ago, and attaining premature age 
 as in a hotbed or forcing-house ; and having assured 
 himself that his room was fit for the reception of a 
 visitor, went back to his chair. 
 
 ' See who it is, Loo,' he said. 
 
 But before the girl could stir, the question was 
 answered by the approach of a familiar footstep, 
 which came lightly and swiftly up the stair, while a 
 tenor voice, at its fullest pitch, sang the opening bars 
 of ' La mia letizia.' 
 
 ' It's Mr. Leyburne, father.' 
 
 ' Yes, and I haven't touched that Dutch interior 
 of his,' said Jarred, with a glance towards a corner 
 where three or four frameless canvases were piled 
 against the wall. 
 
 It was Mr. Leyburne, resplendent in his velvet 
 coat, and with a lighted cigar between his finger tips, 
 who came into the room still singing, in the primo- 
 tenore manner, all diminuendo and crescendo, and
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 121 
 
 anon, having finished his final phrase, saluted the 
 restorer with a familiar nod. 
 
 1 Well, my revered renovator, have you heen bap- 
 tising a fiddle with the baptism of copal and mastich, 
 or elaborating a Raffaelle ? How do you do, Miss 
 Gurner ? You haven't touched that little bit I 
 brought you, I suppose, Gurner ?' with a rapid sur- 
 vey of the dimly-lighted room — Jarred had turned 
 down the gas when he left off work. ' Rather a tidy 
 little bit, I flatter myself, and, unless I'm vastly de- 
 ceived, a genuine Jan Steen.' 
 
 * You wouldn't be likely to be deceived,' said Jar- 
 red, with his plausible gipsy smile. ' It isn't to be 
 supposed you'd be taken in like some of our City 
 customers — stockbroking gentlemen, who set up their 
 villas at Tulse-hill and Clapham, with vineries and 
 pineries, and so on, and want genuine Titians and 
 Yeroneses at five pound per square foot.' 
 
 * Well, no, I am a little better judge than j*our 
 City swell, I hope. Still any fellow may be taken in. 
 But I think there's something good in that Dutch 
 bit. I got it of a dealer in Long-acre ; had a couple of 
 brand-new blue-and-green landscapes in the middle
 
 122 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 of his window, and the Jan Steen in a corner, poked 
 away anyhow behind some gimcrack Dresden china. 
 '* What do } t ou want for that little brown bit ?" said I. 
 " Seven pound ten," said he. " Give you five," said 
 I. " Frame's worth the money," says he, which, by 
 the bye, is the inevitable remark of a dealer if you 
 offer him a price for his picture. " I'll give you five, 
 and toss you for the difference," says I. Dealer 
 wouldn't — wished him good-morning — changed his 
 mind and would. Tossed him for the two ten, and 
 won the toss. And I believe he was glad to get the 
 fiver. Turn up your gas, Gurner, and let's have an- 
 other look at it.' 
 
 Since his accession of fortune Mr. Leyburne had 
 amused himself by turning collector in a small way, 
 and had lined the walls of his lodgings with those 
 treasures of art which he had amassed in the course 
 of his peregrinations, and the greater number whereof 
 he had intrusted to Jarred to clean and varnish. But 
 he had not gone wildly to work, being a prudent 
 young fellow enough in spite of his light-hearted 
 gaiety, and not one of those young men to whom 
 being left a fortune means ultimate ruin. He found
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 123 
 
 a good deal of spending in three or four hundred 
 pounds, and his chief delight was derived from the 
 picking up of various canvases in out-of-the-way cor- 
 ners, every one of which, in its hrief span of novelty, 
 he implicitly believed in as an original. 
 
 Jarred knew Mr. Leyburne's ways, and as every 
 picture which passed through Jarred' s hands was 
 worth a matter of thirty shillings to him, it may be 
 supposed that he prophesied smooth things about 
 these works of art, and only threw in a doubt or a 
 rough word here and there to prove his frankness and 
 loyalty. 
 
 The gas was turned up to its fullest — a couple of 
 strong flaring jets, unshaded by globe or chimney — 
 and Mr. Gurner brought the little picture and placed 
 it on a dilapidated easel exactly under the light, while 
 Walter Leyburne and Loo put their heads close 
 together to peer into it. The girl had been half 
 brought up on pictures, as it were, and had a mechani- 
 cal knowledge of the various masters — that a brown- 
 faced Madonna was a Murillo ; a pallid or bluish- 
 complexioned saint or saintess likely to be a Guido, 
 especially if with saucer-shaped upward-gazing eyes ;
 
 124 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 that sheep were never painted by anybody but Om- 
 meganek ; that dark inscrutable pictures relieved by 
 dabs of the palette knife here and there were Salvator 
 Rosas ; and so on, and so on, through the whole cata- 
 logue of art. The Jan Steen was the usual kind of 
 thing — an old woman peeling vegetables, and another 
 old woman looking at her ; still life, a brass pipkin 
 or two, a bottle and glass on the table, a half-open 
 door with glimpse of inner room. 
 
 ' To my mind,' said Walter, gazing at his picture 
 with the fondness of a discoverer, as Cortez may have 
 gazed at the Pacific or Columbus on the coast of 
 America, ' there's no question about that. If I were 
 hard up to-morrow, I shouldn't be afraid of offering 
 that picture to the National-Gallery fellows. It's 
 worth seven hundred and fifty pounds or it's worth 
 nothing.' 
 
 'I shouldn't be surprised if it were,' said 
 Jarred ; and then they both went into the picture 
 technically, and discussed its merits in minutest 
 detail. 
 
 ' It's the detail in these things that constitutes 
 their charm, you see,' said Walter Leyburne ; ' there's
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 125 
 
 nothing beautiful in an old woman peeling onions 
 per *«.' 
 
 ' Xo,' replied Jarred ; 'if I were a millionaire like 
 you, I shouldn't go in for old women — no, not if they 
 were Jan Steens, or Ostades, orBrauwers. I'd hang 
 my walls with beauty. There's that Guido, for in- 
 stance — that's a picture you ought to have. I don't 
 say so because I've got it to sell. I only wish I was 
 rich enough to hang it up over that mantelpiece. I 
 should sit and gaze at it by the hour together, and 
 feel myself a better man for looking at it.' 
 
 Jarred said this with a glance at a large picture 
 in the corner — a bluish-complexioned Magdalen gaz- 
 ing upward, from a background of purple sky, a 
 masterpiece which he had vainly endeavoured to dis- 
 pose of for a long time. 
 
 ' I don't like large pictures, Gurner, and that 
 Guido of yours is a duffer. Sell her to one of your 
 City men by the square foot. She'd do uncommonly 
 well between the windows in a Russell-square dining- 
 room.' 
 
 Louisa withdrew to her corner by the fire, but not 
 to her favourite seat on the fender, nor yet to the re-
 
 126 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 sumption of her darning. She sat watching the 
 visitor as he paced up and down the room, smoking 
 his cigar. There was little need for punctilio in this 
 respect, since the atmosphere of Mr. Gurner's sanc- 
 tum was at all times heavily charged with tobacco. 
 Walter took the cigar from his lips every now and 
 then to talk of art, in a wilder way than he had ever 
 talked to his friends in Fitzroy-square, and with some- 
 thing less of modesty. Here indeed, in a chamber as 
 it were sacred to the inner mysteries of art, his soul 
 expanded, his countenance glowed with a noble fire, 
 or a light which at least seemed noble to Louisa. 
 He talked of himself, the things he meant to do in 
 the future, measured himself boldly against the men 
 who had succeeded, and declared his ability to match 
 or surpass their work in the days to come. His 
 wildest talk, however, seemed hardly the boastful 
 utterance of a shallow vanity, but rather the bold 
 defiance which a mind conscious of latent strength 
 hurls in the teeth of destiny. 
 
 ' They may snub me to-day, Gurner,' he said, 
 ' but they shall change their note before I have 
 done with them. Time and work, that's the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 127 
 
 motto for a man who wants to succeed, isn't it, old 
 fellow ?' 
 
 ' Time and work,' repeated Jarred, to oblige 
 his patron ; but had he been asked for his own 
 specific he would more likely have said, ' Time and 
 varnish.' 
 
 The young man had been stung by the rejection 
 of a small picture in one of the winter exhibitions. 
 Even the consciousness of sixty thousand pounds in 
 the Funds afforded no healing balm for that wound. 
 It was only by a little self-assertion, by wild rhap- 
 sodies about honest work and future success, that he 
 could find a balsam for his pain. He stopped sud- 
 denly, in the middle of a tirade, flung away the end 
 of his cigar, and burst out laughing — at himself — in 
 the frankest, pleasantest way possible. 
 
 1 What a fool I am!' he exclaimed. ' What a 
 consummate jackanapes you must think me, Miss 
 Gurner ! Only when a fellow gives one a slap in the 
 face like that — a fellow one can't hit again, you see 
 — the only way one can let the steam off is in talk. 
 I daresay the fellows who rejected my picture — you've 
 seen it, Gurner : " TVerter's first Meeting with Char-
 
 128 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 lotte" — were right enough. I shall think it a daub 
 myself in a month's time, I've no doubt. I generally 
 do. But if there's any stuff in me, I won't have it 
 trodden out of me, eh, Gurner ?' 
 
 ' I wouldn't give the snap of my finger for the 
 opinion of all the hanging committees in London,' 
 said Mr. Gurner, with supreme contempt. ' Pre- 
 judice and self-interest and convenience are the three 
 judges that sit upon your pictures. That " Werter 
 and Charlotte" was a gem — full of beauty and ex- 
 pression — the still life admirable — the modelling — ■ 
 well, there are not many young men in the Academy 
 who could touch you there.' 
 
 ' Don't say another word about it,' protested 
 Walter, gratified notwithstanding. 'I am a selfish 
 fool to come here and prose about myself and my dis- 
 appointments. I hope you'll forgive me, Miss Gur- 
 ner,' he added, with that natural graciousness which 
 distinguished him when he spoke to women. 
 
 ' I like to hear you talk about yourself,' the girl 
 answered naively. 
 
 * Do you ? That's very good. I fear I must be 
 an insufferable bore. But then you're fond of pic-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 129 
 
 tures, I know, and can take an interest even in a 
 struggling painter.' 
 
 ' A struggling painter with a fortune at his back !' 
 cried Jarred. ' That's what I call a rum start.' 
 
 ' Now look here, Gurner. I'm not going to say I 
 don't value money, for I do. I saw too much of 
 poverty in my childhood — genteel poverty, you know, 
 which is the worst of all — not to value good fortune. 
 But I verily believe I could surrender all the money 
 my uncle left me without a sigh, and begin life again 
 a friendless lad in the streets of London, if I could 
 paint like Etty or John Philip.' 
 
 He kept his word, and spoke of his own struggles 
 no more that evening, though he stayed late, and 
 talked of art in the abstract a good deal, while Loo 
 sat by and listened, and forgot for a little while that 
 life meant only Yoysey-street. He was very far away 
 from her life, this noble young painter ; but such an 
 evening as this was an oasis in the desert of her 
 sordid existence, and she rejoiced in the cool verdure, 
 and quenched her thirst at the limpid stream, and 
 put away all thought of to-morrow's waking, when 
 there would be nothing left but sand and barrenness. 
 
 VOL. I. k
 
 130 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 There was a warmth and earnestness in Walter 
 Leyburne's talk at all times which made him almost 
 eloquent, and though, perhaps, there might be little 
 positively new in his ideas, he was so different from 
 the conventional young man who believes in nothing 
 but boredom, that he at least appeared original. His 
 hair, his eyes, his gestures, were all brightness and 
 vivacity. He was a creature all life and variety — de- 
 pressed one minute, elated the next, changing with a 
 hundred shifting shades of feeling. 
 
 1 Upon my word, Gurner, there is something ex- 
 traordinary in this queer old room of yours. I always 
 enjoy myself here ; I suppose it's because you let me 
 talk so much. I came out to-night in a fit of despair 
 — the black dog had me in his grip — and I have 
 talked myself into good spirits. Or perhaps it is 
 your influence, Miss Gurner,' with a friendly little 
 look at poor Loo, a friendly glance that shot 
 straight to her heart. Can a girl of eighteen exist 
 without admiring something ? and, after her father, 
 Walter Leyburne was the sole object Louisa had to 
 admire. 
 
 ' I shouldn't think her influence went for much,'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 131 
 
 said Jarred moodily, ' considering that she sits there 
 like a log, and never opens her mouth.' 
 
 The girl coloured high at the reproof. 
 
 'I suppose it's nature's fault if I'm stupid,' she 
 said ; ' so you needn't throw that in my teeth, father ; 
 and I don't see that it's my fault if I'm ignorant. I'd 
 have been glad enough to learn if any one would have 
 taken the trouble to teach me.' 
 
 This was true enough. She had besought her 
 father, even with tears, to help her a little out of his 
 vast storehouse of knowledge ; but Jarred was too 
 lazy even to impart the little he knew. 
 
 1 1 must protest against any insulting comparison 
 between Miss Gurner and a log,' cried Walter eagerly. 
 ' It is one thing to be silent — another thing to be 
 a log. Now Miss Gurner is an admirable listener. I 
 don't believe I should have rambled on half as long 
 if it hadn't been for her delightful listening. She 
 has a rapt look which inspires one — the lips a little 
 parted, like a statue of Wonder. I wish you would 
 let me — I wish Miss Gurner would let me paint her 
 in one of my pictures. I have an idea for something 
 better than Charlotte and Werter — a subject from
 
 132 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Boccaccio, or something in that way. May I paint 
 you, Miss Gurner ?' 
 
 ' She'll let you fast enough,' grumbled Jarred. 
 ' She has nothing else to do. But I don't know 
 whether her grandmother would like it. She's pre- 
 cious particular in her notions, is the old lady — can't 
 forget that she was brought up to something better 
 than buying and selling second-hand rags.' 
 
 It was as well to make a favour of the business, 
 but Jarred, good easy man, had not the faintest ob- 
 jection. What if his girl — who was certainly a good 
 deal better-looking than the ruck of girls — should 
 captivate this young fellow, with his sixty thousand 
 pounds ? There'd be a stroke of luck. It was hardly 
 likely, though. The girl's surroundings were too 
 much against her, and the young men of the present 
 day are so cool-headed and cool-hearted, so keenly 
 alive to their own interests. No, it was scarcely 
 within the range of possibility, thought Jarred, look- 
 ing at his daughter's untidy hair, worn gown, and 
 listless attitude. He was almost sorry he had not 
 taken a little more pains with her. If a worn-out old 
 violin, bought from a fiddler in an orchestra, can, by
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 133 
 
 much labour and artful manipulation, be doctored 
 into the semblance of a Straduarius, why should not 
 a girl like that have some capability in her that 
 might be worth cultivation ? But it was too late now ; 
 the chance was gone. There the girl was, unkempt, 
 untaught, uncared for — a weed instead of a flower. 
 No one but an idiot could imagine that she would 
 have power to charm such a man as Walter Ley- 
 burne. 
 
 1 Leave me to talk over the old lady,' said Walter. 
 1 1 have set my heart upon putting your daughter into 
 my next picture.' 
 
 The girl brightened and blushed, but said nothing. 
 This was a kind of praise, but, 0, so different from 
 the insulting compliments that had been muttered 
 in her ear by wandering strangers as they passed her 
 in the street. 
 
 The painter had been struck by a sudden notion 
 that there was something original in the girl's 
 face — something more than the mere pink-and-white 
 prettiness which he could have for his model any day 
 for eighteenpence an hour ; something striking ; 
 something which — if he could only represent it faith-
 
 134 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 fully — would make people stop before his canvas 
 and exclaim, ' There's a curious picture !' 
 
 'By Jove, I've hit it!' cried the painter, in a 
 sudden rapture. ' That for Boccaccio !' snapping his 
 fingers contemptuously. ' I'll paint her as Lamia.' 
 
 'Lamia !' echoed Louisa wonderingly. 
 
 ' Who may she be when she's at home ?' asked 
 Mr. Gurner. 
 
 ' Keats's Lamia, the mysterious serpent-woman ;' 
 and then he spouted those wondrous lines : 
 
 ' " She was a Gordian shape of dazzling hue, 
 Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue ; 
 Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, 
 Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd ; 
 And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, 
 Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed 
 Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries — 
 So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, 
 She seem'd at once some penanced lady elf, 
 Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self." ' 
 
 'I've no objection,' said Jarred, 'provided you 
 paint her here. You can bring your traps, I sup- 
 pose ?' 
 
 ' Of course,' answered Walter ; ' I shouldn't dream 
 of troubling Miss Gurner to come to my rooms ;' with
 
 LOST FOU LOVE. 135 
 
 as deferential an air as if Miss Gurner had been the 
 daughter of a duke, who could he no more moved 
 from, her particular sphere than the stars from their 
 orbits. 
 
 So the business was settled, Walter pledging him- 
 self to vanquish any genteel prejudice on the part of 
 Mrs. Gurner, and the young man began to pace the 
 room, talking of his picture. It was to be a bishop's 
 half-length; none of your cabinet pictures, all finish 
 and namby-pambyism, but a life-size figure, the very 
 woman as she stood before him to-night, with those 
 dark grand eyes, that ivory paleness of cheek and 
 brow, those full crimson lips with their perfect curve, 
 that loose shadowy hair — the very woman, only glori- 
 fied by his art. By such a picture as this he might 
 spring at one sudden bound into the arms of Fame. 
 The world should find out that he had stuff in him — 
 that he was not a mere amateur, a dabbler in art, 
 serene in the security of a handsome income. Xi>, 
 Lamia should make him. 
 
 Lamia, or her representative, slipped from the 
 room presently, unobserved, to ' see to' the supper, 
 or, in other words, fetch the beer from a neighbour-
 
 136 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ing tavern, lay the cloth, dish the potatoes, and 
 submit to a good deal of mild nagging from her 
 grandmother. 
 
 ' I may toil and slave as much as I please,' wailed 
 that victim of untoward fate, ' watching the tripe till 
 my eyes water, to keep it off the boil, but you can 
 take your pleasure up-stairs, carrying-on with that 
 young man, I make no doubt.' 
 
 'I don't know what you call carrying-on, grandma/ 
 muttered the girl, in a low dull voice that might 
 mean either resignation or indifference ; ' I haven't 
 spoke half a dozen words to him, and I can't see much 
 carrying-on in that.' 
 
 ' If he hadn't been there, I suppose you'd have 
 come down-stairs to help me with the tripe.' 
 
 1 1 didn't think there was much help wanted. 
 I peeled the onions and fetched the milk before I 
 w 7 ent up.' 
 
 ' You wouldn't have stayed up there quite so long 
 for your father.' 
 
 ' Yes, I would,' answered the girl boldly, making 
 a little unnecessary clatter with the knives and forks 
 she was arranging on the shrunken tablecloth, of
 
 LOST FOE LOVE. 137 
 
 more than doubtful purity; ' I always like to be 
 with father. He may swear sometimes, but he doesn't 
 nag.' 
 
 The matron refrained from any direct notice of 
 this shot. 
 
 ' Ah !' she said, with a plaintive sigh, ' the Gur- 
 ners were always ungrateful. It's in the blood, I 
 suppose. There's your father. I may toil and moil 
 for him from before there's a shop open in the street 
 till hours after the last of 'em has shut, and not get a 
 thank you, or a civil word, if he's in one of his tem- 
 pers. There's my daughter Mary went off to the 
 other end of the world directly our family troubles 
 came, and left her mother to face them alone.' 
 
 ' Aunt Mary wanted to take you to Australia with 
 her, grandma. I've heard you say so twenty times 
 over,' expostulated Loo, putting down the mustard 
 with an indignant dab. 
 
 1 Wanted me to go !' wailed the dame ; ' a pretty 
 want, indeed, when she knew that going to Margate 
 by water was a trial beyond my strength.' 
 
 ' You might have got over a little sea-sickness, I 
 should think, to get away from England, after — after
 
 188 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 what you've told me,' said Loo. ' I'm sure I'd have 
 gone, and gladly, though I'd had to go through fire 
 as well as water, if I'd happened to be born in those 
 days.' 
 
 ' You /' cried the elder lady contemptuously ; 
 ' you're made of a finer clay than a Shrubson, I dare- 
 say.' Shrubson was Mrs. Gurner's maiden name. 
 
 ' I've got my feelings,' answered Loo, setting 
 down the bread with a bang ; ' even the life we live 
 can't quite stifle them. Hark, here comes father — 
 and — Mr. Leyburne.' 
 
 She gave a hurried glance at the dim old looking- 
 glass over the chimneypiece, and saw her angry face 
 and tumbled hair with an angry feeling in her breast. 
 Paint her — a creature like her — whose odious sur- 
 roundings seemed to be reflected in her face ? Yes, 
 paint her, for some vile character, no doubt. The 
 serpent-woman, he had said — something frightful, 
 revolting. Her sharp white teeth clenched her un- 
 der-lip angrily at the thought. And she had been 
 fool enough, at first, to feel flattered by the idea 
 that he could trouble himself to make a likeness of 
 her. There was a little pause at the parlour door.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 139 
 
 Yes, Mr. Leyburne was coming in. Sbe took a 
 hurried survey of the room : so small, so crammed 
 with furniture, so untidy; the too-obvious press-bed- 
 stead, a heap of her grandmother's garments huddled 
 indiscriminately in a decrepit old arm-chair, of a 
 fashion so lost in the gloom of ages, that Noah might 
 have carried such an one into the ark for the accom- 
 modation of Mrs. Xoah. 
 
 1 Come in and sit down,' urged Jarred at the door. 
 ' What's your hurry ?' 
 
 The painter looked into the room doubtfully. It 
 was not a nice room, but there was his Lamia, busy 
 with a saucepan of potatoes. Should he go back to 
 his own rooms and think-out his new picture with 
 the aid of a solitary cigar, or should he stop and talk 
 to Jarred Gurner while that versatile genius ate his 
 supper ? Jarred was an intelligent companion ; 
 there were always some stray grains of corn to be 
 winnowed out of that chaff which formed the staple 
 of his discourse. 
 
 1 What's your hurry ?' repeated Jarred. ' You 
 young fellows are always going to the Albion for 
 tripe suppers. Why can't you sit down and eat your
 
 140 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 supper with us ? The old lady there is a first-rate 
 hand at stewed tripe.' 
 
 Mr. Leyburne acknowledged a slight weakness 
 for tripe, but tripe at the Albion — clean table-linen, 
 spotless glass and China — was one thing ; the same 
 dish in this stuffy parlour might have a different 
 savour. But then there was Lamia, and he had to 
 conciliate the old lady. Moved by this last con- 
 sideration, he took his place at the little round table, 
 at which there was hardly room for four. But Loo 
 did not require any supper. 
 
 ' I'm not hungry, grandma,' she said, in her in- 
 different way ; ' there's no use in my crowding the 
 table.' 
 
 ' The English of it is she doesn't like tripe,' said 
 Jarred, with his mouth full ; ' I never knew a woman 
 that did. They haven't sense enough.' 
 
 Loo sat down in Mrs. Gurner's easy-chair — the 
 antediluvian chair — after pushing its various contents 
 into a corner. She sat and watched the little supper 
 party, and wondered what Walter Leyburne thought 
 of the room, and her grandmother, and their life 
 altogether, and whether he was very much digusted
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 141 
 
 at being obliged to eat and drink amidst such sur- 
 roundings. His manner gave no indication of such 
 disgust. He drank the sixpenny ale, and laughed 
 and talked with all his habitual light-heartedness, 
 having by this time put away his disappointment at 
 the rejection of his picture as a grief that was past 
 and gone. That ideal picture which was to make 
 him for ever renowned had assumed a new shape, 
 "Werter and his Charlotte might wander out into 
 darkness and chaos, might turn their faces to the 
 wall ; Lamia should open the stubborn door of Fame's 
 temple, that mystic portal which he had been storm- 
 ing for the last two years with the battering-ram of 
 youthful energy. 
 
 Jarred, warmed by the cheque which Walter had 
 just given him on account of the Jan Steen, was 
 unusually brilliant. They discussed all the pictures 
 of the year ; gave each man his place, rather lower 
 places than the public had given ; pooh-poohed the 
 critics ; laughed at the mob which admires out of 
 slavish imitation, as sheep follow the bell-wether ; 
 in short, they ran the whole gamut of that argument 
 which is the chief consolation of unsuccessful men.
 
 142 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' You haven't been round here so often lately, Mr. 
 Leyburne,' said Mrs. Gurner when the conversation 
 flagged a little, as the men moved their chairs away 
 from the table, and prepared for their after-supper 
 smoke on each side of the narrow fireplace, Jarred 
 next his daughter, who sat almost buried in the 
 shadow of the bulky arm-chair ; ' I began to think 
 you'd forgot us.' 
 
 ' Then you did me injustice, Mrs. Gurner,' ans- 
 wered the young man in his cheery way ; ' I'm not 
 in the habit of forgetting old friends, even for the 
 sake of new ones. And I've made some new friends 
 since I was here. Let me see, when was it ?' 
 
 ' A fortnight on Tuesday,' said Louisa, from the 
 corner. ' I didn't know friends was made so quick.' 
 
