"^^^^/U«--«-Ct-*^ A DISGIiACEFUL NOVEL. ALTHOUGH there is a school of English fiction which can hardly be called pure, it is fortunately only very rarely that a story is published which requires to be denounced' as flagrantly indecent. In this respect our litemture presents a happy contrast to that of some other countries, and the consequence is that an English novel is usually read without suspicion in family circles. It lies on the table, and is open to any one ; and hence, if there is poison in it, it may be insidiously and widely disseminated without immediate detection. We feel it therefore to be our duty to give notice in the plainest terms of the appearance of a work which, if not branded with its true character at the outset, may be unsuspectingly taken up by respectable people. It is called Philip Darrell (Tinsley Brother's), and contains passages of the most disgustingly indecent and licentious character. It is impossible to acquit the pubhshers of culpable negligence in allowing such a work to pass through their hands, but we are willing to believe that they cannot have been aware, in the fu'st instance at least, of the foulness of the work to which they supplied the means of pub- licity. It must be assmned that it will now at once be withdrawn. It is of course unnecessary to criticize in detail a book which by such a fatal blot is placed "beyond the pale of readable literature, but it may be added that it is, as might be expected, utterly devoid of literary merit. We should have preferred that it should not have been in any way named in our columns, but it is unfortunately necessary to mention it in order that it may be known and avoided. We cannot doubt that heads of families and schools, and managers of libraries who acknowledge any responsibility for the selection of the books which they put in circulation, will be ci'ateful for the warnino-. The Saturday Eeview. [March 20, 1875. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/philipdarrellrom01rowc L [ B R,ARY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS ^^^ K78p v.l ^ PHILIP DARRELL. VOL. I. PHILIP DARKELL. 31 Viomaiue of fcnglisl) iome "^'i(e. BY ALBERT E. ROWCROET. God comes with leaden feet, but strikes with iron hands. Old Pbovebb. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON; TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 1875. [Tlit right ojtrando.tion, drcmtlc adoidalloa, end reiiroiUcfmi U aioxol]. JOHJf CHILDS A5D SON, PKIXTER3 hi ^ CONTENTS OF VOL. I. CHAPTER I. PAGE Introduces the Hero, and tells something of his birth and parentage ... ... ... 1 — 7 CHAPTER 11. Takes a glance at a modem Sangrado, who, un- like his ridiculed prototype, does not advo- cate the ' Cupping and Warm "Water ' Theory 8— U ^l" CHAPTER III. ^ Brings before the Reader's favourable notice a -^ worthy representative family of the Great Middle Class 15- J^^ CHAPTER lY. "^ The Hero takes a trip to Maidstone, enjoys a ^ Musical Evening, and has a shake hands ':^.* with the Heroine ... ... ... 25 — 50 vi Contents. CHAPTER V. PAGE A further glance at Doctor Eenliard and Vaughan, and a little detail concerning their method of answering unwelcome messages ... ... ... ... 51 — Gi CHAPTEE \1. TouiDarrell G2— 79 CHAPTEE VII. Allen Heyson — Adele — Maidstone friends 80 — 92 CHAPTER VIII. Philip and Tom pay a visit to Maidstone to- gether — Philip hurt by Ad^le's fickleness — Antagonistic affinity ... ... ... 93 — 106 CHAPTER IX. Philip's anger — A sudden light breaks in upon Adele's mind — The ' Sonate Pathetic^ue ' — A sudden change — Sweet caresses — Poor Allen 107—121 CHAPTER X. A very practical chapter, detailing a mother's anxious efforts for her daughter's welfare ; Contents. vii and showing how Philip yisited Mme De Brenne at her own invitation, and what happened during his visit ... ... 1 22 — 154 CHAPTEE XI. Phihp is reminded by letter that he has been invited to dine with j\Ir John Allerton — Tom and he go together — Some details of the dinner and the pleasant gaucheries of Messrs Allerton fils, of the distinguished guests, and of the prominent part Phihp played in the entertainment ... ... 155 — 175 CHAPTEE XII. The amusements and the companions of IMr Thomas Darrell — an intrigue with a girl who is onhj a Labourer's Daughter ... 176 — 193 CHAPTEE XIII. Katie "Wright's father — A product of our boasted civilization — His suspicions — His discovery of the second ear-ring — Kate leads him past the right place — John Wright sets himself to watch 194—202 CHAPTEE XIY. Yielding to temptation — A sudden interrui^tion — A horrible blow — John Wright in the viii Co7itents. fir -wood — The agony of a clay — Jolm "Wright seeks London — He is accused of the murder of his daughter ... ... 203 — 219 CHAPTEE XV. Meets Katie Wright in London — * Help ! me for the love of God ' — ]\Irs Seigert sends for the Doctor — Philip listens to Katie's delirious ravings — Who is Mr Tom? — A problem worth the solving — Philip questions Katie and makes a discovery — The helj)ing hand 220—243 CHAPTER XYI. Katie's convalescence — Judgment is passed upon Mr Seigert and his Avife — jMinnie comes to see Kate — Philip makes the ' pre mier pas qui coute ' — A haggard face watches the window where Katie sits — The man meets Tom and Philip, and follows them — Another link of the chain is foro-ed 244—268 PHILIP DAEEELL. CHAPTER I. LN'TEODUCES THE HERO, AXD TELLS SOMETHING OF HIS BIRTH AXD PARENTAGE. A BRAVE sliip tossing and tacking against adverse winds ; its captain keeping an anxious watch on the wind-swept deck. Below, a Avife by her husband's bedside — a bed that has been made between the two cabins of the state-cabin, for Charles Darrell was a man of great height, and the narrow berth became unbearable when deadly sickness struck him down. The last flickering gleams of a noble life Avere fading. On one side his wife knelt and held his hand clasped in hers. On the other stood a child, brown-haired, brown-eyed, with