 ' Good, Miss Gurner ! I see you can be bitter and 
 aphoristic when you like. Well, say acquaintance — 
 or — no, I think we must call these friends. The 
 circumstances are exceptional.' 
 
 Jarred showed himself curious to learn the nature 
 of these exceptional circumstances. Loo sat very 
 still, curled up in her big chair, with her eyes shining 
 out of the shadow.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 143 
 
 Walter, inspired by sixpenny ale, gave full swing 
 to his natural frankness and expansiveness, and told 
 all that there was to be told about Mr. Chamney and 
 his daughter. How Flora was the prettiest creature 
 he had ever seen in his life ; or, if not positively the 
 prettiest, the most interesting, the most winning, the 
 most lovable. 
 
 1 If I were to put her in a picture, I don't suppose 
 half a dozen people would stop to look at it,' he said : 
 1 for all that's brightest and best in her beauty would 
 escape my pencil. There's something spiritual 
 in her face that strikes one at the first moment : 
 but after knowing her a fortnight, and seeing her 
 nearly every day, I can't say where the charm lies. 
 Is it in her soft gray eyes, I wonder, or the sweet 
 thoughtful mouth, or the delicious smile that flashes 
 out unawares and breaks up the thoughtful look '?' 
 This in a musing tone, to himself rather than to his 
 auditors. ' I really don't know what it is, and I 
 won't attempt to describe her ; but she is a most en- 
 chanting girl.' 
 
 Loo drew herself farther back into her corner — 
 coiled herself up in her obscurity, almost as if there
 
 144 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 had been some touch of the serpent in her nature. 
 There must have been in her composition some latent 
 vein of envy and all uncharitableness, some perverted 
 feeling engendered out of poverty and wretchedness ; 
 for this praise of another's beauty stirred a sullen 
 anger in her breast. This picture of a woman, 
 charming alike in herself and her surroundings, 
 wounded her as keenly as a premeditated insult. It 
 seemed only a roundabout way of telling her how 
 low and common and unworthy she was. 
 
 ' Humph !' exclaimed Mr. Gurner, with a jovial 
 significance. ' And this young lady with the spiritual 
 countenance is the only child of a rich father, your 
 late uncle's partner, and you see her every day. 
 That sounds like St. George's, Hano ver- square. ' 
 
 Mr. Leyburne laughed in a comfortable, self- 
 satisfied way. 
 
 ' She is the dearest girl in the world,' he said ; 
 i and I ought to be the happiest man in creation if I. 
 can win her. But you mustn't talk about any such 
 thing, Jarred. I've no right to sit here and 
 rhapsodise about her. It's all in the clouds yet 
 awhile.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 145 
 
 'I don't suppose it will stop long in the clouds,' 
 answered Jarred, with a faint spice of bitterness. 
 1 There can't be much reason for waiting when there's 
 plenty of coin. It's only we poor folks who have 
 to hang back from the church-door for fear it should 
 prove a short cut to the workhouse. There's my 
 girl there now, for instance,' indicating Loo with a 
 flourish of his pipe ; ' she hasn't a bad figure-head, 
 and would pass muster if she was tidy and better 
 dressed. Yet I warrant she'll have to wait an un- 
 common time before she finds a husband that can 
 give her three meals a day and a house to live in.' 
 
 Loo blushed scarlet at this paternal speech. 
 
 1 Who said I wanted a husband, father ?' she 
 exclaimed indignantly. ' Do you think a woman has 
 nothing better to think of than husbands ? I've 
 seen too much misery come of husbands in Yoysey- 
 street. If I have to go out charing when I'm old, 
 I'd rather char for myself than for a drunken husband, 
 as I've seen some do in our street.' 
 
 1 A hard idea of life, as seen from Yoysey-street,' 
 said Walter, with his good-natured laugh. ' But let 
 us hope you may not be obliged to spend all your 
 
 VOL. i. L
 
 146 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 days in Voysey-street, Miss Gurner. There are 
 places where all husbands aie not given to drink, or 
 all wives reduced to charing.' 
 
 ' What's the good of hoping it ?' returned Loo, 
 in her dreary way — a manner which was a youthful 
 reflection of her grandmother's. ' I used to hope it 
 when I was six years old, but I left off before I was 
 seven ; and now I'm nearly nineteen, and I'm not 
 much nearer seeing the last of Voysey-street.' 
 
 ' Not much nearer, so far as you know at this 
 precise moment,' argued Walter cheerily ; ' but the 
 possibilities of youth are infinite. Cinderella's car- 
 riage and Cinderella's godmother may be waiting 
 round the corner for you. And now, Mrs. Gurner, 
 as it's on the stroke of midnight, and I'm afraid I've 
 been keeping you up, I'll say good-night.' The elder 
 lady's glance had wandered towards the press-bed- 
 stead lately, yearningly. ' But before departing I've 
 a favour to ask you.' 
 
 The favour was Mrs. Gurner's consent to her 
 granddaughter's sitting for Lamia ; a request which 
 the lady, although in the last stage of sleepiness, 
 received with, befitting dignity.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 147 
 
 'Laminia!' she repeated; 'I never heard of 
 the young person. A historical character, I sup- 
 pose ?' 
 
 ' No, not exactly historical ; a character belonging 
 to fable and poetry.' 
 
 1 A respectable young person, I presume ? I 
 couldn't think of my granddaughter sitting for any 
 young person who was not a strictly correct cha- 
 racter.' 
 
 1 Lor, grandma,' said Loo, with a shrug, ' as if 
 it mattered in a picture ! And as if anybody who 
 saw the picture would know mc ." 
 
 1 There are plenty in Yoysey-street who would 
 know you, and even round the corner,' answered the 
 grandmother solemnly. 
 
 Walter, hard driven, and not feeling quite pre- 
 pared to vouch for Lamia's unblemished respect- 
 ability, argued that a fabulous young person was 
 hardly subject to the laws that govern modern 
 society ; and that, moreover, perhaps very few 
 people among those who paid their shilling to see 
 the picture would have a very clear idea of Lamia's 
 antecedents or moral character.
 
 148 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 1 There's something in that,' replied Mrs. Gurner. 
 ' I have read a good deal of history in my lifetime, 
 but I never came across this Laminia of yours.' 
 
 Thus, after a little farther argument, to give 
 due importance to the question, Mrs. Gurner ex- 
 pressed her willingness that the painter should bring 
 his canvas and colours next day, and begin his 
 portrait of the sullen-looking damsel coiled up in 
 the big arm-chair, who evinced no personal interest 
 in the subject.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' I am touched again with shades of early sadness, 
 
 Like the summer cloud's light shadow in my hair 
 I am thrill'd again with breaths of boyish gladness, 
 Like the scent of some last primrose on the air. 
 
 But my being is confused with new experience, 
 And changed to something other than it was ; 
 
 And the Future with the Past is set at variance, 
 And Life falters "neath the burdens which it has.' 
 
 After that quiet dinner in Fitzroy-square, at which 
 he made the acquaintance of Mr. Leyburne, Dr. 
 Ollivant dropped in now and then, in a familiar way, 
 to see his old friend — indeed, in his brief and in- 
 frequent intervals of leisure, and even at times when, 
 but for this new distraction, he would have given 
 his hours to study, the doctor found himself drawn, 
 as it were, involuntarily towards Mr. Chamney's 
 house. Mrs. Ollivant perceived that the precious 
 after-dinner hour in which she had enjoyed her son's
 
 150 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 society was now apt to be clipped and curtailed, for 
 no stronger reason than that he had promised to go 
 round to Chamney's. His mother felt this spolia- 
 tion of her one bright hour. That after-dinner 
 tete-a-tete by the drawing-room fire had been her 
 daily sum of happiness. No matter even if he were 
 sometimes silent and meditative, gazing into the 
 fire, absorbed by thoughts unshared with her. It 
 was all the world to have him — to be able to watch the 
 thoughtful face, and say to herself, ' This great man 
 is my son.' Now she was being gradually shorn of 
 her privilege ; the after-dinner hour was shrunken to 
 half an hour, for, on the evenings on which he did 
 not go out, he was anxious to get to his books a 
 little earlier than of old, in order to make up, in 
 some wise, for the evenings he gave to friendship. 
 
 ' I should hardly have thought Mr. Chamney's 
 society would have proved so attractive to you, 
 Cuthbert,' Mrs. Ollivant said one evening, when the 
 doctor excused himself from going up-stairs to the 
 drawing-room at all, in order to go straight from 
 the dinner- table to Fitzroy- square. ' He appears to 
 me a warm-hearted excellent man, but by no means
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 151 
 
 intellectual, and I should Lave supposed him a dull 
 companion for a mind like yours.' 
 
 A dusky red glowed for a minute or so in the 
 doctor's dark cheek as he lingered on the hearth, 
 ostensibly to warm himself, really because he felt 
 a little ashamed of his unfilial eagerness to be gone. 
 
 ' I don't go to him exactly for companionship,' 
 he said, looking at the fire with that thoughtful 
 downward glance of his, as of a man who lives 
 within himself, and is always looking inwards rather 
 than outwards ; whose eyes, except for the mere 
 mechanical purposes of existence, are of no particular 
 use to him. ' I go because Chamney likes to see 
 me. He is a poor creature, without a friend in 
 England, and would feel — what is that Scotch pro- 
 verb ? — like a cow in a frond loaning if it were not 
 for me.' 
 
 1 He has his daughter's company, and that young 
 man to whom he has taken such a fancy.' 
 
 1 The young man can only talk about pictures and 
 sing duets with Flora ; not much amusement for 
 Chamney. Besides, my visits are in some part pro- 
 fessional.'
 
 152 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' Is he so very ill ?' 
 
 Dr. Ollivant shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' He is very far from well, and there is no hope 
 of his ever heing better. The end may come 
 at any moment. I want to stave it off as long as 
 I can.' 
 
 ' I can't blame you for wishing to do that, Cuth- 
 bert ; and I won't grumble any more even if your 
 anxiety about Mr. Chamney robs me of your society 
 very often. Perhaps I was just a little inclined to 
 be jealous, for I thought it might be the young 
 lady who was the attraction. She's a sweet girl, 
 and I'm very fond of her, as you know ; but I should 
 like to see you look higher than that if ever you 
 marry.' 
 
 ' Higher ? How much higher ?' he thought 
 wonderingly. For something better than youth, and 
 freshness, and innocence, and a modest loveliness 
 that was better than all the splendour of form and 
 colour that ever went by the name of beauty ? 
 
 ' I am not at all likely to marry, my dear mother,* 
 he answered quietly ; ' and Flora would as soon 
 think of marrying the chemist who makes up my
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 153 
 
 prescriptions as me. In her eyes I am a super- 
 annuated bachelor. Good-night, mother. Pray 
 don't sit up for me. I shall go to my room and 
 read when I come in.' 
 
 Thus, between friendship and science, Dr. Olli- 
 vant fell something below his former excellence as a 
 son. 
 
 It would have been difficult for any one familiar 
 with his previous way of life to discover what was 
 the attraction that drew him to Fitzroy-square. He 
 was not particularly fond of music or of painting ; 
 yet music and painting formed the staple of the talk 
 when Walter Leyburne happened to be spending his 
 evening with the Chamneys, and the doctor rarely 
 found him absent. He listened with sublime patience 
 to Mozart and Rossini, Verdi and Donizetti, hardly 
 knowing one master's work from the other all the 
 while. He watched the two figures at the piano 
 just as he had done that first night. He assisted at 
 the exhibition of Flora's drawings — she was now 
 working systematically under Mr. Leyburne's tuition 
 — and pronounced upon the correct drawing of an 
 arm, or the accurate foreshortening of a foot, and
 
 154 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 demonstrated to the docile pupil how foot or arm 
 diverged from the laws of anatomy. Dull work 
 enough, it might have been supposed, for a man to 
 whom the best society to be obtained among profes- 
 sional classes would have been open, had he cared to 
 cultivate society. 
 
 It had become a natural thing for him to drop 
 in twice or three times a week, and Flora had grown 
 delightfully familiar with him, yet had never put off 
 that somewhat reverential feeling with which a 
 woman of romantic temperament regards a man who 
 is at once her superior in age and intellect. Let 
 him come as often as he pleased, her manner al- 
 ways implied that his visit was a condescension. 
 Let his conversation be of the driest subjects within 
 the range of his knowledge, she betrayed no touch 
 of weariness. He perceived this, and was charmed 
 by it, yet knew only too well that her heart had its 
 attraction elsewhere ; that a certain light quick step 
 upon the stair sent the warm blood to her happy 
 face ; the sudden opening of a door and announce- 
 ment of one familiar name brightened all her being 
 like a burst of sunshine over a flower-garden. He
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 155 
 
 saw all this, and watched it, and at times taught 
 himself to believe that it interested him only as an 
 amusing study of character ; that he could look down 
 from the altitude of his maturer years upon these 
 butterfly loves, and, if unable to sympathise with so 
 light a love, could at least feel kindly towards the 
 lovers. 
 
 Was it not, he asked himself repeatedly, the best 
 thing that could happen in his interest '? Let Mark 
 Chamney give his daughter to this foolish young 
 painter before he died, and, lo, all responsibility 
 would be shifted from his shoulders. He might act 
 as her trustee still, perhaps ; take care of her for- 
 tune ; and see that this careless fellow did not, after 
 squandering his own worldly goods, despoil her of 
 hers. But of herself, of this fair young flower 
 which in its delicate bloom seemed like a bud that 
 had blossomed only to wither, he need take no care. 
 Of a charge so uncongenial to his nature and his 
 habits he would be relieved. Yes, it would be to his 
 advantage unquestionably that this love story, just 
 begun, should come to a happy ending. 
 
 Yet it was worth while to glance for a moment at
 
 156 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 the other side of the picture. If poor dear Cham- 
 ney, on whom the hand of doom was too palpable, 
 should die without expressing any wish about his 
 daughter's marriage — die before the boy-and-girl 
 fancy had grown into a life-long love — die before 
 Flora's heart was altogether given to this shallow 
 lover — what then ? She would be his ward. His 
 the precious charge of her present and her future. 
 His to advise, to dictate to even, were she inclined 
 to any act of girlish folly that might imperil her 
 happiness. She would enter his house as an adopted 
 daughter. He could picture to himself how her 
 presence would brighten that dull home ; could fancy 
 himself finding a new pleasure in home life. The 
 fair young face smiling at him across his dinner- 
 table. The sweet voice singing in the quiet even- 
 ings. He had no need to be a lover of music in 
 order to love her singing. If she had spun, the 
 sound of her spinning-wheel would have been melody 
 to him. He thought how he might improve her 
 education, which was of the common boarding-school 
 type, and enlarge her mind. How his own old love 
 of poetry, put aside on the very threshold of his
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 157 
 
 scientific education — the younger and more romantic 
 tastes and fancies of his hoyhood — might revive in 
 this Indian summer of his life. 
 
 Not all at once did these fancies become inter- 
 woven with the very tissue of his mind, until to look 
 at Flora's gentle face was to speculate upon the posi- 
 tion he was to occupy towards her in that unknown 
 future — whether she was to be his ward or Walter 
 Leyburne's wife ! Gradually and imperceptibly this 
 new and strange influence entered into his life, 
 changed the whole current of his thoughts, and, but 
 for his natural strength of will, must needs have dis- 
 tracted him from the chief purpose of his existence — 
 that calm and patient pursuit of science which was to 
 lead him on to greatness. Happily he had mental 
 force enough to supply two lives — that inner life in 
 which a girl's image made the focus and centre of 
 every thought, and the outer and active life in which 
 he marched side by side with the deepest thinkers of 
 his profession. 
 
 The dull winter days went by, slowly the fog- 
 curtains rolled away from the house-tops, and Lon- 
 don, which had been a kind of cloudland, where
 
 158 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 cabs and omnibuses loomed ghostlike athwart the 
 gloom, stood forth clearly outlined in the bitter east 
 wind. This the cheerful citizens called spring, and 
 congratulated one another upon the lengthening of 
 days ; in which every street-corner teemed with the 
 primal elements of rheumatism and tic douloureux. 
 
 Thus heralded came April, and found the Fitz- 
 roy-square household unchanged in its quiet mode of 
 life, and waiting for warmer weather before essaying 
 even so mild a change as a journey to some sea-coast 
 or inland watering-place. Mark Chamney had, to 
 the doctor's keen eye, altered for the worse during 
 these months. He was less equal even to the small 
 exertions of his daily life, suffered more from lan- 
 guor and depression, took a more gloomy view of 
 his own case, and was more oppressed by vague 
 anxieties about his daughter's future. But from his 
 daughter herself he studiously concealed his condi- 
 tion, pretended in her presence to look hopefully at 
 life, and in his unselfish soul was glad to find there 
 was another object now to divide with him her care 
 and thought, another footstep for her quick ear to 
 mark, another voice to bring the startled happy look
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 159 
 
 he knew so well into her face. Pure and serene 
 affection of a father which can thus calmly endure 
 division ! That very look was keenest anguish to 
 Dr. Ollivant. 
 
 For nearly five months the painter had been a 
 constant visitor in Mr. Chamney's house, and in all 
 that time neither Mr. Chamney nor the doctor had 
 been able to discover any harm in him, though the 
 doctor's eye had been keen to mark any sign of 
 stumbling. If he were, indeed, as the doctor af- 
 firmed, shallow and conceited, his shallowness was 
 sparkling as the surface of a rivulet, his conceit the 
 most inoffensive self-satisfaction that ever placed a 
 man on easy terms with his fellow men. He was 
 indeed a young man upon whom even small vices 
 sat pleasantly. Carelessness, procrastination, frivo- 
 lity, seemed interwoven with the charm of his viva- 
 cious manner. His carelessness was a kind of 
 unselfishness, his procrastination a deferring of dis- 
 agreeable necessities, his frivolity the natural out- 
 come of a light heart. Mark Chamney, no habitual 
 student of character, had taken some pains to study 
 the painter's disposition, and after five months' in-
 
 160 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 timacy had arrived at the opinion that it was a na- 
 ture without a flaw. 
 
 ' If he were my own son I could hardly think 
 hetter of him, 'he said to the doctor one evening, 
 when the usual Mozart and Kossini business was 
 going on at the piano. 
 
 ' People do not always think highly of their own 
 sons,' answered Cuthbert, with his cynical air ; ' you 
 don't commit yourself to much in saying that.' 
 
 'Why do you always sneer when I talk about 
 him ?' asked the other fretfully. ' It's rather hard 
 upon me, Ollivant, when you know what I've set my 
 heart upon. Have you anything to allege against 
 him?' 
 
 ' Nothing. He is very well, as young men go, I 
 have no doubt ; only, I have seen so little of the 
 species, that I am hardly in a position to pronounce 
 on the individual. If you put the thing home to 
 me as a personal matter, I don't like young men ; 
 but as youth is an obnoxious phase through which 
 humanity must pass, one is bound to be tolerant 
 towards it. In a woman, now, I confess, youth is 
 enchanting; like a rosebud when its petals are just
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 161 
 
 opening, or a river a little way from its source. But 
 a young man is like a young tree ; an awkward slip 
 of a sapling, in which it is hard to discover the pro- 
 mise of the oak. And as to what you have set your 
 heart upon, as you say, now don't you think it might 
 be wiser to let events shape their own course ?' 
 
 1 Wiser, perhaps,' answered the other gloomily, 
 1 for a father who had half a lifetime before him. I 
 can't afford to let things take their course. I want 
 to see my little girl's future settled, before — ' 
 
 He did not finish a sentence which for his medi- 
 cal adviser needed no ending. 
 
 ' When you came to me that November night, 
 Chamney, and we had our first confidential talk, you 
 said nothing of a husband : you seemed content to 
 leave your daughter to my care. Have I done any- 
 thing to show myself unworthy of the trust ?' 
 
 'You, my dear Ollivant !' exclaimed Mark hur- 
 riedly. ' For God's sake don't think me ungrateful ! 
 I am content to trust her to you ; yes, with all my 
 heart, as secure that you would do your duty to her 
 as that I would do a father's duty myself. There 
 has never been anything to weaken that first idea in 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 my mind. When I saw your name in the newspa- 
 pers, and thought over our schoolboy friendship, the 
 notion that came into my head about you seemed like 
 an inspiration ; only when I came across this young 
 man, and brought him here, and he and Baby seemed 
 to take to each other — she so fond of painting, their 
 voices harmonising, and so forth — another notion 
 flashed across my brain, like another inspiration. 
 You could still be her trustee, my representative 
 when I am gone ; but if I could provide her with a 
 husband — a husband of her own choice, mind you, 
 not mine — the idea would be in a manner com- 
 pleted.' 
 
 ' I daresay you are right,' Dr. Ollivant answered 
 rather listlessly, as if the discussion had outlasted 
 his interest in the subject. ' The only question, 
 therefore, that remains is whether the young man is 
 eligible.' 
 
 They said no more that evening. Mr. Leyburne 
 and Flora left the piano very soon after this, and 
 came to join their elders in the back drawing-room, 
 whereby the conversation became general. Walter 
 favoured them with a description of the works of
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 163 
 
 various ' ineptitudes' whose pictures had "been ad- 
 mitted to the walls of the Royal Academy, tossed over 
 the books upon Flora's table, and talked a little of 
 literature in the usual young-man style ; pronounc- 
 ing judgment upon hoary-headed sages, and patron- 
 ising veterans with ineffable superiority. Dr. Olli- 
 vant, who was apt to grow silent when the painter 
 talked, looked and listened, and anon departed, after 
 his usual calm good-night. 
 
 ' I lose all your nice conversation when I am 
 singing,' Flora said, with a regretful look, as she 
 shook hands with him at parting ; ' but, you see, we 
 are obliged to keep up our duets. It would be such 
 a pity to get out of practice when we have once 
 learned them together. But I do like to hear you 
 talk, Dr. Ollivant, and I enjoy your visits most when 
 we are quite alone.' 
 
 'If you could be always quite alone,' said the 
 doctor. 
 
 1 0, you know very well, I don't mean that. Mr. 
 Leyburne is so nice, and has given me such help 
 with my drawing; I can never be grateful enough 
 for that. He has let me go into sepia at last ; such
 
 164 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 a relief after that dirty chalk ! Please come to see 
 us very soon again. Good-night !' 
 
 So lightly dismissed ! Kewarded for all his 
 wasted hours — the leisure which to him was the fine 
 gold of life — with a touch of girlish patronage ; told 
 that his grave talk was not altogether unamusing, 
 in the absence of better entertainment. He walked 
 homeward in the clear April night, the housetops 
 beautified by the star-shine, but, when near the 
 long dull street in which he lived, went off at a 
 tangent in the direction of Eegent's Park. He was 
 in no humour for the tranquil silence of his library 
 — for the study that until so lately had made the 
 brightest side of his life. He felt as if the close dark 
 house with its narrow walls would be intolerable to 
 him. He wanted to think out something in the free 
 air of heaven, to walk down the evil spirit within 
 him ; that evil fatal spirit which tempted him to 
 brood upon Flora's fair young face with a fond 
 foolish passion, senile almost as it seemed to him, 
 who at eight-and-thirty had lived a longer life than 
 the common herd of men — longer in labour and 
 science, perhaps, but in passion until now a blank.
 
 CHAPTER VHI. 
 
 1 father, what a hell of witchcraft lies 
 In the small orb of one particular tear ! 
 
 But with the inundation of the eyes, 
 
 What rocky heart to water will not wear ? 
 
 What breast so cold that is not warmed here ?' 
 
 The Lamia picture had made due progress during 
 the winter and spring, and, as it is almost impossible 
 to paint a young woman's portrait without arriving 
 at some degree of intimacy with the woman herself, 
 Louisa Gurner and Walter Leyburne had by this 
 time — while spring was still young and bleak and 
 cold — become something more than common ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 Walter had worked harder than usual at this pic- 
 ture, and had been more constant to his first idea 
 than he was wont to be. It was the first meeting of 
 Lycius and Lamia, ' about a bird's flutter from the 
 wood' near Corinth, that he had ultimately chosen 
 for his subject — a dreamy landscape dimly shone in
 
 166 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 the mystic twilight, and only those two figures, 
 youth and passion incarnate. 
 
 During the first few sittings he had found his 
 model curiously silent and shy, and had even begun 
 to think she must be, as her father had hinted, a 
 dull and stupid young person at best. She had 
 been obedient and submissive to his orders ; had 
 stood patiently in the attitude in which he placed 
 her; had never yawned, or shifted from one foot 
 to the other, throwing every line of the figure 
 wrong in an instant, as hireling models were apt to 
 do. But for some time his little attempts at con- 
 versation, prompted by civility or even kindness, had 
 been futile. He could obtain nothing more than 
 monosyllabic replies or the most commonplace little 
 remarks, which sounded like a mere echo of Mrs. 
 Gurner. 
 
 Yet he could hardly bring himself to believe her 
 utterly stupid. Those great dark eyes, which he 
 strove to reproduce upon his canvas, had at times 
 such a look of depth, as though unfathomable wells 
 of thought and feeling lay beneath their shining sur- 
 face ; those lips had grave and pathetic curves, which
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 167 
 
 he would have chosen for his type of passion and 
 sorrow from all the lips in creation. Yes, there 
 must be a soul lurking in this neglected form — a 
 soul of wider capabilities than common souls — a 
 mind that lacked only the light of education. He 
 had not spent three mornings at his new picture 
 before a new idea flashed into his busy brain. What 
 a glorious thing it would be to illumine the outer 
 darkness in which this poor child lived — to redeem 
 this imprisoned soul from its bondage — or, in plain 
 words, to educate Jarred Gurner's daughter ! 
 
 If the picture were to be a success, now, it would 
 be a generous and appropriate act to make the girl 
 some worthy recompense for her trouble. He would 
 owe half his fame to her peculiar beauty. He might 
 never have thought of his subject had not her face put 
 the Lamia fancy into his head. What recompense 
 could be better for her than three or four years in a 
 good school ? She had talked despairingly of Yoysey- 
 street as a world from which she saw no avenue of 
 escape. To place her in some pleasant suburban 
 seminary — such an establishment as that of Miss 
 Mayduke's, of whom Flora was so fond of talking —
 
 168 LOST FOE LOVE. 
 
 would be to rescue her at once from her sordid 
 surroundings, to lift her out of the kennel in which 
 she had grovelled so long. And afterwards, when 
 her education and his patronage ended together? 
 Why, then her future would be in a manner in her 
 own hands. A woman with a good education may 
 do so many things. She may turn governess or 
 companion — there is of course a perennial demand 
 for either article — or she may go in for book-keeping, 
 and earn a handsome living in some commercial 
 establishment. 
 
 ' Yes,' said the painter to himself, as decisively as 
 if he had sworn to do this thing, ' if the Lamia is a 
 success, 1 will give Loo three years at a good board- 
 ing-school.' 
 
 It was a mere fancy of his to make the benefit 
 contingent on the future of his picture, since he 
 could have very well afforded to do this good work. 
 A young man of simple habits and an income of 
 three thousand a year has ample margin for bene- 
 volence; but an unsuccessful man is apt to feel 
 churlishly disposed towards his fellow creatures, and 
 Walter Leyburne felt that if the picture were a
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 169 
 
 failure, his model's welfare would be a matter of 
 small importance to him. 
 
 In the mean time, however, he found some 
 amusement in educating the young lady himself, 
 not according to any system or educational process 
 known to trained instructors, but in that desultory 
 and fragmentary mode in which the teacher follows 
 the bent of his own mind, and seeks first of all his 
 own amusement. 
 
 After three or four sittings Loo had brightened 
 wonderfully; the shy restrained manner wore off. 
 She ceased to torment herself with an angry feeling 
 that this spoiled child of fortune must needs despise 
 herself and all her surroundings ; that he was only 
 civil to her out of a scornful pity ; that he deemed 
 her of a different clay from that young lady of whom 
 he had spoken with such loving admiration. He 
 was so thoroughly kind that her rebellious heart 
 could not long hold out against him. Her face 
 lighted up at sight of him. Those days in which 
 he spent all the lightest hours in her father's room 
 — they two alone together for the most part — be- 
 came intervals of happiness. It was quite a new
 
 170 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 feeling to her. Her only idea of pleasure until now 
 had been to sit on the fender while her father 
 worked or smoked, in those rare intervals of indul- 
 gence when this privilege was permitted to her ; but 
 even these glimpses of sunshine were apt to end in 
 storm and darkness. Something would go wrong 
 about the supper, or he would receive an unplea- 
 sant letter, or a call from some one to whom he 
 owed money, and in any case would vent his ill- 
 temper upon her. Walter Leyburne was kinder 
 than her father at his kindest, and was never ill- 
 tempered. 
 
 Little by little she contrived to make some slight 
 amendment in her appearance. Her hair was better 
 brushed, and neatly arranged in that classic style 
 which the painter had taught her; the old green 
 stuff gown was more carefully mended. She had an 
 object in life, and grudged no labour to make herself 
 decent. She had tried to extort a gown from her 
 grandmother's generosity, a gown out of the stock ; 
 but the old lady was adamant. 
 
 ' If I once allowed the stock to be tampered with, 
 I should never know where I was,' she said. ' The
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 171 
 
 business would go to pieces in no time. I must have 
 a good show of variety — something to catch every 
 eye. There's that plum-coloured satin, for instance ; 
 it's very slow to sell, hut I've had a good bit of 
 money out of that gown from first to last. Young 
 women come in and look at it, and make a bargain 
 about it, and agree to buy it by weekly instalments, 
 and leave a deposit of half-a-crown or eighteenpence, 
 and never come nigh the place again. Change their 
 minds, I suppose, or find it's beyond their means. 
 One middle-aged lady, in the public line, paid me six 
 instalments as regular as clockwork, and after that 
 never come anigh me. Such is the fickleness of 
 human nature. No, Louisa, I will never consent to 
 tamper with the stock. If you won't do for Laminia 
 in your green merino, which must have cost seven- 
 and-sixpence a yard when it was new — ' 
 
 ' I daresay it did, grandma ; for that must have 
 been when merinoes were first invented.' 
 
 ' He can go elsewhere and paint some other 
 young woman, and pay her for her trouble, which 
 he doesn't you,' continued Mrs. Gurner, without 
 noticing the pert interruption.
 
 172 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 'If he doesn't pay me, grandma, he pays father 
 plenty of money.' 
 
 1 That's as may be. I don't often see the colour 
 of it. There's half a dozen rates on the chimney- 
 piece ; and if we've water for our tea this very after- 
 noon, it's more than I expect; for the collector 
 threatened to cut it off three weeks ago.' 
 
 Though the sittings took place in Mr. Gurner's 
 room, that gentleman was rarely present. He had 
 made it a point that the thing should be done under 
 his own roof — that his daughter in her dealings with 
 this stranger should be, as it were, guarded by the 
 aegis of his parental character, surrounded with the 
 sacred influences of the domestic hearth ; and having 
 secured this point, he appeared somewhat indifferent 
 to details. He was by nature an idler and a loafer, 
 and so long as the sting of the foul serpent, povert}% 
 pierced not too keenly, he would take his ease — pre- 
 ferring to roam the world at random in pursuit of 
 stray gleams of good luck, to toiling at home at the 
 slow drudgery of his art. Thus it happened that the 
 painter and his model had the shabby first-floor 
 front for the most part to themselves, and Walter
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 173 
 
 had ample leisure for that educational process to 
 which his fancy inclined. Mrs. Gurner, always a 
 stickler for the observance of social laws as under- 
 stood in the unwritten code of Yoysey-street, did 
 occasionally interrupt the sitting by a stately visit, 
 begging to be allowed to see the picture, and favour- 
 ing the painter with her ideas upon his particular 
 work, and art in general. 
 
 1 Give me the old masters, Mr. Leyburne,' she 
 would remark in conclusion, 'without meaning any 
 disrespect to you ; for I make no doubt when Laminia 
 comes out a little clearer the picture will be very 
 taking. But don't tell me about your Millisses, and 
 your Belmores, and jovlt 'Olman 'Unts. Give me 
 the old masters. Look at the tone and the mellow- 
 ness of 'em, everything subdued down into a beauti- 
 ful rich brown, and as smooth as a mahogany table. 
 Why, if you put your nose against one of them 
 Millisses it's as rough as a gravel path, all the paint 
 laid on in splotches and ridges, as if it had been 
 painted with a curry-comb. Give me a Rembren, or 
 a Vandilk; there's as fine a tone in one of their 
 Holy Families as in a Stradivarius violin.'
 
 174 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 To such art - criticism as this Mr. Leyburne 
 could only defer in all humility. 
 
 ' I have unbounded respect for the old masters,' 
 he said ; ' Rubens and Vandyke were giants. Yes, 
 Mrs. Gurner, the old masters were fine fellows. 
 Even Sir Joshua was knocked backwards by them. 
 He saw something in the Italian school that modern 
 art — even his — could never compass.' 
 
 Mrs. Gurner' s visit generally ended in a luncheon, 
 respectfully suggested and paid for by the painter. 
 He would run across to the fish-shop and order a 
 liberal supply of oysters, adding thereto a handsome 
 allowance of Edinburgh ale from the handiest public- 
 house ; and in ten minutes or so Jarred's table 
 would be cleared of its litter of papers and glue-pots 
 and brushes and files and gimlets, and a gipsy kind 
 of repast spread thereon. Loo, with that new-born 
 instinct of hers tending towards order, contrived that 
 there should always be a clean tablecloth ready on 
 these occasions, even though she had to wash it in a 
 handbasin at midnight after her father's supper. 
 
 Mr. Leyburne derived a curious kind of enjoy- 
 ment from these gipsy meals — a pleasure keener
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. ' 175 
 
 than, if not so pure as, that which he felt in the 
 Fitzroy-square dinners. Outspoken as he might be 
 in Miss Chamney's presence, having at no time any 
 evil thought to conceal, any cloven foot to cover with 
 the drapery of polite language, his soul expanded 
 yet more fully here, and Self, that agreeable creature, 
 stood boldly forth in its brightest colours. He knew 
 that he was admired, that Louisa believed in him as 
 an African believes in his fetish. Little words, little 
 looks, unconscious of their own force and meaning, 
 had revealed as much as this, and the young man 
 enjoyed the sunshine, without after- thought for him- 
 self or any one. He had never in his life had an 
 after-thought. He was, indeed, serene in the con- 
 sciousness of benevolent intentions towards this poor 
 foolish child ; that idea of the boarding-school shut 
 the door upon every anxious thought. Let her 
 worship him a little, if she liked, in the present : the 
 worship had already lent a new refinement to her 
 manner, a spirituality to her strangely handsome face. 
 She was being educated in the best possible school 
 for a woman's progress — a school in which sentiment 
 and sympathy eked out the words of the teacher.
 
 176 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Even Mrs. Gurner's presence at these gipsy- 
 banquets took nothing from their pleasantness. She 
 was not perhaps the companion whom one would 
 have selected for a tete-a-tete repast ; but as a third 
 the painter found her an agreeable study of character. 
 She made odd remarks of the Malaprop order — 
 warmed a little with the influence of bottled ale, and 
 cast off that heavy burden of misery which she was 
 wont to carry through life. She philosophised upon 
 life — as a maze whereof the devious turnings, and 
 windings, and unexpected no-thoroughfares had 
 sorely perplexed her spirit. She discoursed of her 
 own past — those natural hopes and expectations of 
 a well-brought-up young woman which after-experi- 
 ence had disappointed. But of that bygone period 
 she spoke always vaguely ; and the status she had 
 originally held, and the causes of her downfall, 
 were alike unrevealed to the painter. Even in the 
 most confidential moments, made garrulous with ale 
 and oysters, she never descended from the cloudland 
 of generalities to the solid ground of particulars. 
 
 ' Life is an enigma, Mr. Leyburne,' she remarked 
 one day, with a faint moan.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 177 
 
 ' Life, madam,' replied the painter, who always 
 affected a certain ceremoniousness in his converse 
 with the lady, — ' life has been compared to a froward 
 child, which must be rocked in its cradle, or nar- 
 cotised with Daffy's Elixir till it falls asleep; a com- 
 parison, oddly enough, to be found verbatim in the 
 works of three distinguished writers — Sir William 
 Temple, Voltaire, and Goldsmith.' 
 
 'Ah,' said the matron sententiously, 'there are 
 some children that don't get Daffy's Elixir. It's all 
 vaccination, and measles, and rhubarb-powders for 
 some of us.' 
 
 ' There, grandma,' exclaimed Loo, with a shrug 
 of her slim shoulders, ' don't be dreary ; Mr. Ley- 
 burne doesn't come here for dreariness.' 
 
 'It's all very well at your age, Louisa,' answered 
 Mrs. Gurner, with chilling dignity ; ' but when you 
 come to my time of life — ' 
 
 ' Which I'm sure I hope I never shall, grandma, 
 if I'm to come to it in Yoysey-street.' 
 
 ' You would have fallen a good deal lower in 
 the world but for me, Louisa. The ladies'-ward- 
 robe business was my idea. Your father wouldn't 
 
 vol. i. n
 
 178 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 have cared if we'd sunk to chandlery and Neville's 
 bread.' 
 
 ' I should have liked the chandlery better, for my 
 part,' replied the incorrigible damsel. ' The trade 
 would have been brisk, at any rate. I'd rather sell 
 tea, and sugar, and candles, and Neville's bread, and 
 spiced beef, any day than dawdle over old gowns and 
 moth-eaten furs that nobody ever seems to want to 
 buy. Yes, even if I had to serve all the small chil- 
 dren in the neighbourhood with ha'porths of sugar- 
 candy.' 
 
 Mrs. Gurner shook her head with the shake of 
 calm despair. 
 
 ' To think that such low instincts should crop up 
 in a child of mine,' she said, ' after the trouble I 
 took to fix upon a genteel business — no counter, no 
 scales and weights, nothing humbling to the feelings.' 
 
 ' No ; and no till and no profits, mostly !' ans- 
 wered Loo. 
 
 Those gipsy banquets, however, delightful as they 
 might be, were not quite the sweetest hours of Loo's 
 new life. It was when the painter and she were 
 alone together that she knew perfect happiness — a
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 179 
 
 rapture of content so strange in its utter novelty. His 
 talk was no longer mere civility, or frivolous com- 
 monplace, intended to set her at her ease with him. 
 He talked to her now as if she were on an intellec- 
 tual level with himself; opened his heart and mind; 
 told his hopes, and dreams, and fears ; the story of 
 his past ; the scheme of his future ; all his wildest 
 fancies, which shifted like the figures in a kaleido- 
 scope, hut with far more variety of form and colour, 
 and which never repeated themselves. He would 
 talk to her as he had never ventured to talk to Flora 
 — with a certain Bohemian recklessness, hut no 
 shadow of evil thought. He was, in fact, not particu- 
 larly anxious to retain her good opinion, as he was 
 with regard to Flora, and he let her see odd corners 
 in his mind, which, despite his habitual candour, he 
 had kept hidden from the .young lady in Fitzroy- 
 square. Flora was to be his wife some day; he 
 looked upon that as a settled question, and she had 
 therefore something of a sacred character in his mind. 
 Not to her could he pour out his mind in all its ful- 
 ness, as he could to this quick-witted young woman 
 in Yoysey-street ; who, by reason of her early-acquired
 
 180 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 knowledge of life's darker side, seemed to be ten 
 years older than Mark Chamney's daughter. 
 
 When he fancied that she was tired of standing, 
 though he could never extort a complaint from her, 
 or even an admission of weariness, he would suspend 
 his work for a little while, being perhaps somewhat 
 tired himself, and read to her. He took some pride 
 in his reading, and read well, in a passionate im- 
 petuous way. This began by his reading Lamia, so 
 that she might understand the story of which she 
 was the heroine. The vivid passionate verse, so new 
 to her unaccustomed ears, seemed like enchantment. 
 Her own reading had lain chiefly in the direction of 
 penny numbers — pirates and bandit chiefs, and gipsy 
 maidens, and tout le tremblement. This first glimpse 
 of real poetry — all glow, and grace, and beauty — 
 moved her curiously. It was then that all semblance 
 of stupidity disappeared, and Walter Leyburne dis- 
 covered that his surmise had been correct. Those 
 broad temples were the indication of a powerful mind ; 
 a mind hid in darkness, but with infinite capacity. 
 He had that happy thought about the boarding- 
 school at once, and determined to educate her, for
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 181 
 
 her profit and his own amusement meanwhile. He 
 read her the whole of Keats ; and then, finding her 
 delight unabated, her hunger for eloquent verse only 
 whetted, he opened the vast treasure-house of Shake- 
 speare. He began with Romeo and Juliet, which 
 entranced her. Hamlet she thought dull; Hie Mid- 
 summer-Night's Dream silly, exceptthe scenes between 
 Hermia and Helena. She warmed to Othello, and 
 wept at the overthrow of that heroic soul. Macbeth 
 was like a vision of a strange world, a region of pas- 
 sions grander than she had ever dreamed of, and she 
 followed every line of those vivid pictures with in- 
 tensest appreciation. Xo young woman who had 
 been spoon-fed with ' Gems of Shakespeare' at school 
 could have warmed to that mighty voice as she did, 
 to whom the whole was new. It seemed to her as if 
 she had only just begun to live ; or had emerged 
 from some dark antechamber of the earth into fairy- 
 land. What did Yoysey-street matter to her now? 
 One street was as good as another to live in if she 
 could have such a book as that to read, and such a 
 friend as Mr. Leyburne to guide her in this new 
 world of light, and life, and poetry.
 
 182 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 He let her revel in Shakespeare till she knew all 
 the great tragedies, and then called up another and 
 younger spirit. 
 
 ' Shakespeare is too heavy for my humour this 
 morning,' he said one day, and produced a neat little 
 morocco-bound volume from his pocket, which he 
 opened thoughtfully, and anon took two or three 
 turns up and down the room before he began to 
 read. 
 
 He read, or in part recited, the whole of the 
 Giaour, without pausing for a word of criticism. It 
 was his masterpiece in the way of recitation, and he 
 put his heart into every line. When he stood motion- 
 less, with downward-bending eyes, and began those 
 thrilling lines : 
 
 ' He who hath bent him o'er the dead,' 
 
 the girl's rapture broke forth in a passionate sob, but 
 was as suddenly stifled, and she listened calmly to 
 the end. 
 
 ' That isn't Shakespeare,' shersaid. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 'Nor Keats.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 183 
 
 ' Xo. I'm glad you begin to discriminate the 
 differences of style.' 
 
 ' I didn't think that human beings could write 
 like that,' said the girl with a gasp. ' Where is he 
 — the man that wrote about Leila '?' 
 
 ' Why ?' 
 
 1 Because I should like to go to him, and kneel 
 down before him, and ask lief to worship him.' 
 
 ' Rather a foolish proceeding, if he were alive,' 
 answered Mr. Leyburne ; 'but you may go and wor- 
 ship at his grave. He is dead.' 
 
 Loo burst out crying. The nerves, unstrung by 
 those divine verses, gave way at the thought that he 
 who penned them was dust. 
 
 ' I shall never read you anything of Byron's 
 again,' said Mr. Leyburne severely. 
 
 1 What ! Did he write more than that '?' 
 
 ' Much more.' 
 
 1 0, but you will read the rest, won't you ?' 
 
 ' When your nerves are stronger.' 
 
 He brought a volume of Milton at the next 
 sitting, but Loo looked tired after the first page of 
 Paradise Lost, and confessed her indifference. She
 
 184 LOST FOE LOVE. 
 
 liked the 'Hymn of the Nativity,' however, though 
 the classic names in it mystified her. The strong 
 music pleased her keen ear for numbers. 
 
 Thus her education progressed with the picture. 
 Mr. Leyhurne left her his books to read at her leisure, 
 a period only to be found after midnight ; and she 
 sat up into the small hours, when Mrs. Gurner was 
 calmly reposing in the press-bedstead, and aroused 
 that careful housewife's ire by an undue consumption 
 of candle. 
 
 An education such as this — the world of poetry 
 suddenly unveiled to an intelligence sharpened by 
 privation and the bitter experiences of Voysey-street 
 — effected a strangely rapid transformation in this 
 ardent undisciplined nature. This girl's mind was 
 empty of all those objects which distract the atten- 
 tion, or even absorb the mind, of the happier portion 
 of womankind. Dress, pleasure, society, had for her 
 no existence. Half the dreariness of her past life had 
 arisen from the fact that, except cares and troubles, 
 she had nothing to think of. Her mind was a virgin 
 soil, ripe to receive the new seed that fell upon it — 
 the seed of grand thoughts and of melodious verses
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 185 
 
 full of deep meaning. To few other young women of 
 nineteen could Shakespeare and Byron mean so much 
 as they meant to this girl. She knew no bright 
 visions outside those books. Her only knowledge 
 of nature was derived from Begent's-park and Prim- 
 rose-hill, and rare had been her glimpses even of 
 those unremote landscapes. She had spent a summer 
 afternoon once on Hampstead-heath on the occasion 
 of a school-treat ; but that blissful day was long gone 
 by, and the rural scene had faded from her memory 
 behind the mist of years. Yet, by that normal 
 clairvoyance of the imagination which Lord Lytton 
 has described in one of his exquisite essays, she 
 beheld the snow-clad mountains where Manfred held 
 commune with the spirit-world, the old Italian 
 garden where Borneo and Juliet wooed each other in 
 the starlight. 
 
 By some gradual process, which he perhaps could 
 hardly have explained to himself, the painter extended 
 his hours of work in Yoysey-street. There were days 
 when he was not in the vein for the Lamia picture, 
 and a young man with three thousand a year in 
 perpetuity will hardly labour against the grain, having
 
 186 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 no need to produce pot-boilers. So on these off-days 
 he would put his patient model into some new atti- 
 tude, and begin a single-figure picture — Imogen, or 
 Olivia, or Juliet, or the Dorothea of Cervantes, or 
 Joan of Arc, as caprice prompted, the model caring- 
 nothing, so long as she had his company. 
 
 It is possible that Mrs. Gurner would have hardly 
 tolerated so much waste of her granddaughter's time 
 bat for those social luncheons, which served the two 
 women for dinners, and also on account of the more 
 substantial aid afforded the small household by Mr. 
 Leyburne's employment of Jarred as a picture-re- 
 storer. 
 
 1 He's the best customer I've got,' said Jarred to 
 his parent ; ' so mind you're civil to him, old lady. 
 I'm not sorry he's taken so to Loo, for she's improved 
 ever so much since she began to sit to him. Keeps 
 her hair tidier, and mends her gown. And after all 
 — though he might be sweet upon the other one to 
 begin with — who knows what may happen? Men's 
 minds are changeable enough at the best of times, or 
 there wouldn't be so many breach-of-promise cases in 
 the newspapers.'
 
 LOST FOE LOVE. 187 
 
 1 Perhaps not, Jarred,' sighed Mrs. Garner; 'but 
 the breachers — I mean those who break their promise 
 — generally throw over a poor girl to marry a rich 
 one. " Shortly after writing these beautiful letters, 
 full of affection and quotations from Scripture, the 
 defendant married another lady with property.'* 
 That's how it goes in the newspapers. There's gene- 
 rally property with the second lady. I never saw a 
 case where it was a rich girl left in the lurch for the 
 sake of a poor one.' 
 
 1 Because rich girls don't demean themselves 
 by bringing actions,' answered Jarred; 'they've 
 got the knowledge of their independence to sus- 
 tain them, and they're above the consideration of 
 damages.' 
 
 ' It may be so, Jarred ; but experience has taught 
 me to look at the dark side of the picture. I 
 wouldn't allow Mr. Leyburne to come near the place 
 if I thought there was any harm in him ; but from 
 what I've seen of him the babe unborn isn't more 
 innocent.' 
 
 Influenced, it may be, by some airy vision shaped 
 out of possibilities, Mr. Gurner's soul expanded so
 
 188 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 far as to move him to give his daughter a sovereign 
 for the purchase of a new gown. 
 
 ' Never mind your grandmother's rubbish,' he 
 said, when Loo told him of Mrs. Gurner's unwilling- 
 ness to ' tamper with the stock.' ' Go out and buy 
 some new stuff that hasn't been worn by a pack of — 
 Lord-knows-whats,' said Mr. Gurner, pulling himself 
 up short and coining a word, ' but that's clean and 
 decent as it came from the loom.' 
 
 Whereupon Louisa, enraptured, rushed off to 
 Peter Eobinson's, where she was almost overcome by 
 the size and splendour of the place, and bought a 
 vivid blue merino, which she cut out and half 
 made that evening, under the indignant eyes of her 
 grandparent. 
 
 ' If you had money to spend, Louisa, I think you 
 might have laid it out in your own family. I'd have 
 let you had that brown poplin for a sovereign — a dress 
 that must have cost five when it was new.' 
 
 ' You said you didn't want to interfere with the 
 stock, grandma.' 
 
 ' Not without having some quo pro quid to enter 
 in my books, Louisa ; but your custom would be the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 189 
 
 same as any one else's, except that I should have 
 given you the advantage. I've been asking five-and- 
 thirty shillings for that poplin.' 
 
 1 There's wine stains all down the front-breadth, 
 grandma, and some little holes burnt in one sleeve, 
 as if it was done with a cigar.' 
 
 ' You needn't disparage the dress, Louisa, because 
 you've spent your money elsewhere.' 
 
 1 Besides, father told me to buy a new gown, and 
 that's the long and the short of it,' concluded Loo 
 curtly. 
 
 The study of Shakespeare had not as yet improved 
 or modified the familiar language of daily life. 
 
 1 Perhaps, as your father is in such a generous 
 mood, he'll be kind enough to pay the water-rate,' 
 observed Mrs. Gurner in a biting tone ; ' it's been 
 standing long enough.' 
 
 Mr. Leyburne was somewhat startled on his 
 next visit by Loo's appearance in the bright blue 
 gown. Its colour reminded him of that blue silk 
 whose musical frou-frou he had heard so often in 
 Fitzroy-square. He gave a little guilty look, and 
 began painting with less delay than usual.
 
 190 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Louisa was disappointed. She had expected some 
 praise of her new dress ; not that it was his habit to 
 pay her compliments, only a new dress was to her 
 so great an event that she could hardly suppose it 
 would pass unnoticed. She placed herself in the 
 accustomed pose, but her lower lip trembled for a 
 moment, and she looked like a child inclined to cry. 
 
 Walter dashed into his work vigorously, but soon 
 flagged ; seemed strangely disturbed in temper, and 
 at last flung down his brush with a muttered excla- 
 mation that might have been anything. 
 
 ' It's no use,' he cried impatiently ; ' I can't paint 
 you in that glaring blue thing. The flesh tints are 
 nowhere. I must have a dress made immediately — 
 classic drapery, and so on. I can get one from a 
 theatrical costumier.' 
 
 ' Don't you like blue ?' faltered Louisa. 
 
 ' For some complexions. Not for yours. What 
 made you put that gown on to-day ?' 
 
 ' It's a new one ; my father gave it me. I thought 
 you'd like it better than that old dingy one I always 
 wear. I haven't had a new one for two years.' 
 
 A little choking sound followed the confession,
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 191 
 
 and poor Loo's mortification found relief in tears. 
 That beautiful bright blue garment which she had 
 toiled to make in the dead hours of the night, when 
 there was profoundest silence, save of errant cats, in 
 Yoysey-street ; that garment over whose gores, and 
 side-breadths, and placket-hole, and right sleeve and 
 left sleeve, her puzzled brain had perplexed itself, was 
 flouted as a ' glaring blue thing' by the one person 
 whose approbation she most desired. She had fancied 
 that she would appear to him a regenerate creature 
 in that new gown, like a butterfly released from the 
 dull cocoon that had bound it. 
 
 The childish sob, the brimming eyes, touched 
 Walter's kindly heart. He ran across the room to 
 her, comforted her with little tender, meaningless 
 words, and drew her towards him with a gentle bro- 
 therly caress. 
 
 1 My dearest child,' he said, ' the dress is all that 
 is charming as a dress. Only it kills your com- 
 plexion. That pale olive skin of yours is ruined 
 by blue reflections. Why didn't you tell me you 
 wanted a new dress *? Let me choose it for you. 
 But I'll have the Lamia costume made at once. I
 
 192 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 must paint my drapery from the real thing — Greek 
 robes of white cashmere, with the old key border in 
 scarlet ; just enough colour to warm the dead white, 
 and make a vivid contrast with that inky hair.' 
 
 She was consoled, but he remained none the less 
 sorry for having wounded her. What a foolish sensi- 
 tive creature she was, in spite of Voysey-street, the 
 grandmother, the second-hand finery ! A very woman, 
 in no wise unsexed by that sharp ordeal of poverty. 
 Until now he had shrunk from offering her anything 
 approaching to a gift. Even his books he had only 
 lent her. But on the day after this little scene he 
 sent her a parcel of silk, a deep rich purple red, the 
 colour of Chambertin. There was lace in the parcel, 
 soft-looking Brussels, or Mechlin, which Mrs. Gurner 
 pronounced worth a small fortune. It was hardly 
 the most serviceable dress that could have been given 
 to a young person in Yoysey-street, that wine-dark 
 Naples silk, scarcely a dress to fetch beer in, or even 
 wear sitting at one's ease in the little parlour, where 
 all the domestic processes necessary to existence went 
 on daily. Certainly not a dress in which to wait 
 upon lodgers, or do the ' cleaning.' But, having
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 193 
 
 wounded her by his unkindness, Mr. Leyburne was 
 only eager to atone for his offence, and to his artistic 
 mind the question of utility never presented itself. 
 
 'Dear Miss Grurner,' he wrote in the brief note 
 which accompanied the parcel, ' I venture to send 
 you a dress, which I think will suit you better than 
 the blue. Kindly accept it, and wear it, as a proof 
 that you have forgiven me my impertinence about 
 the dress of your own choosing. I have ordered the 
 Lamia costume, and shall be much obliged if you 
 will go to Mercer's, in Bow-street, and have it tried 
 on. I have told them you will call. — Yours always, 
 
 'Walter Leyburne.' 
 
 Mrs. Gurner turned over the contents of the 
 parcel with many a moan. 
 
 ' It must have cost ten shillings a yard,' she said; 
 ' and there's fifteen yards, that's seven pound ten ; 
 and six yards of lace, at fifteen shillings to a pound 
 — call it fifteen — four pound ten ; twelve pounds for 
 a dress that you can never wear but once in a way 
 on a Sunday afternoon ; and then be dressed above 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 your station and draw down evil-minded remarks. 
 Twelve pound would have paid a quarter's rent. 
 What a pity he didn't give you the money !' 
 
 ' Do you suppose I'd have taken money from him, 
 grandma ?' flashed out Loo, wrapping up her parcel 
 indignantly. ' You don't know how to appreciate 
 kindness and generosity. I don't care if I never 
 wear the dress ; but I'm proud to think he thought 
 it was fit for me, and bought me such a dress as he'd 
 have bought for a lady.' 
 
 Jarred felt nothing but satisfaction at sight of 
 the present. 
 
 ' Bravo !' said he. ' Hold up your head, my girl; 
 there's money bid for you. "Who knows what may 
 happen ? I should like to have a look at that doll- 
 faced Miss in Fitzroy-square, and see if she's as 
 good-looking as our Loo, now that she's taken to 
 keep her hair tidy.' 
 
 Instead of being grateful for the implied compli- 
 ment, the girl flamed up at this speech of her 
 father's. 
 
 ' You've no business to say such things,' she 
 cried ; ' you've no right to talk about the young lady
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 195 
 
 that — that — Mr. Leyburne's going to marry. It's 
 all very well for him to be kind, and to make believe 
 to think me a lady; and I'm grateful to him for 
 taking so much trouble. But do you think I don't 
 know that it's all make-believe ? do you think I don't 
 know that I'm like the dirt under his feet ?' 
 
 'Bless and save us!' exclaimed Jarred, 'what a 
 spitfire ! Here, give me the tobacco-jar, Loo, and 
 don't talk like a fool. The best horse will win, de- 
 pend upon it ; and it isn't likely I should back a 
 strange stable, when I've got a filly of my own in the 
 race.'
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 ' But life is sweet, and mortality blind ; 
 
 And youth is hopeful, and Fate is kind 
 
 In concealing the day of sorrow ; 
 
 And enough is the present tense of toil — 
 For this world is, to all, a stiffish soil ; 
 And the mind flies back with a glad recoil 
 
 From the debts not due till to-morrow.' 
 
 Eeturning spring, the earliest chirp of blackbirds 
 in the squares, the carol of a wandering lark that 
 has strayed as far from dewy cornfields as St. John's 
 Wood, a basket of primroses bawled in the dusty 
 street, will awaken in most bosoms a sudden yearn- 
 ing for the country. London is all very well, be the 
 square Grosvenor or Fitzroy, while we can draw our 
 curtains, and light our gas, and call it luxury. 
 London looming through the fog, with street-lamps 
 gleaming redly, has a sort of gloomy picturesque, 
 ness, like that under-world through which Virgil 
 cicerones Dante ; but London when skies are blue, 
 and the hawthorns abloom in Twickenham meadows,
 
 LOST FOB LOVE. 197 
 
 be it ever so dear to the darlings of fashion, is apt 
 to pall upon that less-favoured race which hath no 
 fellowship with the children of Belgravia, to whom 
 the crowd in Hyde Park at sundown is ' but a gallery 
 of pictures.' Thus, perhaps, arose in Flora Cham- 
 ney's breast a new desire for fairer scenes than are 
 to be found within the four-mile radius. A dinner 
 at Kichmond, to which Dr. Ollivant and Mr. Ley- 
 burne were both invited, served to sharpen this 
 hunger rather than to appease it. 
 
 ' It's so nice of you to bring us down here, papa 
 darling,' she said in her fond way, as they sauntered 
 along the walk that leads to Thomson's favourite 
 seat, and Earl Kussell's rustic cottage, while the 
 marmitons of the Star and Garter stewed eels and 
 larded sweetbreads for their delectation ; ' but it only 
 makes me long all the more for the real country. 
 This path and that landscape are ever so beautiful ; 
 but I think I can feel London in the air. My eyes 
 are not so sharp as Henry the Eighth's when he 
 stood on that little knoll yonder, and watched for 
 the hoisting of the standard that was to tell him 
 poor dear Anne Boleyn's head was cut off — that's
 
 198 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 historical fact, isn't it, Dr. Ollivant ? I remember 
 reading it at Miss Mayduke's. But my sense of 
 smell seems to tell me London is very near.' 
 
 ' I should think, if you smelt anything, it would 
 be the dinners cooking at the Star and Garter,' said 
 Dr. Ollivant. 
 
 ' Come now, papa, when are we to go to the real 
 country ?' 
 
 ' I suppose that means Brighton or Scarborough,' 
 said the doctor. 
 
 ' It means nothing of the kind. It means some 
 wild lonely place, where papa and I could wander 
 about as we pleased, dressed anyhow, and where I 
 should never feel ashamed of that old Panama hat 
 papa was so fond of wearing last summer. A place 
 where our friends could come to see us if they 
 pleased, and where there would be the sea and boats, 
 and where I could sketch from nature all day long, 
 if I liked. There must be ever so many such places 
 at home and abroad ; abroad would be best, for I do 
 so long to see some strange new world, where the 
 common people look like peasants on the stage, and 
 where there is a background of blue mountains, and
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 199 
 
 vineyards, and broad winding river, such as one 
 sees in a drop-scene. Now, dear Dr. Ollivant, please 
 take my part. You know you told papa travelling 
 would be good for him.' 
 
 ' Did I?' asked the doctor absently. ' I forget.' 
 
 ' Do you really ? . How strange ! Why, it was 
 your own suggestion, one evening in Wimpole-street; 
 the very first evening we ever spent there.' 
 
 'I may have said so. But travelling on the 
 Continent is hardly the kind of thing I should 
 recommend to your father just now. He wants 
 repose.' The grave professional look travelled 
 slowly to the figure beside him. 'An English 
 watering-place might be beneficial, if he liked the 
 idea.' 
 
 1 1 like any idea that my little girl likes,' said 
 Mark Chamney. ' If she has set her heart on the 
 Continent, we'll go on the Continent.' 
 
 'No, no, papa,' cried Flora hurriedly, and with 
 a sudden subdued look in her face, as of one to 
 whose mind some grave sad question had newly pre- 
 sented itself; 'no, we will only go where it is best 
 for you. Advise us, Dr. Ollivant. Would it be
 
 200 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 best to stay at home — would the fatigue of a journey 
 hurt papa ?' 
 
 ' I believe not. Indeed, I think change of air 
 and scene would be good for him.' 
 
 1 Then I will go anywhere you please, papa,' 
 said the girl, more fondly than ever, with anxious 
 eyes lifted sadly to her father's face and one little 
 hand clinging to his arm. A pretty picture of pur- 
 est womanhood, and grace more sweet than beauty, 
 yet one that escaped the painter's errant gaze. He 
 was looking across the landscape, dreamily, into the 
 dim blue distance beyond the winding river. 
 
 'In that case we'll go to Branscomb. It's the 
 only English watering-place I know or care about. 
 You must remember Branscomb, Ollivant; the place 
 we used to go to when we were boys.' 
 
 ' I have a faint recollection of spending a day 
 there once, and of universal dreariness.' 
 
 ' Dreariness ! with the sea at your feet ? Why, 
 man, there is an everlasting beauty in that which is 
 independent of all the petty prettiness of the land. 
 Set me face to face with the sea, and I don't care 
 what barren rock or parched and sandy waste you
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 201 
 
 give me to stand upon. But if Branscomb is rather 
 a dull, out-of-the-way place, the country round is 
 beautiful. I doated upon Branscomb when I was a 
 boy ; perhaps the .happiest hours of my life were the 
 long sunny days I spent lying on the beach or shy- 
 ing pebbles at the seagulls.' 
 
 1 Pray let us go to Branscomb, papa. I shall 
 love to see the place you were so fond of,' cried Flora, 
 brightening with her father's eagerness. He could 
 hardly be so very ill as she had feared just now from 
 that strange grave look of the doctor's, for he spoke 
 as if there were still pleasures worth living for — as 
 if the warmth and gladness of life were still aglow 
 in his breast. ' You'll come to see us at Branscomb, 
 won't j-ou, Mr. Leyburne ?' she said in a gayer 
 tone to the painter. ' I don't think you'd be de- 
 terred by a long journey.' 
 
 She thought that in those hansom cabs of his, 
 the sound of whose swift wheels and banging of 
 whose doors so often startled her, he must every week 
 travel the distance between London and Edinburgh. 
 
 ' 1 beg your pardon,' said Walter, newly awak- 
 ened from his reverie. ' Who's Branscomb ?'
 
 202 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Everything had to be explained to him. He had 
 evidently heard nothing of the conversation for the 
 last quarter of an hour. 
 
 ' You must come to see us in Devonshire, and 
 teach me to paint the sea. I shall be sketching 
 nearly all day long.' 
 
 He would be delighted, of course, not that the 
 sea was in his line, but he would give her such help 
 as he could, directly he had finished a picture he had 
 in hand. 
 
 This was early in May. Mr. Chamney and his 
 daughter had not yet been to the Eoyal Academy. 
 
 ' I thought your important picture was to be 
 finished and sent in last month,' said Flora. 
 
 'No. I did think of sending it in this year ; but 
 I have been lazy. The picture is only half-finished. 
 I didn't want to scamp it, you see, and I couldn't 
 get a model I liked for one of my figures.' 
 
 ' I'm so sorry. I was looking forward to see- 
 ing your picture at the Exhibition. Then there 
 is nothing of yours, I suppose,' she concluded re- 
 gretfully. 
 
 'Yes. I sent a trifle by way of an experiment ;
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 203 
 
 and for a wonder it was accepted. Skyed, of course, 
 but it is something to get in.' 
 1 0, please tell me all about it.' 
 
 I There is so little to tell. It is only a single 
 figure. You might go through the rooms half a 
 dozen times without noticing it.' 
 
 I I couldn't/ said Flora naively ; ' I should know 
 your style. But do tell me the subject.' 
 
 ' I call it "Esmeralda" — Victor Hugo's heroine, 
 you know. A solitary figure crouching against the 
 dark wall of a mediaeval prison. A pale despairing 
 face looking out of dense shadow.' 
 
 'It must be grand,' said Flora, enraptured. 
 
 ' Only to the friendliest eyes. One of the weekly 
 papers said my flesh-tints suggested putty, and my 
 shadows were a reminiscence of pea-soup.' 
 
 1 Wretch !' cried Flora ; ' envy, of course. Why 
 do they allow disappointed painters to turn critics ?' 
 
 1 It isn't fair, is it? Though, for that matter, I 
 should like to walk into some of the exhibitors my- 
 self.' 
 
 Everything was decided by and by, after dinner. 
 They dined in the old coffee-room of the old Star
 
 204 LOST FOE LOVE. 
 
 and Garter, which most of us remember so well, and 
 in which so many of us have dined in days that are 
 gone and with friends that are dead. They dined 
 in the broad bay window overlooking that fair valley 
 through which Thames winds his silver ribbon ; now 
 making a gentle bend around the classic groves of 
 Ham ; now dividing his watery arms to embrace 
 the willow-wooded islet. In this old window they 
 sat while the twilight deepened, planning the Brans- 
 comb expedition ; Mark Chamney full of talk, Flora 
 animated and happy, Dr. Ollivant more cheerful 
 than usual, only the painter thoughtful, leaning 
 across his folded arms, with those dreamy eyes of 
 his fixed on the fading landscape. Flora stole a 
 glance at him now and then, and wondered at his 
 unwonted silence. But then, she reasoned, it is in 
 the nature of artists to be thoughtful when face to 
 face with nature. Even that familiar landscape, 
 which every cockney knows by heart, but which of 
 its kind is matchless, might mean inspiration for 
 him. 
 
 'I think I'll come with you,' said the doctor, ' if 
 you've no objection. I haven't had a holiday since
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 205 
 
 I came from the Continent, except to run across the 
 Channel to hear a lecture, or see an experiment now 
 and then in Paris, and you can hardly call that 
 recreation. I shouldn't wonder if I want a little of 
 that complete repose I am always recommending to 
 my patients.' 
 
 '0, do come, Dr. Ollivant!' exclaimed Flora, 
 delighted. ' I never thought of asking you, knowing 
 how precious your time is. But it would be so nice 
 to feel you were taking care of papa. Not that he 
 really needs much care, except mine, I hope,' with 
 an anxious half-appealing look, as much as to say, 
 ' For pity's sake, tell me that all is well.' 
 
 ' No, Baby, I couldn't have a tenderer nurse than 
 you,' answered the father, drawing the slight figure 
 nearer to him in the friendly twilight. * And so long 
 as I live your care shall make me happy. Only 
 remember, darling, the best-made machinery will 
 wear out sooner or later, and perhaps some of the 
 strongest may break down all at once, like that 
 wonderful one-horse chaise we w T ere reading about 
 the other night.' 
 
 'Papa, papa!' with a burst of tears, 'how
 
 206 LOST FOE LOVE. 
 
 can you speak lightly of what would break my 
 heart!' 
 
 1 Why, Baby ! as if I were an oracle, and knew 
 all the ins and outs of destiny'. Come, Flo, cheer 
 up, and let us talk about Branscomb. I'll telegraph 
 to a house-agent at Long Sutton to-morrow morning, 
 and tell him to go over and find us lodgings, or a 
 house, and we'll go down the next day. You'll go 
 with us, won't you, Walter? My little girl must 
 have gayer society than two old fogies like Ollivant 
 and me.' 
 
 The doctor laughed, that low but somewhat bitter 
 laugh of his, so subdued as hardly to have offended 
 Lord Chesterfield. 
 
 1 One of the penalties which Science inflicts on 
 her votaries,' said he, ' to be set down as an old fogy 
 at eight-and-thirty.' 
 
 ' You are very kind,' answered Walter, coming 
 suddenly to life again, as if out of a mesmeric trance; 
 ' but I don't think I could leave London at so short 
 a notice, even for the pleasure of accompanying you 
 and Miss Chamney ; and I need hardly say what a 
 temptation that is. I've so much work in hand.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 207 
 
 1 Pshaw !' exclaimed Chamney, 'as if a young 
 fellow in your position need care about work.' 
 
 1 It's foolish, perhaps, but I've set ray heart on 
 making some shred of reputation. If you'll allow 
 me to follow you in a week or so, I shall be very 
 glad." 
 
 'As you please,' said Mr. Chamney, piqued; and 
 so the matter ended. 
 
 It seemed strange to Flora that there should be 
 any hitch in her programme. She had been accus- 
 tomed to find the painter a willing slave, not that 
 she had tried him by any means severely, for the 
 ways and works of coquetry were unknown to her 
 simple soul. But until lately he had hung upon her 
 words as if they were of supreme importance to him, 
 and. had been studiously attentive to her slightest 
 wishes. Of late, within the last few weeks at least, 
 there had been a change too subtle for her to under- 
 stand, far too indefinite for her to complain of, even 
 in her own thoughts, but just sufficient to steal a 
 little of life's sunshine from that lot which had 
 seemed to her so perfect in its full measure of happi- 
 ness.
 
 208 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' I thought I was almost the happiest creature in 
 this world,' she said to herself; ' but then I counted 
 him as a part of my happiness. If we should have 
 been mistaken after all, papa and I, and he doesn't 
 care for me — never did care for me any more than 
 for any other girl in whose father's house he might 
 like to spend his evenings !' 
 
 The mere suggestion was appalling. How foolish 
 she had been to think of him as she had thought, to 
 reckon his love in the sum total of her happiness ! 
 It was her father's fault, no doubt, or the effect of 
 that pleasant easy-going friendship between these 
 two young people — drawing-lessons, delicious dab- 
 blings with the brightest colours Rathbone-place 
 could furnish, duet-singing, voices blending in dulcet 
 harmonies, a similarity of tastes that seemed to mark 
 them as those twin-born beings parted in some ante- 
 natal phase of existence, and only perfect when re- 
 united. She had taken it for granted, ever so long 
 ago, that he loved her, and that the shred of reputa- 
 tion he talked of with such proud humility was to 
 be a crown of wild olive laid at her feet. Yet, 
 chilled by this indescribable change in him, and
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 209 
 
 brought face to face with stern reality, what founda- 
 tion had she for the fabric of her dream-palace ? 
 Those thrilling smiles and looks of his, words and 
 whispers that had sunk into her inmost heart, the 
 fond clasp of his hand at parting, the lingering talk 
 on the half-lighted staircase when he was going 
 away — these might mean nothing after all, might 
 only be the small-change current in that society of 
 which she knew so little, mere counters, made for 
 show, and worthless as withered leaves. 
 
 'If he doesn't come to Branscomb I shall [know 
 he doesn't care for me,' thought Flora, as they drove 
 back to London in the clear spring night. 
 
 They had not gone far before the painter threw 
 off his thoughtfulness like a garment, and began to 
 talk with his accustomed gaiety. He wa3, indeed, 
 gayer than usual, with a vivacity that bordered on 
 boisterousness; and Flora's doubts and fears vanished 
 like ' snow-flakes in the river.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ' You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave. 
 Thou art a soul in bliss ; but I am bound 
 Upon a wheel of fire.' 
 
 It was not quite ten o'clock when they arrived in 
 Fitzroy-square, so Mr. Chamney insisted upon tak- 
 ing both his friends up to the drawing-room for the 
 doch-an-dorrach, or parting cup, which in this in- 
 stance took the shape of brandy-and-seltzer. He was 
 tired, and flung himself at full length on a capacious 
 old sofa ; but was not too tired to ask for one of his 
 favourite songs. 
 
 ' Give us the " Land of the Leal," Flo,' he said ; 
 and Flora went to the piano obediently, and began 
 those pathetic words of Caroline Nairne's. But half- 
 way in the second verse she broke down suddenly 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 Walter was by her side in a moment, bending
 
 LOST FOE LOVE. 211 
 
 over her tenderly, asking if she were ill or tired. 
 Her father looked round wonderingly. 
 
 1 Why, Baby, what's the matter ?' 
 
 She took no notice of the painter's solicitude, but 
 left the piano and knelt down by her father's sofa, 
 and put her arms round his neck. 
 
 'Forgive me for being so foolish, darling,' she- 
 said, in lowest tones, meant for his ear alone ; ' but 
 I can't bear any song that speaks of parting. You 
 won't leave me, will you, dear ? You'll take care of 
 yourself, and get strong and well, and never leave 
 me?' 
 
 He took her to his heart and kissed her fondly. 
 
 ' May God be merciful to us, my dearest, and 
 lengthen our days together!' he said gently; 'I 
 will do nothing to shorten them. And now go 
 Op-stairs, dear ; you're tired and a little out of 
 spirits. Yet you were so gay coming home from 
 Richmond.' 
 
 1 Yes, papa ; I forget sometimes. But that song 
 put a sudden fear into my heart. Very foolish, 
 wasn't it ? A song about a poor old man, who was 
 between seventy and eighty, I daresay. As if that
 
 214 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 girl. She had not left the square. He found her 
 standing by the railings on the other side, her face 
 almost hidden by a thick black veil tied tightly 
 across it. He knew her, however, in spite of this 
 disguise. 
 
 ' Loo !' he exclaimed, ' what are you doing here, 
 child ?' 
 
 ' I don't know — nothing ! I was miserable at 
 home, so I came out for a walk. One may as well be 
 miserable out of doors as in that stuffy room with 
 grandma. I knew very well where you'd be, so I 
 went to look up at the windows — for company.' 
 
 'Poor Loo!' with infinite compassion. 'Why, 
 the books Ilent you would have been better company 
 than that !' 
 
 'Yes, if I could only read them. But I can't — 
 at least not till grandma's gone to bed. It's a crime 
 to open a book in her opinion. I sit up till three in 
 the morning sometimes reading, though. I think I 
 know the Bride of Abydos by heart. But even then 
 I get bullied about the candle being burnt out.' 
 
 ' I wouldn't say bullied, Loo. It's out of harmony 
 with feminine lips.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 215 
 
 'Pitched into, then.' 
 
 * "Worse and worse. Isn't it just as easy to say 
 scolded ?' 
 
 1 1 daresay it is ; but it does roe more good to 
 say bullied. I do get bullied, nagged at and bullied 
 from morning till night. Is it my fault if things are 
 dearer than they used to be, and taxes higher ? I'm 
 sure I'm treated as if it was." 
 
 The old leaven would show itself sometimes in 
 this poor Louisa, despite of the refining influence 
 which had wrought so swift a change. Her mood 
 to-night was not the softest. She knew that she was 
 sinking back into the old lowness, for which she had 
 hated herself and her surroundings even to loathing; 
 but there was a sullen anger in her heart just now 
 which made her indifferent to her own degradation. 
 What did these small distinctions of language sig- 
 nify ? She could never be a lady. In the good old 
 days of the slave-trade it mattered very little to one 
 of that subject race what shade of blackness his 
 visage wore. There were no degrees of bondage. 
 Under that hateful law every colour counted as black. 
 So with Louisa's slavery to the bondmaster Poverty.
 
 214 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 girl. She had not left the square. He found her 
 standing hy the railings on the other side, her face 
 almost hidden by a thick black veil tied tightly 
 across it. He knew her, however, in spite of this 
 disguise. 
 
 ' Loo !' he exclaimed, ' what are you doing here, 
 
 child r 
 
 ' J don't know — nothing ! I was miserable at 
 home, so I came out for a walk. One may as well be 
 miserable out of doors as in that stuffy room with 
 grandma. I knew very well where you'd be, so I 
 went to look up at the windows — for company.' 
 
 'Poor Loo!' with infinite compassion. ' Why, 
 the books Ilent you would have been better company 
 than that!' 
 
 'Yes, if I could only read them. But I can't — 
 at least not till grandma's gone to bed. It's a crime 
 to open a book in her opinion. I sit up till three in 
 the morning sometimes reading, though. I think I 
 know the Bride of Abyclos by heart. But even then 
 I get bullied about the candle being burnt out.' 
 
 ' I wouldn't say bullied, Loo. It's out of harmony 
 with feminine lips.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 215 
 
 ' Pitched into, then.' 
 
 'Worse and worse. Isn't it just as easy to Bay 
 scolded ?' 
 
 1 1 daresay it is ; but it does me more good to 
 say bullied. I do get bullied, nagged at and bullied 
 from morning till night. Is it my fault if things are 
 dearer than they used to be, and taxes higher '? I'm 
 sure I'm treated as if it was." 
 
 The old leaven would show itself sometimes in 
 this poor Louisa, despite of the refining influence 
 which had wrought so swift a change. Her mood 
 to-night was not the softest. She knew that she was 
 sinking back into the old lowness, for which she had 
 hated herself and her surroundings even to loathing; 
 but there was a sullen anger in her heart just now 
 which made her indifferent to her own degradation. 
 What did these small distinctions of language sig- 
 nify ? She could never be a lady. In the good old 
 days of the slave-trade it mattered very little to one 
 of that subject race what shade of blackness his 
 visage wore. There were no degrees of bondage. 
 Under that hateful law every colour counted as black. 
 So with Louisa's slavery to the bondmaster Poverty.
 
 216 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Of what use were her dim aspirations for refinement 
 when she knew herself without the pale ? 
 
 ' What's the good of telling me not to use vulgar 
 words ?' she asked sullenly ; ' I should never he like 
 her ;' with a jerk of her head in the direction of Mr. 
 Chamney's abode. 
 
 ' You might be a very superior young woman for 
 all that,' replied the painter, not disputing her pro- 
 position; 'you've brains enough for anything. Come, 
 Loo, I'll tell you a secret. We'd better walk towards 
 Voysey-street, though ; it doesn't look well standing 
 about here.' 
 
 ' As if looks mattered for such as me.' 
 
 'Your favourite Byron would have said "such 
 as I" — am understood. I don't know what's 
 amiss with you to-night, Loo ; you're not like your- 
 self.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am ; more like myself than I've been for 
 a long time. I've been trying hard to be like some 
 one else. Not her /' with another jerk ; ' for of 
 course that's impossible. Such as me — I — can't be 
 like perfection. You might as soon wash negroes 
 white — real negroes, not Christy's. I did try to grow
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 217 
 
 a little better, though; but to-night I had a fit of 
 unhappiness — or wickedness — I don't know which., 
 for in me they seem almost the same thing — and I 
 came out of doors to get out of myself if I could.' 
 
 'Poor Loo!' murmured Walter, iu the same 
 compassionate tone, as gently as if he had been try- 
 ing to comfort a fretful child. ' Poor foolish, im- 
 patient Loo ! Come, now, it's time I told you my 
 grand secret.' 
 
 ' That you're going to be married soon, I sup- 
 pose ?' she said. There are women who — in such 
 moods as this woman was now in — take a savage 
 pleasure in saying things that hurt them. 
 
 1 Nothing of the kind. I — well — to tell you the 
 truth, I've been a little unsettled in my ideas of 
 matrimony lately. Yet Flora is the sweetest girl in 
 the world. To deny that would be a kind of treason. 
 Only you see a man has to discover whether a parti- 
 cular kind of sweetness suits his particular temper, 
 and to be very sure that the hone} T never could cloy. 
 Some men even like their honey with a dash of 
 vinegar in it. In short, I have a disagreeable knack 
 of not knowing my own mind.'
 
 218 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 All this was said with as much freedom and 
 frankness as if he had been talking to a young man 
 instead of to a young woman. 
 
 ' What is your grand secret, then, if it isn't that?' 
 asked Loo, still in a sullen tone. 
 
 ' Why, it's about you, my dear Louisa. Ever so * 
 long ago, very soon after I began the "Lamia," I 
 determined to make you some little recompense for 
 your kindness in sitting to me.' 
 
 ' My kindness !' echoed the girl scornfully. ' As 
 if it wasn't pleasanter to me to sit and hear poetry 
 than to scrub floors or run errands.' 
 
 ' I'm glad it wasn't unpleasant ; but still it was a 
 kindness to me all the same. I made up my mind 
 I'd do something ; and when I found out what a 
 clever girl you are, I said to myself, the something 
 shall take the form of education. If the picture suc- 
 ceeds — it was a fancy of mine to make it contingent 
 on the success of the picture — I'll send Loo to the 
 best boarding-school I can find, for three years ; at 
 the end of which time she'll be a well-educated young 
 lady, and able to get her own living in a lady-like 
 manner. Young women are not at a discount as
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 219 
 
 they used to be ; there are telegraph-offices and 
 houses of business, and goodness kno % ws what, open 
 to the weaker sex nowadays. Well, the picture 
 hasn't succeeded yet ; in point of fact, it has not 
 been sent in. But the "Esmeralda" for which you 
 sat is the first picture I've ever had hung, and it's 
 been well spoken of in half a dozen newspapers. So 
 you see you've been lucky to me after all, Loo.' 
 
 ' I'm glad of that,' she said in a softer tone. 
 
 1 Therefore, as delays are dangerous, I've resolved 
 to finish the pictures you're sitting for as fast as I 
 can, and make immediate arrangements for sending 
 you to school.' 
 
 To his surprise and consternation the girl shook 
 her head resolutely. 
 
 'I won't go to school,' she said; 'it's very good 
 of you to think of it, and I'm grateful. But I don't 
 want schooling. You couldn't school me into a 
 lady; and as for being a governess, I couldn't sit 
 quiet to teach children grammar and geography if it 
 was my only chance of escaping starvation. I'm 
 pretty quick at figures, and I could learn anything I 
 should want to know for a house of busiuess in a
 
 220 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 quarter's evening school — at Mr. Primrose's in Cavs- 
 square. I think, though, I'd rather emigrate when 
 you've done your pictures. I had an aunt that went 
 to Australia, and I've sometimes thought of getting 
 away from Voysey-street and grandma's worrying by 
 going off like her.' 
 
 Walter Leyburne shuddered. Here was a strong- 
 minded young woman for whom he could do nothing 
 — a young woman who could calmly contemplate a 
 solitary voyage to the Antipodes. 
 
 ' I can't tell you how you've disappointed me,' he 
 said. ' Do think it over quietly, and try to see the 
 question in a different light. Consider all the ad- 
 vantages of education.' 
 
 ' What could it do for me except raise me above 
 my station ?' asked Loo moodily ; ' and make me 
 hate Voysey-street just a shade more than I do now. 
 It wouldn't give me a new father — not but what I'm 
 fond of him as he is — or a new grandmother. It 
 wouldn't make me more on a level with your perfect 
 young lady in Eitzroy-square.' 
 
 ' How you harp upon her, child ! Why, educa- 
 tion would raise you to her level ! It is only educa-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 221 
 
 tion that constitutes her present superiority. Her 
 sweetness is the sweetness of a refined nature which 
 has never been degraded by vulgar associations.' 
 
 'But my nature has been so degraded,' replied 
 Loo quickly. ' You couldn't wash the vulgarity out. 
 Laying English grammar and French, and music 
 and drawing, and the use of the globes, over the de- 
 gradation wouldn't be much use. It would be like 
 father's varnishing a bad picture — the picture may 
 look a little better, but the bad drawing and the false 
 colour are there all the same.' 
 
 ' You talk like a philosopher,' said the painter, 
 somewhat offended that his benevolent instincts 
 should be thus thwarted ; ■ and I bow to your supe- 
 rior judgment. I will say no more.' 
 
 • Now you're angry with me,' cried Louisa, quick 
 to hear the change in his tone ; ' but indeed I'm not 
 ungrateful. I should be so, if I let you waste your 
 money in trying to do something that can't be 
 done. As for education,' she went on with a sar- 
 donic laugh, ' rely upon it that's a luxury thrown 
 away upon people of our class. I can just read and 
 write and cast up a bill for grandma, and hold my
 
 222 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 own against the milkman when he wants us to pay 
 for ha'porths we haven't had. That's enough for 
 me. I don't suppose I could he fonder of Shake- 
 speare and Byron than I am, if I'd had ever so good 
 an education.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; hut you'd have a more critical 
 appreciation of both.' 
 
 ' That means that I should find out their faults. 
 Then I don't want to be critical.' 
 
 ' What a tiresome obstinate girl you are !' 
 
 ' 0, you can't lift me out of the mire ; I was 
 born in it. You've changed my life for a little time, 
 and brightened it ; but when the pictures are done, 
 good-bye to the brightness. You'll have done with 
 me.' 
 
 ' Done with you ! Now, Loo, is it kind to talk 
 like that, when I want to be your true and loyal 
 friend — as true to you as if we had been born brother 
 and sister ? The misfortune is, that the abominable 
 laws of society — made, of course, to restrain mis- 
 creants — give so narrow a scope for friendship 
 between a man of my age and a girl of yours. If 
 you won't let me send you to school, I don't know
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. *2'23 
 
 that there's a single thing I can do for you to prove 
 my friendship. I give you my honour I was think- 
 ing about this very subject at Richmond this after- 
 noon.' 
 
 • At Richmond !' exclaimed Loo. ' You had 
 been to Richmond with them, then ? I saw you all 
 get out of the carriage." 
 
 1 Foolish girl, to waste your time watching other 
 people.' 
 
 1 Richmond ! that's a pretty place, isn't it f 
 ' Rather,' replied the young lord of the universe, 
 secure in the possession of an income that would 
 allow him to range the world, from one garden of 
 enchantment to another, and not disposed to be 
 rapturous about a London suburb. ' Yes, it's a 
 niceish place. Haven't you been there*?' 
 
 • I've never been anywhere, except to Hampstead 
 Heath once, and to the Forest.' 
 
 • What forest ?' 
 
 ' Epping. Are there any other forests ?' 
 1 Any other forests ! Poor child ! To think that 
 this world is so beautiful, and you have hardly seen 
 anything outside Yoysey-street. Let the usages of
 
 224 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 society go hang ! I'm not a ruffian, and I won't be 
 fettered by them. Do you think your grandmother 
 would let me take you for a day in the country, Loo? 
 I could get a dog-cart from the livery-stables, and I'd 
 drive you down to some nice little village by the 
 Thames — Shepperton or Halliford, or some such 
 place. I'd ask the old lady to go with us ; only I'm 
 afraid she'd be rather a damper.' 
 
 ' She would,' said Loo candidly. ' She always is 
 a damper.' 
 
 ' Do you think she'd let us go ?' 
 
 ' I don't know. Perhaps if you asked her she 
 might.' 
 
 ' Then I'll propose it to her to-morrow, after 
 we've had a snack of some kind and a bottle or two 
 of Edinburgh. Would you like to see the hawthorn 
 hedges, and the river, and the reedy little islands, eh, 
 Loo?' 
 
 1 Would I like ! What have I ever seen of the 
 country, or of anything that's bright and pretty? 
 It would seem like being in heaven. I always think 
 the great beauty of heaven must be that it isn't like 
 Voysey- street.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 225 
 
 They were in the much-abused Voysey-street by 
 this time, and encountered two or three slip-shod 
 specimens of the genus girl, fetching supper-beer. 
 The chandler's shop was only just shutting ; it was 
 the noon of night at the shell-fish merchant's. They 
 parted at the door of the ladies' wardrobe, Walter 
 pledging himself to obtain Mrs. G-urner's permission 
 for that holiday beside the winding Thames. 
 
 ' You haven't any idea how jolly the river is, 
 when you get high up towards Windsor, above the 
 locks,' he said; and then bade Loo a kindly good- 
 night. The promised pleasure had restored her 
 spirits. Her eyes — those dark inscrutable eyes — had 
 brightened ; her whole aspect improved. Yet at the 
 last she flung a random shot. 
 
 ' What will Miss Chamney say if you take me 
 out ?' she said. 
 
 ' It cannot make the slightest difference to Miss 
 Chamney,' he answered stiffly. ' Good-night.' 
 
 The lifted hat, that dignified farewell, sent a chill 
 to Loo's impatient heart. 
 
 ' What's the good of my wearing myself into a 
 fever about him ?' she said to herself, as she went 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 through the dark little shop, into the airless parlour, 
 with a tolerable . certainty of being ' nagged at' for 
 her untimely absence. ' What am I to him, or he 
 to me ? There's nothing in nature farther apart. 
 His kindness to me is only charity. I almost hate 
 him for it.' 
 
 Yet she did not hate the idea of that day in the 
 country, but yearned for it with a longing that was 
 akin to pain. To be with him for a whole day, away 
 from all the sights and sounds of Voysey-street — 
 from the dirty room reeking with stale tobacco, the 
 slatternly grandmother in her greasy black- silk gown, 
 the sordid misery of her daily life ; to escape from 
 these things but for a few hours, and to be with him! 
 Was it any wonder that she sickened at the thought 
 of disappointment ?
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ' Twaa one of the charmed days 
 
 "When the genius of God doth flow — 
 The wind may alter twenty ways, 
 
 A tempest cannot blow : 
 It may blow north, it still is warm; 
 
 Or south, it still is clear : 
 Or east, it smells like a clover farm ; 
 
 Or west, no thunder fear.' 
 
 Mrs. Gubner, conciliated by a Melton Mowbray 
 veal-and-ham pie, washed down with copious draughts 
 of Edinburgh ale, proved more tractable than might 
 have been expected. She did not forget that dignity 
 which was the strong rock of her life. She dilated 
 upon the impropriety of a young gentleman giving a 
 young lady a day's outing, unless those two young 
 people were specifically understood by their circle of 
 friends or acquaintance to be ' keeping company." 
 She had seen enough of good manners, before* her 
 misfortunes reduced her from the sphere in which 
 she had been born and brought up, to be fully in-
 
 228 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 structed upon this point. People who were keeping 
 company might go where they liked ; people who 
 were not keeping company must defer to the pre- 
 judices of a too censorious world. 
 
 Walter reddened a little at these remarks, while 
 Loo frowned and bit her nether lip, and tried to tread 
 upon her grandmother's foot under the table. 
 
 1 Never mind the censorious world, Mrs. Gurner. 
 I hope you know that I'm not a scoundrel.' 
 
 ' I have always found you, in every respect, the 
 gentleman,' said the old lady, pouring out a final 
 tumbler of Younger's Edinburgh. 
 
 ' Then you may feel sure that your granddaughter 
 will be safe in my care. I only want to give her a 
 few hours' fresh air. See how white she looks.' 
 
 ' I feel the want of fresh air myself,' said the elder 
 lady, with a faint groan ; ' but no one troubles them- 
 selves about my looks.' 
 
 Walter felt uncomfortable. 
 
 ' I'm sure, my dear Mrs. Gurner, if you'd like to 
 go with us — ' he began, making a desperate offer. 
 It would be fearful to have that old woman beside 
 him in the dog-cart : and he could hardly put her
 
 LOST FOR LOTE. 229 
 
 on the back seat, with the possibility of her being 
 jolted off and flattened upon the pavement. He 
 wanted to be alone with Loo. He wanted a long 
 sunny day in rural lanes, sheltered by elder and 
 hawthorn, beside the winding river. He wanted to 
 talk of Shakespeare and Keats and Byron, pictures, 
 his hopes, his future — all those subjects which this 
 poor uneducated Loo seemed to understand even 
 better than Flora Chamney. 
 
 Happily Mrs. Gurner had mercy on him. 
 
 ' No,' she said, ' two's company. I should only 
 be an encumbrance. Besides, I've had so little fresh 
 air of late years that it might turn me giddy. Let 
 her go ; let her enjoy herself ; youth's the time for 
 happiness.' This with a dismal sigh. 
 
 The consent was yielded, however, and that was 
 all Mr. Leyburne cared about. 
 
 1 If it's a fine day to-morrow I shall call for you 
 at eleven o'clock,' said Walter. 
 
 Loo tried not to look quite as delighted as she 
 was. After all, she kept saying to herself, his kind- 
 ness was only pity. 
 
 Walter went away curiously pleased at having
 
 230 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 gained his point. The idea of to-morrow's holiday 
 elated him. He was surprised at his own gladness. 
 
 ' There's something so fresh and original about 
 her,' he thought. ' I suppose that's why I like her 
 society so much. Or is it because I ought not to 
 be so fond of her company? ought not to have a 
 thought for any one except that dear little Flora, who 
 seems to have been created on purpose for me ? I 
 wonder how it was Eve listened to the serpent. Was 
 it out of sheer perversity, or because Adam was rather 
 a dull companion ?' 
 
 The next day was glorious, balmy, midsummer- 
 like ; a day which raised Walter Leyburne's spirits 
 to their most joyous point. The ostler from the 
 livery- stables had the dog-cart ready for him when he 
 went into the yard. He had been artful enough to 
 go to the yard for that vehicle, rather than have it 
 brought to his door in Fitzroy-square. He saw no 
 actual wrong in what he was doing ; but it seemed 
 to him just as well that neither Mark nor Miss 
 Chamney should know anything about this little ex- 
 cursion. 
 
 He drove briskly round to Yoysey-street, astonish-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 231 
 
 ing the gutter children hy the splendour of his 
 appearance, in light-gray dust-coat and white hat. 
 Loo was ready. She had put on her claret- 
 coloured silk, his own gift, to do hirn honour. A 
 black-lace shawl, the loan of which Mrs. Garner 
 had on this occasion conceded, draped her sloping 
 shoulders, a little black-lace bonnet, ingeniously con- 
 structed out of odds and ends, perched coquettishly 
 upon her raven hair — hair which was plenteous 
 enough to need no help from art — her father, who 
 knew of the intended excursion, and expressed no 
 disapproval, had given her three-and-sixpence for a 
 new pair of gloves. The result was satisfactory, and 
 Miss Gurner looked remarkably handsome — so hand- 
 some that Walter was almost startled. 
 
 'Why you look better than "Lamia" !' he ex- 
 claimed ; ' and I thought I had you there at your 
 best. There's more life, more colour. I suppose it's 
 because you look so happy. Poor child, to think that 
 the prospect of a drive in the country can give you so 
 much pleasure !' 
 
 1 It isn't that — it's the prospect of being with 
 you,' the girl answered, almost involuntarily.
 
 232 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Walter reddened a little — just as he had reddened 
 yesterday when Mrs. Gurner made that awkward 
 speech about keeping company ; but he said never a 
 word, and pretended to be rather busy with the horse 
 for the next half-mile. 
 
 They left London by the Bayswater-road. For a 
 long time villas and gardens, terraces, houses, 
 detached and semi-detached, flashed by in endless 
 succession ; but when they had crossed Hammer- 
 smith-bridge they seemed to be in the country. 
 Walter drove into Kichmond Park by the Sheen gate, 
 and across by the wildest, loneliest roads in that 
 lovely park, to the Kingston gate; little bursts of 
 rapture breaking from Loo's lips at every change in 
 the picture — the scudding deer starting up from the 
 young fern ; the arching elms above the road ; the 
 plantations of pine and fir and tender larch, where 
 young gray rabbits flashed in and out among the 
 undergrowth. These things were all as new to Louisa 
 Gurner as life and the world were to that ivory 
 statue of King Pygmalion's, which the indulgent 
 goddess endowed with consciousness. 
 
 Walter drove slowly through the park. To the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 233 
 
 painter's eye, the vernal landscape was ever new and 
 delightful, and he wanted to see what impression 
 natural beauty would make upon Louisa. For a 
 little while she spoke not a word, but gazed breath- 
 less, with parted lips, only expressing her pleasure 
 by that occasional cry of delight ; but words came at 
 last. 
 
 ' I don't so much wonder now,' she said. 
 
 * You don't wonder at what ?' 
 
 1 Keats and Byron. It puzzled me so much to 
 think where all their beautiful thoughts came from. 
 But now I know the world is so lovely, it doesn't 
 seem so strange there should be poets. A poet 
 couldn't come out of Voysey-street.' 
 
 1 He would hardly be much of a singer if he had 
 never been face to face with nature certainly. Yet 
 there might be stuff for such a muse as Crabbe's, 
 even in Voysey-street. And so you think the world 
 lovely, do you, Loo ? Yet Richmond Park is only a 
 little bit of the world Byron knew.' 
 
 ' I feel as if I'd seen all that he saw,' answered 
 Loo. ' When I read Childe Harold late at- night, 
 while grandma's asleep — not reading it as you'd read
 
 234 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 a novel, you know, but gloating over it — I seem to be 
 standing by his side. If you were to ask me what 
 Lake Leman was like, or the mountains, or Borne, I 
 couldn't tell you ; but I feel as if I had it all in my 
 mind — the w r ater, and the sky, and the warm sweet 
 air, and everything standing out clear and vivid, like 
 a picture.' 
 
 ' The work of a strong imagination, Loo. Bather 
 a dangerous gift,' said Walter, with the air of a sage. 
 
 ' Is it ? Well, sometimes I do fancy I was hap- 
 pier before I knew there were such people as poets. 
 I used to feel miserable enough then, to be sure, 
 but it was a dull quiet kind of misery; it didn't 
 hurt me so much. I could always sleep when I was 
 tired, and forget my troubles. I don't think I ever 
 dreamt, in those days. But now I feel restless, and 
 there's a fever in my mind sometimes, and I have 
 such wishes and longings for a brighter life !' 
 
 This speech, uttered with that reckless candour 
 which was a characteristic of Loo's, made Mr. Ley- 
 burne somewhat thoughtful. 
 
 1 I'll tell you what it is, Loo,' he began presently; 
 ' if you'd only let me carry out that idea of mine
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. '235 
 
 about your education, you might have as bright and 
 happy a life as any girl need wish for. Just think 
 how many doors education would open for you. You 
 might get a situation as governess or companion in 
 some family who were roving about the Continent, 
 and then you would see Switzerland, and Italy, and 
 all the ground Childe Harold travelled over. Do 
 just consider.' 
 
 1 1 have considered, and I won't be beholden to 
 you,' answered Loo bluntly. 'I don't want to be 
 educated ; I don't want to be made any better than 
 I am. I should only feel my degradation more than 
 I do now.' 
 
 1 But, my dear girl, why harp upon what you 
 call your degradation '? There's no degradation in 
 poverty.' 
 
 1 Perhaps not. I daresay some people have the 
 art of making poverty delightful. You read about 
 such people in novels. But there is degradation in 
 dirt, and we are dirty ; not for want of scrubbing and 
 cleaning, for I don't spare that ; but because every- 
 thing about us is old and dingy and grubby ; the 
 dirt seems to have got into the pores of the house ;
 
 236 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and then grandma is dirty — it grows upon her as she 
 gets older. And there's degradation in fine words 
 mispronounced and misapplied; and grandma does 
 it. There's degradation in not being able to pay 
 one's way; and we can't pay ours. There's degra- 
 dation in telling stories about pictures ; and father 
 does it. You can't lift me out of all that; I'm 
 steeped to the lips in it.' 
 
 ' Keally, Loo, you are the most incorrigible girl!' 
 exclaimed Walter, sorely vexed by this obstinacy in 
 Miss Gurner. 
 
 He wanted to do her some real service, feeling 
 that he had done her disservice by raising her ideas 
 above the dull level of her most prosaic surroundings. 
 
 ' What am I to do for you, Loo ?' he cried. 
 
 ' Let me alone. I don't want to be taught to 
 despise father. You can give me a day's pleasure 
 like this, once in a way, if you like. I can live th e 
 rest of my life looking forward to it.' 
 
 Walter did not respond promptly to this sugges- 
 tion. He had begun to think already that this day 
 in the country — a scheme of purest benevolence, like 
 the summer treats which the charitable provide for
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 237 
 
 ragged-school children — was rather a foolish busi- 
 ness. Loo, with all her abruptness and roughness, 
 was a dangerously interesting young person to the 
 artistic mind — all the more interesting, perhaps, 
 because so unconventional. There must be no repe- 
 tition of this country drive, if he wished to marry 
 Flora Chamney. 
 
 But did he wish to marry Miss Chamney? Of 
 course he did — dear sweet little Flora, who was so 
 fond of him. He had found out that secret ever 
 so long ago. Pretty little Flora, whose voice went 
 so well with his own, whose little hand trembled 
 sometimes when he touched it unawares. Innocent 
 little Flora, who was struggling up the steep moun- 
 tain of art, with a box of crayons, chalking Gulnares 
 and ancient beggarmen ad nauseam. Could he help 
 loving that dear little girl, especially when Mark 
 Chamney's desire upon this subject was so obvious ? 
 
 For ten minutes or even a quarter of an hour, 
 Mr. Leyburne gave himself up to serious meditation. 
 They were at Kingston by that time, driving through 
 the gay little market-town, with its quaint gables and 
 old-world air ; then down by the Thames, and onward
 
 238 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 towards Thames Ditton and Moulsey. Loo was 
 gazing around with wide admiring eyes. The solemn 
 avenue yonder skirting the Palace grounds, the clear 
 rippling water, the pretty villas, all bright with 
 tulip-beds and hyacinth-boxes, and early roses on 
 southern walls ; the cottage-gardens full of wall- 
 flowers breathing sweetest odours. A world of 
 beauty verily, after Voysey-street. 
 
 ' Come, Loo,' said Mr. Leyburne, putting aside 
 serious thought as a business that could stand over, 
 ' it's almost time we began to think of halting some- 
 where. I mean to give you a row, as well as a drive. 
 I know a nice little inn at Thames Ditton where 
 they'll give us a comfortable dinner ; and while 
 they're getting it ready, I'll row you up to 'Hampton - 
 Court-bridge, and we can land there and take a stroll 
 in the Palace gardens ; it's early yet, and there's no 
 hurry.' 
 
 'I wish the day could last for ever,' said Loo, 
 with a sigh ; ' everything is so lovely.' 
 
 ' The drive home will be still nicer, for we shall 
 have moonlight.' 
 
 ' Yes, but it will be near the end then !'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 239 
 
 They drove to the little inn — a quiet hostelry, 
 almost unknown save to boating-men ; here Walter 
 delivered the horse to the care of a friendly ostler. 
 
 1 You've taken it out of him pretty well, sir !' said 
 the man. 
 
 1 I've brought him down from London. I don't 
 call that very much.' 
 
 'No more it ain't, sir; but he looks rather the 
 worst for it.' 
 
 ' Well, give him a pail of warm gruel, and make 
 him as comfortable as you can. He won't be wanted 
 till eight o'clock.' 
 
 'All right, sir!' 
 
 Walter went in quest of a boat. There were 
 several lying on the little hard just in front of the 
 inn-garden. He picked the lightest and brightest- 
 looking, and presently they were gliding over the 
 clear water towards Hampton, between banks that 
 were all rustic, rush-bordered, willow-shaded. And 
 now they began to talk ; Walter dipping the sculls 
 lazily into the water, the boat making slowest pro- 
 gress against the stream. 
 
 How he talked ! pouring out every thought and
 
 240 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 fancy as freely as if Loo were his second-self, his 
 twin-born spirit, with a mind that nature had attuned 
 to his — she seemed to understand him so thoroughly, 
 and all she said chimed in so well with his own 
 thoughts. 
 
 What can surpass the delight of two minds thus 
 in harmony? One long summer's day of careless 
 talk, between such companions, is a memory to out- 
 last all vulgar pleasures, and endure changeless 
 through a lifetime. Walter Leyburne had never been 
 happier than he was to-day, leaning forward with 
 slow-dipping oars, reciting his dreams, his hopes, his 
 desires to Louisa Gurner. They lingered on the 
 river, careless of the flight of time ; then landed and 
 sauntered in the prim old-fashioned gardens, with 
 their glorious vistas of blossoming chestnuts, their 
 placid artificial waters, their famous basin of gold fish. 
 Still the stream of talk flowed on, and time was for- 
 gotten. 
 
 'I wish I'd had a sister like you, Loo!' said 
 Walter, as they stood side by side looking down at 
 the smooth water in the Home Park on the other 
 side of the iron rails. ' I'd have made you a painter,
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 241 
 
 if you'd been my sister, and we should have been 
 such chums !' 
 
 ' You can make your wife a painter when you're 
 married !' answered Loo, with a faint touch of bitter- 
 ness ; ' that pretty Miss Chamney you're engaged to 
 — I've heard you say she paints very nicely.' 
 
 ' Yes, she has talent, but it will be a long time 
 before it comes to anything that I should call paint- 
 ing, and she hasn't so bold a mind as yours, Loo : 
 she's not such a companion to a man as you are. 
 One must sing duets, or talk about the last book she 
 has read, to get on with her ; but you seem to under- 
 stand and sympathise with me about everything; you 
 follow my thoughts everywhere, even when you have 
 to grope through the dark. When I talked to you 
 about iEschylus just now, I could see that you went 
 with me into the dark hall where Agamemnon lay 
 groaning in his bath. Flora would have only shud- 
 dered, and said " How dreadful !" ' 
 
 ' But she has been well educated, and must know 
 a great deal more than I do.' 
 
 * She doesn't know a great deal of anything, but 
 she knows a little of everything. She hasn't such 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 deep thoughts as you have, Loo. Pray don't sup- 
 pose that I mean to depreciate her ; she is a dear lit- 
 tle thing, and clever too in her feminine way ; she's 
 essentially feminine. If all women were like her, no 
 one could ever have talked of the equality of the sexes. 
 You might as well talk of equality between the oak 
 and the primrose that grows at its foot, as talk of 
 Flora's equality with a rough strong man.' 
 ' That sounds like high praise.' 
 ' Yes, she is a sweet little thing. But you make 
 a mistake, Loo, when you talk of my being engaged 
 to Miss Chamney. I am not actually engaged to her.' 
 ' Something very much like it though, I should 
 think,' answered Loo. 'You talked as if it was a 
 settled thing six months ago ; and since then you've 
 been always hanging about her, spending your even- 
 ings at her house.' 
 
 i Except when I've spent them in Voysey-street.' 
 ' Except when you've dropped in to talk about 
 pictures with father.' 
 
 ' And stopped to supper, and acquired a depraved 
 appetite for liver-and-bacon, and sausages, and tripe,' 
 said Walter, laughing.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 243 
 
 There was a cloud on Louisa's brow which he 
 was anxious to disperse. 
 
 ' Be sure of one thing, Loo,' he said ; ' whether I 
 marry Miss Chamney or whether I don't, I shall al- 
 ways be your true friend, and as anxious for your 
 welfare as if you were my sister.' 
 
 1 It's all very well to promise that,' answered Loo, 
 with a sceptical air : ' but you can't tell how Miss 
 Chamney would like it, when she's your wife. She 
 mightn't care about such friends as me.' 
 
 1 She would care for any one I cared for.' 
 
 1 That's as may be ; she wouldn't care for any one 
 out of Voysey-street ; she wouldn't care for a person 
 connected with second-hand clothes — it isn't likely. 
 But don't let us talk of disagreeable things. Tell 
 me something more about Skylous.' 
 
 ' JEschylus !' suggested Walter ; and obeyed the 
 damsel's bidding. It was much pleasanter to dis- 
 course upon the mighty trilogy than to discuss that 
 doubtful and perplexing question of his future rela- 
 tions with Flora Chamney and Louisa Gurner. He 
 wished to do his duty to both, and please everybody. 
 Rather a difficult achievement.
 
 244 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 With the help of Agamemnon and Orestes plea- 
 santness soon returned to their discourse ; and for- 
 getful of possible damage to the dinner ordered at 
 the Black Swan, they dawdled under the chestnuts 
 and in the quaint old garden, with its reminiscences 
 of jovial Charles and Dutch William. 
 
 Mr. Leyburne, having abandoned Orestes to the 
 Furies, gave Loo a brief historical lecture, on the 
 strength of their surroundings, and felt that there 
 was no easier or more agreeable labour than to open 
 the gates of knowledge to a sharp-witted and sensible 
 young person. 
 
 ' I tell you what it is, Loo,' he said, ' you're what 
 the Italians call sympatica, and it's the easiest thing 
 in the world to get on with you. When I think how 
 little you know and how much you understand, I'm 
 absolutely thunderstruck.' 
 
 Loo blushed at his praise ; and that bright 
 youthful look which means happiness glowed in 
 her face. 
 
 They were a long time strolling about the gar- 
 dens, a long time going back to the boat, nor did Mr. 
 Leyburne exert himself tremendously in the row back
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 245 
 
 to the Swan. The sun was sloping westward as they 
 landed on the little causeway below the inn-garden. 
 
 1 Never mind the sun,' said Walter, when Loo 
 suggested that it was growing late ; ' we shall have 
 the moon with us all the way home. The drive over 
 Kingston Hill, on the old Portsmouth road, is splen- 
 did by moonlight.' 
 
 All was very quiet at the Black Swan. The boat- 
 ing-men, who were the chief supporters of that river- 
 side hostelry, were nowhere to be seen. Walter and 
 Loo had the place all to themselves, as if they had 
 been alone together in a world of their own. An 
 elderly waiter exhibited an almost fatherly interest in 
 their welfare, chid them gently for having occasioned 
 the spoiling of an excellent dinner, and waited upon 
 them with tender care. 
 
 Happily, neither Mr. Leyburne nor his companion 
 cared very much whether the stewed eels were re- 
 duced to a pulpy condition, or the duckling roasted 
 to rags. Walter had ordered a bottle of iced Moselle, 
 which exhilarating beverage Louisa tasted for the 
 first time. There was a gooseberry-tart with a jug 
 of cream, which these young people preferred to the
 
 24G LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 coarser dishes that had gone before. Altogether the 
 dinner was a success — to one of them at least a para- 
 disiacal banquet. They lingered over it as they had 
 lingered over every stage of that day of pleasure. 
 The fatherly waiter brought them a pair of wax-can- 
 dles, and the moon shone in through the now open 
 casement of the rustic parlour, while they were still 
 engaged with that delicious gooseberry-tart, happily 
 unconscious that they had perchance been taking 
 gooseberries in another form in their Moselle. 
 
 Even gooseberry-tart and cream must come to an 
 end. The parental waiter cleared the table with that 
 gentle dilatoriness which was the pervading charm of 
 his manner, removing the glasses one by one, and 
 toying fondly with the crumbs as he brushed them 
 into his tray. Loo went to the window and looked out. 
 The placid river ran rippling by under the moon- 
 light — how different from that dismal Phlegethon 
 she had seen sometimes from Waterloo-bridge ! — the 
 opposite shore had a dusky look against the clear 
 dark azure of the sky ; shadowy willows dipping in the 
 stream, solemn poplars rising spire-like into the blue. 
 
 'I'm afraid it's ever so late,' said Loo, in an
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 247 
 
 alarmed tone, looking round at Walter, who sat with 
 his elbows on the table, staring straight before him, 
 curiously thoughtful ; ' how that Moselle makes one 
 forget things ! I never thought how the time was 
 going.' 
 
 1 Why should you think about it ?' asked Walter, 
 waking from his reverie. ' We are very happy, aren't 
 we, Loo ? What can anybody be more than happy ? 
 What can time matter to you and me ?' 
 
 'But it does matter a good deal,' answered Loo 
 anxiously. ' Grandma didn't say anything about the 
 time I was to be home, and I forgot to ask her how 
 long I might stay. But I know she'd be very angry 
 if I was late ; and goodness knows how father might 
 go on about it. He's dreadful when he's angry.' 
 
 'He sha'n't be dreadful to you, Loo, if I'm by," 
 said Walter, looking at his watch, but taking care 
 not to enlighten Louisa as to the hour, which was 
 later than he had supposed. ' What time do your 
 people go to bed ?' 
 
 ' All hours ; sometimes eleven, sometimes twelve; 
 sometimes ten, if father's cross. He generally goes 
 to bed early if he's put out about anything.'
 
 248 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 ' We shall be home before twelve, I daresay, Loo,' 
 answered Walter, trying to look unconcerned; he felt 
 that he had been guilty in letting the time slip past. 
 It hardly seemed a correct thing — even in a Bohemian 
 state of society — to keep a young lady out till mid- 
 night. 
 
 ' Before twelve !' exclaimed Loo, aghast. ' But 
 that's dreadfully late ; father's sure to be angry.' 
 
 'He shall not say a disagreeable word to you, 
 Loo. I'll see him and explain everything.' 
 
 ' If he'll listen to you,' said Loo, still frightened 
 at the idea of parental wrath ; ' but he's so violent 
 when he's in one of his tempers, and doesn't care for 
 any one.' 
 
 ' I'll smooth him down, Loo, depend upon it. 
 And now go and put on your things, while they get 
 the trap round.' 
 
 Loo ran away to put on her bonnet and shawl, and 
 Walter gave the order for the immediate preparation 
 of the dog-cart. It was past ten already, and there 
 was little hope of his seeing Voysey-street till after 
 twelve.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ' Love is no deity except when twin-born, 
 Sprung from two hearts, each yearning unto each, 
 Until they meet, though Hades yawn'd between them. 
 Thou art to me the world's one man, and I, 
 For good or ill, to thee the world's one woman.' 
 
 Having given his order, Mr. Leyburne went out into 
 the garden to smoke a parting cigar. His thoughts 
 had been curiously unsettled that afternoon ; the 
 cigar might have a soothing influence, and enable 
 him to arrange his ideas better. 
 
 The air of the garden was perfumed with lilacs, 
 guelder roses gleamed whitely in the dusk of the 
 shrubberied border, the plish-plash of the river had 
 a soothing sound — altogether a nice place for medi- 
 tation and tobacco. 
 
 How happy he had been that day ! What fresh- 
 ness and life there had been in Loo's companionship! 
 Never for a moment had their talk flagged, save in 
 those thoughtful pauses when silence is sweeter than
 
 250 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 words — never bad lie felt himself misunderstood. 
 This was indeed society. 
 
 What if he were to shut his eyes to Loo's 
 wretched surroundings and secure this companion- 
 ship to himself for ever — make this day only the 
 image and type of many a day to come — a lifetime 
 of such days ? Alas, there were too many reasons 
 against his taking such a step ! First, it is an al- 
 most impossible thing to sever a woman from her 
 surroundings. To marry Loo would be to ally him- 
 self with grandma — grandma in her greasy gown ; 
 grandma whose breath hinted but too plainly at 
 pickled onions, whose slipshod feet, dingy finger- 
 nails, and affected gentility would be too heavy a 
 burden even for affection — with Jarred ; Jarred of 
 doubtful honesty, doubtful cleanliness ; Jarred the 
 tricky and unscrupulous. From the thought of al- 
 liance with these Walter Leyburne recoiled with ab- 
 solute horror. 
 
 In the second place he felt himself in a manner 
 tacitly engaged to Flora. True that no word of 
 love had ever passed between them ; yet those gentle 
 looks of hers, those gracious tones, were not the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. '251 
 
 looks and tones of indifference. Could he, after all 
 these months of happy fireside companionship, after 
 being trusted by her father, coolly depart out of her 
 life, and leave her, perhaps on the threshold of an 
 awful parting — for Walter had seen the stamp of 
 doom on Mark Chamney' 8 face, and knew there must 
 soon be severance for that devoted father and daugh- 
 ter — could he, knowing this, knowing how utterly 
 lonely that poor child was, basely desert her, even if 
 Bohemian Loo, with her gipsy cleverness, pleased 
 his fancy better? He knew that Mark Chamney 
 looked upon him as his future son-in-law. Mark, 
 always transparent as crystal, had said enough to 
 reveal that hope which had been in his mind from 
 the very beginning of his acquaintance with the 
 young painter. Flora would have a fortune about 
 equal to his own ; Chamney had told him that. 
 There could be no question of mercenary feeling 
 here. But to marry Loo would be to fling himself 
 into a nest of adventurers. Even if Loo herself 
 were free from every thought of greed, from every 
 worldly consideration— and he was inclined to think 
 her as indifferent to his wealth as Flora — could he
 
 252 
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 doubt that Jarred and grandma, those advanced stu- 
 dents in the school of poverty, were eager to draw 
 him into their toils, and would pluck him merci- 
 lessly were he to fall into the snare ? 
 
 It was a connection which any young man with a 
 grain of common sense would avoid as he would 
 shun the bottomless pit. And yet — and yet — what 
 a noble creature Loo had looked to-night, as she 
 stood by the open window looking out at the moon- 
 lit river ! What power and genius in that darkly- 
 pale countenance, those splendid eyes, the eyes 
 which had inspired him with the first idea of his 
 Lamia ! The claret-coloured dress became her tall 
 slim figure, harmonised wonderfully with her com- 
 plexion, and the dense blackness of her hair. In 
 that dress, in that careless attitude, so graceful in 
 its unconscious repose, she had looked as much a 
 lady as if her name had been written in Burke's 
 County Families, her birthplace a baronial hall. 
 Even her voice and manner of speaking had attuned 
 themselves to his — she had lost the twang of Voysey- 
 street. 
 
 * If she were my wife to-morrow I should be
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 253 
 
 proud to show her to the world just as she is. No 
 one would guess that she came out of a shop for se- 
 cond-hand gowns. If she and Flora were seen side 
 by side, people would be more struck with her than 
 with Flora ; she has more style, more originality. 
 She would look like a tropical flower beside an Eng- 
 lish primrose.' 
 
 With such musings Mr. Leyburne beguiled the 
 time till the dog-cart was ready. The result of his 
 meditation was almost negative. He felt himself 
 very much where he was before. Loo pleased his 
 fancy most, and an artist's fancy is so great a part 
 of his life. Flora had the stronger claim upon his 
 heart. Prudence said, 'Marry Flora.' Errant ima- 
 gination whispered, ' With whom are you so happy 
 as with Loo ?' Duty urged, ' You are bound to 
 Flora.' Conscience suggested, ' May you not have 
 endangered Loo's peace of mind ?' 
 
 He left the garden with an uncomfortable feeling 
 that, do what he would, he must wrong somebody. 
 That scheme of giving Loo a good education, upon 
 which he had relied as a happy issue out of his diffi- 
 culties, had been a failure. What else could he do
 
 254 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 to prove his friendship for this singular girl? If 
 she would not accept education from him, she would, 
 of course, reject all pecuniary help. She would take 
 nothing from him ; and he could not marry her. 
 He must therefore leave her amidst the wretchedness 
 in which he had discovered her, leave her with a 
 keener appreciation of her misery. 
 
 Loo was waiting for him in the room where they 
 had dined, and the dog-cart was ready. He had 
 but a glimpse of her face as they went out through 
 the lamplit door of the inn, but he saw that she was 
 very pale, and he fancied he saw traces of tears upon 
 the anxious -looking face. 
 
 ' Come, Loo, don't be down-hearted,' he said ; ' I 
 thought you had more moral courage than to be 
 afraid of a few cross words from your father, even if 
 he should think we have stayed too late. I'll stand 
 by you, come what may. Yes,' he added, with a 
 little gush of feeling, as he settled her comfortably 
 by his side in the dog-cart, and wrapped her in the 
 warm shaggy rug— 'yes, dear, I'll be true to you, 
 come what may.' 
 
 The words thrilled her. They had driven away
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. *255 
 
 from the inn, and were in a narrow bit of road, a 
 mere lane leading up from that waterside tavern t i 
 the high-road, a dark bit of lane, sheltered and 
 shrouded by over-arching trees. His breath was on 
 her cheek, his disengaged arm, which had been busy 
 arranging that rug for her comfort, clasped her 
 waist, and drew her suddenly to him. Before she 
 knew what was coming, his lips were on hers, in the 
 first kiss of an irresistible love. 
 
 In the next moment they were on the moonlit 
 high-road, and Mr. Leyburne had concentrated his 
 attention upon his horse. 
 
 ' You shouldn't have done that,' said Loo, with 
 a choking sound like a sob, as she readjusted her 
 slightly disorganised bonnet. 
 
 ' Do you think I don't know that I shouldn't ? 
 It was almost as bad as Paolo's kiss, and I deserve 
 to float about in torment for it by and by — only with 
 you, Loo. This shade should never leave you. 0, 
 Loo, why have you made yourself so dear to me '? I 
 want to do my duty to you, to everybody. I am al- 
 most engaged to that dear little girl in Fitzroy- 
 square. I can't tell you how good she is, how pure
 
 256 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and innocent and confiding. I verily believe she 
 thinks me a demi-god, and that she'd be miserable 
 if I were to desert her.' 
 
 * Who wants you to desert her ?' demanded Loo, 
 in a hard dry voice. ' I'm sure I don't. If you 
 wished even — which of course you don't — to make a 
 fool of yourself for my sake, do you suppose I would 
 let you ? I know too much of the world for that, 
 though I have been brought up in Voysey-street. 
 Don't let's talk nonsense any more, please, Mr. Ley- 
 burne. It was very mean of you to act like that just 
 now ; but I'm willing to pass it over, if it isn't re- 
 peated.' 
 
 'You say that almost like your grandmother, 
 Loo. There's a touch of the old lady's dignity. I 
 won't offend you again ; it was the fault of the dark 
 lane. But if you knew what I felt just then, I think 
 you'd forgive me.' 
 
 ' But I don't know, you see,' remarked Loo. 
 
 1 1 felt as if I could surrender all I care for most 
 in the world for that one kiss — how much more 
 easily for the sake of going through life with you for 
 my companion ! I've been utterly happy to-day with
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 257 
 
 you, darling. And yet, if I am to marry Flora, this 
 ought to he our first and last day together. It's 
 such a perilous happiness, Loo. I wouldn't wish 
 the repetition of it.' 
 
 'If I'd thought you were going to talk to me 
 like this, I wouldn't have come with you,' said Loo. 
 
 How wildly her heart was heating all the time, 
 and what exquisite joy she felt at the avowal her lips 
 reproved ! They were driving along the road be- 
 tween Thames Ditton and Kingston, the moonlit 
 river flowing beside them ; on the other side villas, 
 with a light gleaming here and there in upper win- 
 dows, denoting that the inhabitants of this peaceful 
 region had for the most part retired for the night. 
 
 The horse flagged a little already, and Mr. Ley- 
 burne had to administer frequent encouragement with 
 reins or whip. 
 
 'I'm afraid this fellow's done up,' he said. 
 
 1 Will he be very long getting us home?' asked Loo. 
 
 ' I hope not. I daresay he'll go better presently 
 when he feels his feet under him.' 
 
 And in this hope they proceeded at a very mode- 
 rate pace towards Kingston. 
 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 Who would have wished to hasten that moon- 
 light journey, through scenes which, always fair, 
 assumed a dream-like heauty in this tender light ? 
 Not Louisa assuredly, fearful though she felt of her 
 father's prohahle anger. Not Walter, for this pre- 
 sent hour was to him supremely delightful. The 
 future was all cloud and perplexity, hut the present 
 was all- sufficing. They drove through the silent 
 market-town, where a light in the casement of a 
 solitary gahle alone gave token of life. They mounted 
 the hill, and were again alone with nature. That 
 Portsmouth road has a solemn look after sundown, 
 densely wooded here and there, and with steep hanks 
 that rise from the roadside on either hand. Silence 
 was round them ; they had night and the world all 
 to themselves. Walter's lips, once loosened, were 
 not easily locked, and between Kingston and Putney 
 he had said everything which he had intended to 
 leave unsaid. All his wise reflections in the inn- 
 garden went for nothing. He poured his impas- 
 sioned tale of a love that had stolen upon him una- 
 wares into Loo's too willing ear. The girl drank 
 the poison, hut showed more firmness and wisdom
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 259 
 
 than her lover. By not a word did she betray the 
 depth of her own feelings. 
 
 * Upon my soul, you're as cold as ice, Loo,' he 
 said at last, angered by her remonstrances or her 
 silence ; for she only spoke to reprove his folly. 
 1 One would think you were hardened in the ways of 
 the world, and hadn't a spark of feeling left. You 
 might as well tell me if you care for me, or if I'm 
 making an idiot of myself for nothing.' 
 
 1 You sha'n't make me answer a question which 
 you have no right to ask,' Loo replied resolutely. 
 * You promised to give me a day's pleasure in the 
 country. Do you suppose I'd have come if I'd known 
 you were going on at me like this ? It's mean of 
 you. If I could get out of the dog-cart and walk 
 back to London, I'd do it.' 
 
 1 Don't talk like that, Loo ; you don't know how 
 it wounds me. I thought you cared for me — just a 
 little. I shouldn't have humiliated myself if I hadn't 
 thought so. Never mind ; I won't say another word. 
 I daresay Flora will many me if I beg very hard.' 
 
 1 Of course she will ; and she is the proper person 
 for you to marry. Xobody ever doubted that. And you
 
 260 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 know you love her, and think her like some innocent 
 spring flower, white and pure and delicate, too tender 
 to be left alone in the hard rough world,' said Loo with 
 heroic unselfishness, reminding him of his own words. 
 
 ' Very well, Loo, since you wish it I'll say no 
 more,' he answered with dignity, and again devoted 
 all his attention to the horse. 
 
 That tired steed was in such sorry condition, that 
 it was nearly two o'clock when they drove slowly 
 down Voysey- street, making an awful ho] low- sound- 
 ing clatter upon the uneven stones ; Loo possessed 
 by nameless fears. What would her father say to 
 this post-midnight return ? How might he not abuse 
 her ? Too well did she know that hideous vocabulary 
 which he employed in moments of passion. She 
 trembled as they drew near the house, from whose 
 blank windows shone no friendly gleam of light. 
 
 There was no difficulty about holding the horse. 
 That exhausted quadruped had little inclination to 
 move, though he must have been sentient of the 
 neighbourhood of his stable. 
 
 Walter dismounted and rang the bell, first cau- 
 tiously, as to an ear awaiting the sound ; then, after
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 261 
 
 a pause, with a louder appeal ; then still more loudly; 
 but after ten minutes' patient expectation no one had 
 come to open the door. Loo's white face looked at 
 him awfully. 
 
 ' Grandma must be asleep,' she faltered. 'You 
 had better ring again.' 
 
 He had his hand upon the bell when the door 
 opened suddenly with a jarring noise, and Jarred 
 Gurner confronted him in a neglige costume that was 
 remarkable neither for cleanliness nor elegance. A 
 dark red-flannel shirt open at the brawny swarthy 
 neck, a pair of trousers tied round the waist with 
 dirty cotton braces, bare feet, and tousled hair de- 
 noted a hurried rising from his bed. 
 
 ' Who's there ?' he demanded, not without an ex- 
 pletive. 
 
 ' Your daughter,' answered Walter. ' I'm sorry 
 to have kept her out to such an unreasonable hour. 
 We leffe Thames Ditton in capital time ; but that 
 beast of a horse was dead-beat.' 
 
 1 Who did you say ?' asked Jarred, regardless of 
 the explanation. 
 
 1 Come, Jarred, no nonsense. You're not going
 
 262 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 to be angry with your daughter for such a trifle — 
 altogether my fault.' 
 
 1 My daughter !' echoed Jarred, with a strident 
 laugh. * She's no daughter of mine. I don't deal 
 in daughters who stay out with young men till two 
 o'clock in the morning. Take the baggage away ; 
 she's no business in this house.' 
 
 'Father!' cried Loo, pushing past her defender, 
 who had kept himself well in front of her till this 
 moment; 'father!' she cried, with piteous appeal, 
 ' you're not going to turn me out of doors ; you're 
 not going to ruin my good name for ever ! Father !' 
 with tones that rose almost to a shriek as Jarred half 
 shut the door against her, 'you can't mean to shut 
 me out ! What have I done to deserve it ?' 
 
 ' You best know that,' he answered. ' Let the 
 gentleman who has kept you out till two o'clock find 
 you a lodging in future.' 
 
 He shut the door with the last word. They heard 
 the bolts pushed home, the rusty key turned, the 
 chain put up — as if there were anything that needed 
 the defence of bolts and bars in Jarred Gurner's 
 domicile.
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 263 
 
 Loo stood aghast upon the doorstep. Her father 
 had been less abusive than his wont; but he had 
 done a thing which even her fears had never imagined. 
 
 'Never mind that brute/ said Walter, almost 
 choking with anger. Til take you to some re- 
 spectable hotel. Don't be frightened, Loo. I'll take 
 as much care of you as if I were your elder brother.' 
 
 The girl planted herself on the doorstep, deadly 
 pale, and with an angry light in her eyes. 
 
 ' I have a good mind to stay here all night,' she 
 said. ' To think that he should turn against me like 
 that — my own father ! And I've always been so fond 
 of him !' 
 
 ' He's a beast,' exclaimed Walter ; ' and I daresay 
 he was drunk.' 
 
 'No, he was sober,' answered Loo ; ■ that's what 
 I feel the hardest. If he'd been drinking, I shouldn't 
 have minded so much ; I could have borne it better. 
 But he was quite cool — he didn't even use bad lan- 
 guage. "What can he think of me to treat me so ¥ 
 demanded the girl passionately. 
 
 ' I tell you, he's a beast,' repeated Walter, who 
 could not get beyond that point. ' Don't let's worry
 
 264 LOST FOU LOVE. 
 
 ourselves about him. Jump into the dog-cart, Loo, 
 and I'll drive you to some respectable hotel. There's 
 a place I know in the Strand where they stop up late 
 for travellers.' 
 
 ' I won't stir out of Voysey-street,' cried Loo with 
 determination. ' What ! go away with you after what 
 he said to me ! I should like to stay on this doorstep 
 all night, and for father to find me here to-morrow 
 morning ; but I suppose the policeman wouldn't let me. 
 I'll knock up Mrs. Murgis at the general-shop. Mary 
 Murgis and I went to school together at Miss Pe- 
 minto's over the way, and I know Mary will give me 
 a night's shelter.' 
 
 ' What's the good of a night's shelter ? You can 
 never go back to that house again.' 
 
 ' Can't I ? It's the only home I have to go to. 
 Do you think I'm going to be turned out of it in dis- 
 grace ? I'll go back the first thing to-morrow morn- 
 ing, please God, and have it out with father.' 
 
 ' I tell you, Loo, it's impossible,' cried the young 
 man warmly. ' Go back to that man's house after 
 the insult he has just put upon you ! You sha'n't 
 do it. I told you I would be true to you, come what
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 265 
 
 might. You shall never cross that threshold again, 
 Loo. I'll take lodgings for you to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I've heard of that before/ said Louisa in a freez- 
 ing tone. 'I've heard of people having lodgings 
 taken for them, and sometimes of its going so far as 
 a brougham and a pug-dog. I'd rather not, thank 
 you !' with asperity. 
 
 Not a wild-wood blossom by any means, this 
 young woman ; not a snowdrop, whose petals no 
 poisonous breath had ever polluted ; but stanch and 
 pure after her own fashion. 
 
 'Loo !' cried Walter indignantly, 'do you think 
 I am a scoundrel ? Do you suppose I could be 
 guilty of one unworthy thought in such an hour as 
 tins ?' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Mr. Leyburne. I daresay 
 you're good and true,' the girl answered remorse- 
 fully ; ' only I feel as if the world was all wickedness 
 — when my own father, that I've worked and slaved 
 for ever since I was a child, can cast me out.' 
 
 ' You sha'n't go back to his house, Loo. Get a 
 night's shelter from Miss — what's her name ? — if you 
 like. You shall go to a boarding-school to-morrow.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 You'll be safe there. And I'll go and tell your 
 father where you are, and that you've done with him.' 
 
 'Done with him!' the girl echoed plaintively. 
 ' There was a time when I thought the world was 
 only father.' 
 
 Walter lost no time in knocking up Mrs. Murgis 
 at the general-shop. It was a dingy passage enough 
 into which he and Loo were admitted when Mrs. 
 Murgis arose from dreams and came down to answer 
 that importunate bell, sorely troubled by fears of fire, 
 or ill-news from her married daughter at Ball's-pond. 
 But Mrs. Murgis was kind, and listened to Loo's 
 sad tale with sympathetic ' tut -tuts' and ' you don't 
 say so's,' and said that she could have half Mary's 
 bed, and welcome ; and thus Loo was safely disposed 
 of for the night. 
 
 ' You shall go to boarding-school to-morrow,, 
 whether you like it or not, Loo,' said the young man 
 eagerly, at parting. ' I look upon your father's in- 
 famous conduct as providential. Even your obsti- 
 nacy can't hold out any longer.' 
 
 ' I'll go to school if you like,' answered Loo 
 despondently. ' It'll make things smooth, anyhow,
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 267 
 
 and make the way clear for you to marry the young 
 lady in Fitzroy-square. It can't much matter to 
 anybody what becomes of me, when my own father 
 doesn't care.' 
 
 ' But it does matter very much to me, Loo,' said 
 
 Walter. 
 
 « 
 
 They were in the dark passage just at the foot of a 
 steep little staircase, which good-natured Mrs. Mur- 
 gis had ascended to prepare for the unexpected 
 guest, and Walter felt sorely tempted to repeat that 
 sin of the shadowy lane at Thames Ditton ; but if it 
 had seemed to Loo a meanness then, it would surely 
 seem meaner now. He refrained, therefore, and only 
 pressed her hand with an honest brotherly squeeze. 
 
 ' Come what may, Loo,' he said impressively, 
 1 remember I've promised to be true to you.' 
 
 And with that pledge he bade her ' good-night,' 
 and went back to the patient quadruped, languishing 
 for his stable.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ' Spring still makes spring in the mind 
 
 When sixty years are told ; 
 Love wakes anew this throbbing heart, 
 
 And we are never old. 
 Over the winter glaciers 
 
 I see the summer glow, 
 And through the wild-piled snowdrift 
 
 The warm rose-buds below.' 
 
 Branscomb is not a fashionable watering-place ; 
 there is neither pier nor band, nor has any joint- 
 stock company yet been found eager to experiment on 
 the capabilities of the situation by the erection of a 
 monster hotel eight stories high, with Louvre windows 
 commanding the wide-stretching Channel and distant 
 Atlantic. Branscomb still languishes in obscurity ; 
 no speculative charlatan has discovered the peculiar 
 balm of its atmosphere, and published it to the world 
 as an elysium in whose calm breast lurk healing and 
 the renewal of life. Branscomb produces nothing 
 except a little lace — the patient work of women and 
 children — is celebrated for nothing. Nobody, in the
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 269 
 
 accepted sense of the word, was ever born at Brans- 
 comb. The name of the village figureth not in the 
 Biographical Dictionary. Nothing ever comes from 
 Branscomb. There is not so much as a ruined 
 castle, historically famous, in the shadow of whose 
 walls the frivolous may picnic. One dilapidated 
 martello tower alone marks the landscape. Why 
 built, it is rather difficult to imagine ; for it is hardly 
 within the limits of the possible that any hostile 
 invader would ever essay to land at Branscomb. The 
 cliffs are bold and high, of a dark-red clay, rugged 
 and crumbling-looking, as if of so loose a fabric that 
 they might slip down into the ocean at any moment 
 with briefest warning. Irregular in outline, grandly 
 picturesque, is that western seaboard, while the inland 
 landscape is fair as paradise. 
 
 Fishing is the chief, or indeed the only, resource 
 of Branscomb. The village proper, the original 
 Branscomb, is but a collection of fishermen's huts 
 and a public-house or two. That Branscomb which 
 visitors affect, and which calls itself a watering-place, 
 boasts a little bit of Parade, bounded by a roughly 
 built sea-wall, a dozen or so of smallish, lowish
 
 270 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 houses, with bow-windows, much wooden balcony 
 and verandah, and gardens abutting on the Parade. 
 On the higher ground beyond this spot certain ad- 
 venturous builders, oppressed with the builder's 
 speculative propensity and with no more promising 
 field for its exercise, have tacked on a few meagre 
 villas, standing desolate in quarter-acre enclosures, 
 which neither cultivation nor climate has educated 
 into gardens. There is the beginning of a terrace — 
 five slim bow-windowed houses breasting the stormy 
 winds on the rise of a hill ; houses inhabited by the 
 wealthier of the fishermen, whose wives and families 
 subside into kitchens and outhouses whenever For- 
 tune favours them with lodgers. All the year round 
 the fly-blown cards hang in the parlour-windows, but 
 only in the glare and blaze of the summer solstice 
 come visitors to Branscomb. Then perchance a few 
 families from Long Sutton enliven the scene : troops 
 of noisy children, who revel on the beach and scare 
 the seagulls with their still harsher voices ; a pair 
 or two of maiden sisters, who pace meekly up and 
 down the narrow path atop of the rugged cliff, and 
 sniff the briny breezes from the Atlantic, and con-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 271 
 
 gratulate themselves on the acquisition of a store of 
 health, to be put away, like the household linen or 
 the best glass and china, for future use. 
 
 Ocean's strand at Branscomb is hard and stony. 
 There is no stretch of level sand for the delight of 
 youth and infancy, no chalky cave where young 
 mothers can sit and gossip and make pinafores, while 
 their little ones raise those frail and perishable 
 castles which seem fit types of future endeavour and 
 its vain result. The friendly homely beauties of 
 Eamsgate and Broadstairs are not here ; but in their 
 stead a certain wild picturesqueness, a certain rugged 
 grandeur, not without its charm. 
 
 The Branscomb season — that halcyon period 
 when the Parade and the five villas and the six 
 houses in the terrace are wont to brim over with 
 human life, and the local butcher will display as 
 many as six legs of mutton pendent from his grim 
 array of iron hooks on a Saturday morning — had not 
 yet begun. The local grocer, stationer, linen-draper, 
 and fancy-repositor had not yet ordered his summer 
 stock of one dozen pairs buff boots, thirteen as 
 twelve. The two bathing-machines which enjoyed
 
 272 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 a monopoly of the Branscomb bathers still hiber- 
 nated in the darkness of their winter shed. In a 
 word, Branscomb had not yet awakened. Mr. Top- 
 saw, the Long Sutton auctioneer, land-surveyor, and 
 house-agent, had therefore ample room and verge 
 enough for his selection of a house adapted to the 
 requirements — to use Mr. Topsaw's familiar phrase 
 — of a gentleman of property and his daughter, and 
 affording accommodation for the gentleman of pro- 
 perty's friends. Under these fortunate circumstances, 
 Mr. Topsaw naturally chose the most expensive of 
 the villas, and took care to inform the proprietress 
 thereof that terms were not a consideration to the 
 gentleman of property ; his own profit by the trans- 
 action being five per cent on the entire rental, to 
 say nothing of the promise of a sovereign down on 
 the nail, which Mr. Topsaw extorted from the lone 
 widow who kept the house, by way of ' dowser,' as he 
 expressed it, as a mark of gratitude for his selection 
 of her above her fellows, when he had the world 
 of Branscomb all before him where to choose, and 
 might so easily have carried the sunshine of his 
 favour elsewhere.
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 273 
 
 It appears in the common order of things that 
 when a variety of detached dwellings besprinkle the 
 outskirts of a town or village, the dwelling last 
 erected and farthest from the station, if station there 
 be, and all other amenities of the settlement, is the 
 largest and most architecturally pretentious of the 
 number. 
 
 This was the case with Branscomb. Its ultima 
 thule was a stuccoed villa of the Italian gothic order, 
 surmounted by a campanile tower, whose sides were 
 open to the winds of heaven, and whose roof had 
 been copied from the tender simplicity of an extin- 
 guisher. The house stood higher than its neigh- 
 bours, on a road that ascended gradually from the 
 low-lying village to the level of the cliff, divided 
 from its margin by a cornfield. There was a garden, 
 or arid tract of land, which grew wall-flowers, stocks, 
 a scanty herbage that passed for grass, and in their 
 due season marigolds and mignonette ; one lonely 
 monthly rose languished against the stuccoed wall, 
 and by way of wood a belt of scanty bushes of the 
 coniferous or sea-side tribe, shaped like the plumes 
 that adorn a hearse, had been planted within the 
 
 VOL. i. t
 
 274 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 open iron-rail that divided the grounds from the 
 dusty road. This domain, which did not boast as 
 much cedar as would have made a pencil, neverthe- 
 less derived its name from that stately tree, and was 
 called the Cedars. 
 
 Eemote and solitary as the place was, it en- 
 chanted Flora. It was at least different from Fitzroy- 
 square ; that vast sweep of ocean with its infinite 
 variety refreshed her eye as water-pools restore the 
 traveller in Arabian deserts. She declared herself 
 enraptured, and showered grateful kisses upon her 
 father's grizzled hair, as he sat by the drawing-room 
 window — the summer merit of the Cedars consisted 
 in its walls being almost entirely window — and 
 rested after a fifteen-miles' coach-journey from Long 
 Sutton. 
 
 ' How good of you to come here, papa,' she ex- 
 claimed ; ' and how clever of you to think of Brans- 
 comb, instead of letting me drag you off to Brittany 
 or somewhere, tiring you to death with steamers, and 
 rails, and diligences, and goodness knows what ! I 
 should think this must be quite as good as Brittany 
 — as wild, and grand, and picturesque. Of course
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 275 
 
 there are cathedrals there, and ruins, I suppose, and 
 so on, for people to rush about and explore ; but we 
 can do very well without cathedrals, can't we, papa ? 
 or if we have a sudden yearning for gothic architec- 
 ture, we can go to Eougemont for a day or two. 
 Now, dearest father, say you are pleased with Brans- 
 comb, and that it's just as nice to-day as when you 
 were a boy.' 
 
 She said this with that tender anxious air which 
 had become almost habitual to her of late in her 
 intercourse with her father. A sad foreboding of 
 sorrow to come had been creeping gradually home to 
 her loving heart; the fact of her father's altered 
 health had become a stern reality beyond his power 
 of concealment. That he was weaker than of old, 
 more easily tired, more subject to pain, were bitter 
 truths he could no longer hide from the keen eyes of 
 love. But the worst Flora knew not. She knew not 
 that her father's life hung by a thread, and that any 
 moment of the long summer day might be his last. 
 She thought him changed, grown so much older in 
 one short year, but she tried to believe that this was 
 but the natural decline of the strong man's life, only
 
 276 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 the beginning of a long old age. Night and day she 
 prayed God to spare him — to spare him for years to 
 come, for all the days of her life ; she could not 
 imagine her life without him. Was it possible she 
 could live, leave him lying in his narrow grave, 
 hidden from the sunshine and the glory of the uni- 
 verse, and go on living, and even find some kind of 
 happiness without him ? She remembered one of 
 the girls at Miss Mayduke's, whose father had died 
 suddenly, and who had come back to school a few 
 weeks afterwards in her black frocks. She had cried 
 a good deal at first, in the dismal twilight interval 
 between the studies, and at night in the dormitory ; 
 but her tears seemed to dry quickly enough, and she 
 learnt her lessons, and ate her dinner, and looked 
 forward to the holidays, just the same as the rest, 
 and her voice soon grew loud and clamorous in the 
 playground, like the other voices. 
 
 Dr. Ollivant enjoyed Branscomb almost as heartily 
 as Flora. He seemed a new man now that he had 
 escaped from the scientific atmosphere of Wimpole- 
 street ; all the more so, perhaps, because he had also 
 escaped from the society of Walter Leyburne, whose
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 277 
 
 demonstrative youth had weighed him down a little, 
 perpetually suggesting unpleasant comparisons, con- 
 tinually reminding him how he had let youth and all 
 its opportunities of happiness slip by. A bitter 
 thought, that, of one crisis in our lives when 
 supreme happiness was just within our reach, and 
 by the sheer perversity and triviality of youth we let 
 it slip. A thought to brood over in after years with 
 deepest remorse, with grief unspeakable ; yes, verily, 
 ' a sorrow's crown of sorrow.' 
 
 But Dr. Ollivant's memory could recall no such 
 hour. He only reflected that youth was a wonderful 
 and beautiful thing, and that he had sacrificed it 
 upon the altar of science. He had put aside his 
 youth altogether — bartered it, like Esau's birthright, 
 for liis favourite mess of pottage. He had won the 
 great race by this very sacrifice ; had outstripped the 
 footsteps of his contemporaries, and placed himself 
 in the ranks of eminent and successful men, who 
 were from ten to twenty years his senior. Only he 
 had paid the price. He had never allowed himself 
 the relaxations or the affections of youth. 
 
 Not until of late had the knowledge of his loss
 
 278 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 come home to him. But seeing what a bright thing 
 youth appeared in this stranger, he began to ask 
 himself whether he had not been cheated out of a 
 gift that was almost divine. 
 
 ' If I had known Flora Chamney ten years ago/ 
 he thought, 'if Fate had -made us contemporaries, 
 how different my life might have been V 
 
 There were moments — brief intervals of infatua- 
 tion no doubt — in which he used to ask himself if it 
 were really too late ; if he might not yet enter the 
 lists with this younger and more attractive rival. 
 Nothing definite had been said as yet ; he knew that 
 from Mark. The young man had hung back some- 
 what strangely, as it seemed to the fond father. 
 
 'And yet I'll answer for it he loves her,' said 
 Mark, in his impetuous way. 
 
 'He would be something less, or more, than 
 human if he did not/ answered the doctor. 
 
 But that purblind father drew no inference from 
 the speech. He had set his heart upon seeing 
 Walter and Flora married. The union would be 
 perfect, like a marriage in a fairy tale. The idea 
 that human passion could stir the breast of this
 
 LOST FOR LOYE. 279 
 
 grave pale doctor, with his deep-set thoughtful eyes, 
 never entered Mr. Chaniney's mind. 
 
 The doctor made the most of his holiday. After 
 all, happiness is a thing of the present, and a man 
 might be happy the day before his execution if the 
 companion his soul loved dearest cheered him in his 
 lonely cell. They chartered a fishing-boat, put up a 
 rough awning to shelter them from the sun, and 
 sailed merrily over those blue waters from after 
 breakfast till dinner-time. When Mark was tired, 
 they made him lie down upon a luxurious bed of sail- 
 cloth and carriage -rugs, and Flora read Shelley or 
 Browning to him. 
 
 'I can't say I quite understand what they're 
 driving at,' he said; ' but it's certainly soothing.' 
 Whereupon he would compose himself to slumber ; 
 and then, after a couple of pages or so, Flora would 
 tire of Alastor, or Epipsychidion, and close her book, 
 and talk to Dr. Ollivant. 
 
 It was curious to discover how little the doctor 
 knew or cared about those modern singers, with 
 whose music Walter Leyburne was so familiar. But 
 then, on the other hand, he had read Shakespeare
 
 280 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and some of his contemporaries with profoundest 
 love, and had Homer in his heart of hearts. 
 
 * I thought you never read anything hut medical 
 and scientific hooks ?' the girl said wonderingly, after 
 he had opened the treasure-house of his memory for 
 her entertainment. 
 
 1 1 very rarely do now. I had a passion for those 
 Elizabethan poets when I was a lad, and for Homer. 
 I think I half lived in the old Greek world — a fairy- 
 land of dreams — till I began to see that science is 
 something nobler than the memory of the past. I 
 have Shakespeare and Homer in my consulting-room, 
 and take down a volume once in a way, when I am 
 more than usually tired; but that doesn't happen 
 often. The inconvenience I most suffer from is want 
 of time, not flagging attention ; though, by the way, 
 my thoughts have gone astray sorely lately,.' He said 
 these last words with a regretful look at that inno- 
 cent young face turned to him so frankly. Ah, what 
 pain she gave him by that too candid friendliness, 
 which told him he might be never more than friend ! 
 
 ' Of course,' exclaimed Flora eagerly, ' you are 
 over-worked ; papa is always saying so. See what
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 281 
 
 harm he has done himself by working so hard in the 
 prime of his life, though he will get over all that, 
 and grow quite strong again by and by, please God. 
 You ought not to slave like that, Dr. Ollivant. It is 
 all very well when one is young, but as one grows 
 older — ' 
 
 ' I promise to relax my labours somewhat when 
 I am old,' said the doctor ; * but I can hardly claim 
 the privilege of age yet awhile. Ancient as I doubt- 
 less appear to your young eyes, I am not forty.' 
 
 ' Indeed!' said Flora. She had the vaguest esti- 
 mate of the various stages of life — whether a man 
 were old at forty or only began to be old at sixty. 
 In her juvenile imagination life after thirty was but 
 a down-hill progress. Youth and good looks, with 
 most things that sweeten life, disappear behind the 
 crest of that hill which youth climbs so gaily. She 
 could hardly imagine what the journey was like on 
 the other side. She wondered a little at the doctor's 
 half-complaining tone, as he must surely have put 
 away all youthful aspirations ever so long ago. 
 
 ' Was it too late ?' he asked himself sometimes, 
 with a wild flash of hope.
 
 282 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 She listened with rapt attention when he talked 
 to her. His conversation at least could charm her. 
 She was even interested in his career — curious about 
 that laborious youth which he had spent in parish 
 drudgery or in foreign hospitals. Then he opened 
 his heart and mind for her, and painted a life that 
 was not altogether unheroic, not without some 
 human interest ; but not a whisper, not a breath of 
 youth's enchantment, nothing of love or woman's 
 loveliness. 
 
 Once, deeming him so far removed from herself 
 by reason of his advanced years, she was bold enough 
 to ask a question that to him was startling : 
 
 ' In all you tell me, you have never mentioned — ' 
 she began rather shyly, and then was obliged to 
 reconstruct her sentence : ' I wonder that in all your 
 travels you never met any one — whom you — whom 
 you cared for well enough to marry.' 
 
 He looked at her with that strange half-bitter 
 look whose meaning she could not read. 
 
 ' Curious,' he said, ' wasn't it ? Curious that I 
 didn't tread the beaten track : fall in love with some 
 respectable young woman at twenty ; marry at twenty-
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 283 
 
 three; go back to Long Sutton, and set up as a 
 family practitioner ; walk in the footsteps of my 
 father, in short ; and look forward with placid resig- 
 nation to the day when my name should be written 
 under his on the family tombstone. I daresay after 
 all that is the happiest manner of life, if modern 
 youth could only put aside its passionate aspirations 
 for something better. After all, are not the lives of 
 all men written in water ? Our petty struggles to 
 win fame are, for the most part, futile, or the reward 
 of our labours as perishable as the Grecian's crown 
 of wild olive. Yet perhaps a doctor, whose life is 
 in a manner a hand-to-hand conflict with the great 
 mystery of pain, may take a purer pleasure out of his 
 smallest victories than the man who wastes his nights 
 in verse-writing, or his days in painting pictures 
 which could have been painted better three hundred 
 years ago. Our profession,' with some touch of 
 pride, ' is at least progressive.' 
 
 ' It is a noble profession,' said Flora, ' and I don't 
 wonder you are proud of it. But please don't run 
 down our poor painters, even if Kaflaelle and Titian 
 did paint better. They had popes, and emperors,
 
 284 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 and people, you know, to encourage them. I hope 
 you don't despise painters.' 
 
 1 Hardly. Yet I confess there seems to me some- 
 thing rather ignoble in any profession which produces 
 only ornament — a life entirely given to the cultiva- 
 tion of fancy.* 
 
 ' But you haven't told me why you didn't marry?' 
 
 ' First, because I put the marriage question out 
 of my mind altogether when I took up the profession 
 of medicine.' 
 
 ' What, made up your mind to be an old 
 bachelor !' 
 
 ' No ; but made up my mind to succeed in my 
 profession before I ventured to contemplate the idea 
 of marriage.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Flora, with a compassionate sigh, 
 1 that was a pity, because — ' 
 
 ' Because what ?' he asked, when she stopped in 
 the middle of her sentence. 
 
 ' Because it takes such a long time to succeed in 
 any profession, and— please don't be offended if I 
 say anything that sounds rude — by the time a man 
 
 £ succeeded, he must be an old bachelor.'
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 285 
 
 * An old bachelor ! I suppose, now, in your mind 
 that means any one on the wrong side of thirty ?' 
 
 ' Why, yes ; at Miss Mayduke's we used to call 
 thirty old ; but I daresay that's only a schoolgirl's 
 notion.' 
 
 ' Do you think it quite preposterous, now, for a 
 man of my age, much nearer forty than thirty, to 
 have some idea of marriage ? ' 
 
 'Not at all,' she exclaimed eagerly, and a gleam 
 of gladness shot into the doctor's dark eyes, 'pro- 
 vided you married a suitable person.' 
 
 The pleased look faded as quickly as it had 
 come. 
 
 1 What do you mean by a suitable person ? Some 
 one of my own age, I suppose.' 
 
 1 Of your own age, or a few years younger. Xot 
 an old maid, with disagreeable prim ways, or a cat 
 and a parrot : but some charming widow. There 
 was a widow who had two daughters at Miss May- 
 duke's ; her husband had been in the China trade — 
 silk, or tea, or something. She used to dress so 
 stylishly.' 
 
 ' Thanks. I abhor stvlish widows. If I were
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 
 
 forced to make an election between two evils, I 
 would rather have the old maid with her cat and 
 parrot. I should have a greater chance of peace. 
 No, Flora, I will never marry, unless — ' 
 
 < Unless what ?' 
 
 ' Unless I can love, and be loved again.' 
 
 Flora twirled the leaves of her book, and gave 
 another little compassionate sigh, faint as the sum- 
 mer breath that stirs a fallen rose-leaf. 
 
 Poor infatuated man ! She was really sorry for 
 him. As if any one could win all the brightest things 
 of earth, and, after having given his youth to the 
 swift race for fame, turn back and say, ' 0, but I also 
 desire the joys of the rose-garden !' Why, the end of 
 the race leaves him far off in the bleak desert, the 
 shingly Patagonian waste of middle age, where there 
 is no rose-garden. 
 
 She felt a curious, half-scornful, half-tender pity 
 for the grave doctor after this, and thought more of 
 him and his lonely life than she had thought until 
 now, wondering whether he would ever see any one 
 of a suitable age, whom he could like ; trying to 
 imagine what kind of sentiment love must be between
 
 LOST FOR LOVE. 287 
 
 people who were past thirty ; whether the gentleman 
 would write romantic love-letters, and the lady would 
 blush and tremble at his footsteps just the same as 
 in youth. She could not imagine anything so incon- 
 gruous as middle age and romance ; she could only 
 picture the courtship a business transaction, the 
 marriage a sober prosaic affair, the bride dressed in 
 silver-gray silk. Feeling therefore the utter impos- 
 sibility of the doctor ever finding his way back to the 
 rose-garden, she was particularly kind to him — 
 dangerously, fatally kind — for she inflamed his pas- 
 sion to fever-point. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ROBSOX AST) SOSS, PRINTERS, PANCRAS ROAD, X.^T
 
 .' Post-Ojtfice Orders payae. 
 at Piccadilly Circus.] 
 
 [September, 1874. 
 
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 Cyclopaedia of Costume; or, A Dic- 
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 Frontispiece and Engraved Title-page. In 2 vols., large fcap. 8vo, 
 printed on antique laid paper, and bound in antique boards, Vjs. 6d. ; 
 or Large Paper copies, 30J. 
 
 D'Urfey's ("Tom") Wit and Mirth; 
 
 or, Pills to Purge Melancholy : Being a Collection of the 
 best Merry Ballads and Songs, Old and New. Fitted to all Hu- 
 mours, having each their proper Tune for either Voice or Instrument : 
 most of the Songs being new set. London : Printed by W. 
 Pearson, for J. Tonson, at Shakespeare's Head, over-against Cathe- 
 rine Street in the Strand, 1719. An exact and beautiful reprint, with 
 the Music to the Songs, just as in the rare original. In 6 vols., 
 large fcap. 8vo, antique boards, edges uncut, beautifully printed 
 on laid paper, made expressly for the work, ^3 3^. 
 
 Musarum Deliciae; or, The Muses' Re- 
 creation, 1656 ; Wit Restor'd, 1658 ; and Wit's Recreations, 1640. 
 The whole compared with the originals ; with all the Wood Engrav- 
 ings, Plates, Memoirs, and Notes. A New Edition, in 2 vols., post 
 8vo, beautifully printed on antique laid paper, and bound in antique 
 boards, 2ls. A few Large Paper copies have been prepared, at 2$s. 
 
 English Rogue (The), described in the 
 
 Life of Meriton Latroon, and other Extravagants, comprehending 
 the most Eminent Cheats of both Sexes. By Richard Head and 
 Francis Kirkman. A Facsimile Reprint of the rare Original Edition 
 (1 665-1 672), with Frontispiece, Facsimiles of the 12 copper plates, 
 and Portraits of the Authors. In 4 volumes, large foolscap 8vo, 
 beautifully printed on antique laid paper, made expressly, and bound 
 in antique boards, 36^.; or Large Paper copies, 6oj-. 
 
 THE IRELAND FORGERIES. 
 
 Confessions of William-Henry Ireland. 
 
 Containing the Particulars of his fabrication of the Shakspeare 
 Manuscripts; together with Anecdotes and Opinions (hitherto un- 
 published) of many Distinguished Persons in the Literary, Political, 
 and Theatrical World. A Facsimile Reprint from the Original 
 Edition, with several additional Facsimiles. Fcap. 8vo, printed on 
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 Large Paper copies, at 2ls. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 26 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO 6- WINDUS. 
 
 Old Prose Stories whence Tennyson's 
 
 "Idylls of the King" were taken. By B. M. Ranking. Royal 
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 OLD SHEKARRY' S WORKS. 
 
 Forest and Field : Life and Adventure in 
 
 Wild Africa. By the Old Shekarry. With Eight Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 6s. 
 
 Wrinkles ; or, Hints to Sportsmen and 
 
 Travellers upon Dress, Equipment, Armament, and Camp Life. 
 By the Old Shekarry. A New Edition, with Illustrations. Small 
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 OUIDA'S NOVELS. 
 
 Uniform Edition, each Complete in One Volume, crown 8vo, red 
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 Folle-Farine. 
 
 Idalia : A Romance. 
 
 Chandos : A Novel. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Cecil Castlemaine's Gage. 
 
 Tricotrin : The Story of a Waif 
 
 and Stray. 
 Pascarel : Only a Story. 
 
 Held in Bondage; or, Gran- 
 ville de Vigne. 
 
 Puck : His Vicissitudes, Adven- 
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 A Dog of Flanders, and other 
 Stories. 
 
 Strath more : or, Wrought by 
 his Own Hand. 
 
 Two Little Wooden Shoes. 
 
 Parochial History of the County of 
 
 Cornwall. Compiled from the best Authorities, and corrected and 
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 set ; or, separately, the first three volumes, i6j. each ; the fourth 
 volume, 1 8 s. 
 
 Plain English. By John Hollingshead, 
 
 of the Gaiety Theatre. Crown 8vo, illust. cover, is. [Preparing. 
 
 Private Book of Useful Alloys and 
 
 Memoranda for Goldsmiths and Jewellers. By James E. 
 Collins, C.E. Royal i6mo, 3J. 6d. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &* WINDUS. 27 
 
 Seventh Edition of 
 
 Puck on Pegasus. By H. Cholmondeley- 
 
 Pennell. Profusely illustrated by the late John Leech, H. K. 
 Browne, Sir Noel Paton, John Millais, John Tenniel, 
 Richard Doyle, Miss Ellen Edwards, and other artists. A 
 New Edition (the Seventh), crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, price $s.; 
 or gilt edges, 6s. 
 
 " The book is clever and amusing, vigorous and healthy." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " The epigrammatic drollery of Mr. Cholmondeley-PenneH's ' Puck on Pegasus ' 
 is well known to .many of our readers. . . . The present (the sixth) is a superb 
 and handsomely printed and illustrated edition of the book." — Times. 
 
 "Specially fit for reading in the family circle." — Observer. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 Modern Babylon, and 
 
 Small crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 4s. 61. 
 
 other Poems. 
 
 "An Awfully Jolly Book for Parties." 
 
 Puniana: Thoughts 
 
 Wise and Otherwise. By the 
 
 Hon. Hugh Rowley. Best 
 
 Book of Riddles and Puns 
 
 ever formed. With nearly 100 
 
 exquisitely Fanciful Drawings. 
 
 Contains nearly 3000 of the 
 
 best Riddles, and 10,000 most 
 
 outrageous Puns, and is one of 
 
 the most Popular Books ever 
 
 issued. New Edition, small 
 
 quarto, green and gold, gilt 
 
 edges, price 6s. 
 
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 proachable and pre-eminent. We 
 think this very queer volume will be 
 a favourite. We should suggest that, 
 to a dull person desirous to get 
 
 credit with the young holiday people, it would be good policy to invest in the book, 
 and dole it out by instalments." — Saturday Review. 
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 A Second Series of Puniana: Containing 
 
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 price 6s. [Preparing. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, IV.
 
 28 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WIND US. 
 
 Companion to " Cussans' Heraldry." 
 
 Pursuivant of Arms (The); 
 
 or, Heraldry founded upon Facts. A 
 Popular Guide to the Science of Heraldry. 
 By J. R. Planche, Esq., F.S.A., 
 Somerset Herald. To which are added, 
 Essays on the Badges of the Houses of 
 Lancaster and York. A New Edition, 
 enlarged and revised by the Author, illus- 
 trated with Coloured Frontispiece, five 
 full-page Plates, and about 200 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo, beautifully bound in 
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 Js. 6d. 
 
 Important to all Interested in Mines. 
 
 Practical Assayer : A Guide to Miners 
 
 and Explorers. By Oliver North, of "The Field," "Mining 
 Journal," &c. With Tables and Illustrative Woodcuts. Crown 
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 *** This book gives directions, in the simplest form, for assaying bullion and the 
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 " Likely to prove extremely useful. The instructions are clear and precise." — 
 Chemist and Druggist. 
 
 " We cordially recommend this compact little volume to all engaged in mining 
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 "An admirable little volume."— Mining- Journal. 
 
 GUSTAVE DORE'S DESIGNS. 
 
 Rabelais' Works. Faithfully translated 
 
 from the French, with variorum Notes, and numerous charac- 
 teristic Illustrations by Gustave Dor£. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 700 pages. Price 7-r. 6d. 
 
 Uniform with "Wonderful Characters." 
 
 Remarkable Trials and Notorious 
 
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 74 <&* 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, TV.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &•» WIND US. 29 
 
 Reminiscences of the late Thomas 
 
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 Revised Edition, with Steel-plate Portrait, and plain and coloured 
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 Rochefoucauld's Reflections and 
 
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 Roll of Battle Abbey; or, A List of the Prin- 
 
 cipal Warriors who came over from Normandy with William the 
 Conqueror, and Settled in this Country, a.d. 1066-7. Carefully 
 drawn, and printed on fine plate paper, nearly three feet by two 
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 oak of an antique pattern, 22s. 6d. 
 
 Roll of Caerlaverock, the Oldest Heraldic 
 
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 Roman Catholics in the County of 
 
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 Cavaliers, 1642." Small 4to, handsomely printed and bound, 15^. 
 
 *** Genealogists and Antiquaries will find much new and curious matter in 
 this work. An elaborate Index refers to every name in tlie volume, among which 
 •will be found many of the highest local interest. 
 
 Ross's (Chas. H.) Story of a Honey- 
 
 moon. A New Edition of this charmingly humorous book, 
 with numerous Illustrations by the Author. Fcap. 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 School Life at Winchester College; 
 
 or, The Reminiscences of a Winchester Junior. By the Author of 
 "The Log of the Water Lily;" and "The Water Lily on the 
 Danube." Second Edition, Revised, Coloured Plates, 7s. 6d. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, IV.
 
 30 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WINDUS. 
 
 Secret Out; or, One Thousand Tricks with 
 
 Cards, and other Recreations; with Entertaining Experiments in 
 Drawing Room or " White Magic." By the Author of the " Magi- 
 cian's Own Book." Edited by W. H. Cremer, Jun., of Regent 
 Street. With 300 Engravings. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 %* Under the title of " Le Magicien des Salons," this book has long been a 
 Standard Magic Book with all French and German Professors 0/ the Art. 
 
 Shelley's Early Life. From Original 
 
 Sources. With Curious Incidents, Letters, and Writings, now 
 First Published or Collected. By Denis Florence Mac-Carthy. 
 Crown 8vo, with Illustrations, 440 pages, Js. 6d. 
 
 %* The j>oefs political pamphlets, advocating Home Rule and other rights, 
 are here for the first time given in a collected form. 
 
 THE 
 
 POCKET SHELLEY. 
 
 Shelley's Poetical 
 
 Works. Now First Reprinted 
 from the Author's Original Edi- 
 tions. In Two Series, the First 
 containing "Queen Mab"and the 
 Early Poems; the Second, "Laon 
 and Cythna," "The Cenci," 
 and Later Poems. Price of 
 each Series, royal i6mo, is. 8d. 
 illustrated cover, 2s. 2d. cloth 
 extra. 
 
 "This edition will contain everything 
 that Shelley published in his lifetime, ashe 
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 with ; and everything of any value pub- 
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 dix will contain some prose pamphlets 
 never before printed with Shelley's works." 
 Shelley, from the Godwin sketch. — Extract from Introduction. 
 
 The Third Series, completing the Work, will shortly be ready. 
 
 Sheridan's (Richard Brinsley) Com- 
 plete Works, with Life and Anecdotes. Including his Dramatic 
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 and Poetry, Translations, Speeches, Jokes, Puns, &c. ; with a Collec- 
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 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &» WINDUS. 31 
 
 Signboards: Their 
 
 History. With Anecdotes of 
 
 Famous Taverns and Remark- 
 able Characters. By Jacob 
 
 Larwood and John Camden 
 
 Hotten. Seventh Edition. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Js. 6d. 
 
 " It is not fair on the part of a reviewer 
 to pick out the plums of an author's book, 
 thus filching away his cream, and leaving 
 little but skim-milk remaining; but, even 
 if we were ever so maliciously inclined, 
 we could not in the present instance pick 
 out all Messrs. Larwood and Hotten's 
 plums, because the good things are so 
 numerous as to defy the most wholesale 
 depredation." — The Times. 
 
 *»* Nearly ioo most curious illustrations on wood are given, showing the signs 
 •which were formerly hung from taverns, &-"<:. 
 
 HELP ME THROUGH THIS WORLD ! 
 
 HANDBOOK OF COLLOQUIALISMS. 
 
 The Slang Dictionary: 
 
 Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal. 
 An Entirely New Edition, revised 
 throughout, and considerably Enlarged, 
 containing upwards of a thousand more 
 words than the last edition. Crown 8vo, 
 with Curious Illustrations, cloth extra, 
 6s. 6d. 
 
 " Peculiarly a book which ' no gentleman's library 
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 words and phrases of modern slang in use at the present time." — Public Opinion. 
 
 " In every way a great improvement on the edition of 1864. Its uses as a dictionary 
 
 of the very vulgar tongue do not require to be explained." — Notes and Queries. 
 
 "Compiled with most exacting care, and based on the best authorities." — Standard. 
 
 " In 'The Slang Dictionary ' we have not only a book that reflects credit upon the 
 
 philologist ; it is also a volume that will repay, at any time, a dip into its humorous 
 
 pages. " — Figaro. 
 
 WEST-END LIFE AND DOINGS. 
 
 Story of the London Parks. By 
 
 Jacob Larwood. With numerous Illustrations, Coloured and 
 Plain. In One thick Volume, crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, "js. 6d. 
 
 %• A most interesting work, giving a complete History 0/ thesefavourite out-of~ 
 door resorts, from the earliest period to the present time. 
 
 74 &° 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 32 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WINDUS. 
 
 A KEEPSAKE FOE, SMOKERS. 
 
 Smoker's Text-Book. By J. Hamer, 
 
 F.R.S.L. Exquisitely printed from " silver-faced" type, cloth, very 
 neat, gilt edges, 2s. 6d., post free. 
 
 CHARMING NEW TRAVEL-BOOK. 
 
 It may be we shall touch the happy isles. 
 
 Summer Cruising in the South Seas, 
 
 By Charles Warren Stoddard. With nearly Thirty Engrav- 
 ings on Wood, drawn by Wallis Mackay. Crown 8vo, cloth, 
 extra gilt, *]s. 6d. 
 
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 "Idylls of the South Seas, by a Californian humourist. Poetical, amusing, de- 
 lightful." — Vanity Fair. 
 
 " The author's experiences are very amusingly related, and, in parts, with much 
 freshness and originality." — Judy. 
 
 "Mr. Stoddard is a humourist ; 'Summer Cruising' has a good deal of undeni- 
 able amusement. " — Nation, 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WINDUS. 33 
 
 Syntax's (Dr.) Three Tours. With the 
 
 whole of RoWLANDSON's very droll full-page Illustrations, in 
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 Tours— 1. In Search of the Picturesque. 2. In Search 
 of Consolation. 3. In Search of a Wife. The Three 
 Series Complete, with a Life of the Author by John Camden 
 Hotten. Medium 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, price Js. 6d. 
 
 Theseus: A Greek Fairy Legend. 
 
 Illustrated, in a series of Designs in Gold and Sepia, by John Moyr 
 Smith. "With descriptive text. Oblong folio, price Js. 6d. 
 
 THEODORE HOOK'S HOUSE, NEAR PUTNEY. 
 
 Theodore Hook's Choice Humorous 
 
 Works, with his Ludicrous Adventures, Bons-mots, Puns, and 
 Hoaxes. With a new Life of the Author, Portraits, Facsimiles, 
 and Illustrations. Crown Svo, 600 pages, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 %* "As a wit and humourist of the highest order his name will be preserved. His 
 political songs and jenx cTesprit, when the hour comes for collecting them, will 
 form a volume of sterling and lasting attraction /"—J. G. Lockhart. 
 
 74 
 
 c- 75, PICCADILLY, LO-YDOX, IV.
 
 34 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & WIND US. 
 
 MR. SWINBURNE'S WORKS. 
 
 Second Edition, Now Ready, of 
 
 Both well : A Tragedy. By Algernon 
 
 Charles Swinburne. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, pp. 540, 12s. 6d. 
 
 " Mr. Swinburne's most prejudiced critic cannot, we think, deny that ' Bothwell * 
 is a poem of a very high character. Every line bears traces of power, individuality, 
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 dious, also attains, in spite of some affectations, to a sustained strength and dignity 
 of a remarkable kind. Mr. Swinburne is not only a master of the music of lan- 
 guage, but he has that indescribable touch which discloses the true poet — the touch 
 that lifts from off the ground." — Saturday Review. 
 
 " It is not too much to say that, should he never write anything more, the poet 
 has by this work firmly established his position, and given us a poem upon which his 
 fame may safely rest. He no longer indulges in that frequent alliteration, or that 
 oppressive wealth of imagery and colour, which gave rhythm and splendour to some 
 of his works, but would have been out of place in a grand historical poem ; we have 
 now a fair opportunity of judging what the poet can do when deprived of such 
 adventitious aid, — and the verdict is, that he must henceforth rank amongst the first 
 of British authors." — Graphic. 
 
 "The whole drama flames and rings with high passions and great deeds. The 
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 to mere pleasant singing and alliterative lyrics." — Standard. 
 
 " Splendid pictures, subtle analyses of passion, and wonderful studies of character 
 will repay him who attains the end. ... In this huge volume are many fine and 
 some unsurpassable things. Subtlest traits of character abound, and descriptive pas- 
 sages of singular delicacy." — Athenaum. 
 
 " There can be no doubt of the dramatic force of the poem. It is severely simple 
 in its diction, and never dull ; there are innumerable fine touches on almost every 
 page. " — Scotsman. 
 
 " ' Bothwell " shows us Mr. Swinburne at a point immeasurably superior to any that 
 he has yet achieved. It will confirm and increase the reputation which his daring 
 genius has already won. He has handled a difficult subject with a mastery of art 
 which is a true intellectual triumph." — Hour. 
 
 Ohastelard : A Tragedy. Foolscap 8vo, Js. 
 Poems and Ballads. Foolscap 8vo, gs. 
 Notes on " Poems and Ballads," and 
 
 on the Reviews of them. Demy 8vo, is. 
 
 Songs before Sunrise. Post8vo, 10s. 6d. 
 Atalanta in Calydon. Fcap. 8vo, 6s. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &* WIND US. 35 
 
 Mr. Swinburne's Works— continued. 
 
 The Queen Mother and Rosamond. 
 
 Foolscap 8vo, 5.C 
 
 A Song of Italy. Foolscap 8vo, 3^. 6d. 
 Ode on the Proclamation of the 
 
 French Republic. Demy 8vo, is. 
 
 Under the Microscope. Post 8vo, 2s. 6d. 
 William Blake : A Critical Essay. With 
 
 facsimile Paintings, Coloured by Hand, after the Drawings by Blake 
 and his Wife. Demy 8vo, i6j-. 
 
 THE THACKERAY SKETCH-BOOK. 
 
 Thackerayana. Notes 
 
 and Anecdotes, illustrated by about 
 
 Six Hundred Sketches by William 
 
 Makepeace Thackeray, depicting 
 
 Humorous Incidents in his School-life 
 
 1 
 and Favourite Scenes and Characters in 
 
 the books of his every-day reading. 
 
 Large post 8vo, over 600 pages printed 
 
 in clear type, with nearly 600 Wood 
 
 Engravings, now for the First Time 
 
 Published, from Thackeray's Original 
 
 Drawings, made on the margins of his 
 
 books, &c. ; cloth extra, uniform with 
 
 the Collected Edition of Thackeray's 
 
 Works, and a Companion Volume to | 
 
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 David Masson. 
 
 74 & 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 36 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO &> WINDUS. 
 
 THE SUBSCRIPTION ROOM AT BROOKES S. 
 
 Timbs' Clubs and Club Life in Lon- 
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 ries, and Taverns. By John Timbs, F.S.A. New Edition, 
 with numerous Illustrations, drawn expressly. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 600 pages, *js. 6d. 
 
 *** A Companion to " The History of Sign-Boards." It abounds in quaint 
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 One o'Clock, the Civil, and hundreds of other Clubs; together with Tom's, Dick's, 
 Button's, Ned's, Will's, and the famous Coffee Houses of the last century. 
 
 "The book supplies a much-felt want. The club is the avenue to general society 
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 the value of which only increases with the lapse of time." — Morning Post. 
 
 Timbs' English Eccentrics and Ec- 
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 74 &* 75, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO cV W INDUS. 37 
 
 Taylor's History of 
 
 Playing Cards. With Sixty curiou. 
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 *** Ancient and Modern Games, Conjuring. 
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 Vagabond iana; or, Anec- 
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 Keeper of the Prints in the British Museum. With Introduc- 
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 Coppers, in crown 4to, half Roxburghe, price \2s. 6d. 
 
 "LES MISERABLES." 
 
 Victor Hugo's Fantine. Now first pub- 
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 exception of a few advisable omissions. Post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. 
 
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 Vyner's Notitia Venatica: A Treatise 
 
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 Sixth Edition, Enlarged. By Robert C. Vyner. With spirited 
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 *** An entirely new edition of the best work on Fox-Hunting. 
 
 Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass. 
 
 The Complete Work, precisely as issued by the Author in Washing- 
 ton. A thick volume, 8vo, green cloth, price gs. 
 
 "Whitman is a poet who hears and needs to be read as a whole, and then the 
 volume and torrent of his power carry the disfigurements along with it and away. 
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 Walton and Cotton, Illustrated. — The 
 
 Complete Angler ; or, the Contemplative Man's Recreation ; 
 being a Discourse of Rivers, Fish-ponds, Fish and Fishing, written 
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 Grayling in a clear Stream, by Charles Cotton. With Original 
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 [Nearly ready. 
 
 Warrant to Execute Charles I. An 
 
 exact Facsimile of this important Document, with the Fifty-nine 
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 executed on paper made to imitate the original document, 22 in. by 
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 of antique pattern, 14s. 6d. 
 
 Warrant to Execute Mary Queen of 
 
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 Waterford Roll (The).— Illuminated 
 
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