VOL. I. 1 Philip Darrcll. a wonderful expression in the eyes, and a look of power in the harsh rugged face, though the boy only mustered twelve summers and winters. His father fixed his eyes upon his eldest son, and said these words : — ' Philip, you are the eldest and the truest of my boys. Remember that through your earthly life your highest aim should be — Simply to do your Duty. Do that well, and you will please God.' The brave voice grew weak suddenly. Mrs Darrell sent for her other children — a boy, Tom, beautifully handsome, and a girl. They knelt down by their father's bedside. ' Do you know them, dear ? ' said the wife. ' Yes ! ' replied the dying man ; ' this is Tom, that is Julia, and there is my Philip.' His eyes closed gently and his hand gripped his wife's with a vice-like clasp. The strons: heart had ceased to beat. >!J ^C- * * The ship was thirteen hundred miles from land. So the body of one of the truest Philip Darrell. gentlemen that ever lived was sewn up in a canvas shroud, with a cannon-ball tied to the feet, and the third day after his death Charles Darrell's corpse was buried in the ocean. Philip stood by, holding Tom and Julia by the 'hand, and the poor boy kept down his bitter sobs, lest his mother should note them, and so feel her own grief intensified by the sorrow of her chikben. Tom and Julia were silent from wonder and fear ! And as the concluding words of the Burial Service com- mitted the body to the deep, the sailors gently raised the plank, and it fell with a splash into the sea ! Poor Mrs Darrell fainted, and the captain took her in his arms and carried her to her berth. Then, as his mother could no longer see him, Philip sobbed aloud. Frightened at his vehement weeping, Tom and Julia cried too. They only dimly comprehended what their loss was. * * fi'c * Then came long years of struggle and hardship. I say hardship, for during the life- time of Charles Darrell his house had been a Philip Darrell. luxurious home, governed with rare taste and tact by his wife ; there were few homes in England that could match it for splendid hospitality, polished manners, and true gentle- manliness. But when Mrs Darrell came to England, her husband's affairs were in great disorder. He was returning on that account himself. His death upset everything ; and it was only by the exercise of untiring perseverance, and. the exhibition of a foresight and a capacity for business and work which quite astonished her friends, that Mrs Darrell was able to Tescue a pittance of about a hundred and twenty pounds a year from the wreck of her husband's fortunes. But every one helped her, because she bravely set about helping herself. Yet, at one time, Avhilst she was working to give her children the education their birth demanded, she hid herself from her friends ; for during that period she suffered horribly, as the com- panion to a miserly lady. Hmiiiliation, in- sult, and insufficient food ; the feeling of shame that she sometimes could not keep down. Philip DarrelL She bore them all, poor, brave, lion-liearted mother, for the sake of her children. jN'ow, the struggle was ended, Julia was dead, Philip and Tom were both thoroughly well educated, and had set about fighting the battle of life for themselves. Tom was as handsome as a man as he had been beautiful as a child. At present our story does not touch him. Let us see what Philip is doing. ' ^Ir Darrell,' said Dr Penhard, as he gathered up his books, his gloves, and his hat, ^ I shall be back from my first round about four o'clock.' ' Very well. Doctor ! ' replied a voice — the owner of that voice standing by a counter, engaged in rolling out pills, with a vigom* and a fierceness that would seem astounding and unnecessary to the uninitiated in the noble art of Dispensing and Surgery. The person thus unromantically presented to the reader was some five feet eight inches in height, broad and strong-limbed. He was not handsome — in fact, Philip Darrell as man was just what one might have expected from Philip Dai^relL his chilclliood. He liacl brown hair and eyes, and bro^Yn wliiskers and moustache ; but when you looked at his face, full-turned to the light, something in it attracted you — some- thing you could not have explained, or even, perhaps, understood, radiated from that coun- tenance — only the brave eyes, under the broad high forehead, could have given that look to so awkw^ardly fashioned a face, for it was too long and^too broad, the chin w^as square and set, the lips irregular, and the mouth seemed to have grown into a bump on one side. Altogether the face was a singular one, only redeemed by the look of poAver and determin- ation given by the chin and the lofty fore- head, and the infinite tenderness of the eyes. And Philip was such an awkward fellow : he looked rough and uncouth, and had a way of ihriistlng himself into a room instead of walk- ing in as others w^alked ; and his laughter would sound half through the house. Philip only resembled his father in the high feeling of honour and (jentilhommie that showed itself in every action of his life. His father had been eminently polished, and the associ- Philip Darrell. ate of the first men in the land. Now, Philip was a surgeon's assistant, and did his work well, and obeyed his father's wish, and did his duty. ***** At four o'clock Dr Renhard came in, gave his paper of prescriptions to Philip to dis- pense, and Philip was soon plunged in medi- as res. Presently he rang a bell, called do^ai the stairs, ' Medicine, John/ The boy came up, the physic was despatched, and quiet once more reigned in the sm'gery. A quiet broken, however, by the sound of Dr Renhnrd's voice, as he sat on the stool makino- out his second round. As the Doctor was a man sui generis, and the sm^gery arrangements and customs somewhat singular, we defer the description of both to another chapter. CHAPTEE II. TAKES A GLAXCE AT A MODERN SANGRADO, WHO, UNLIKE HIS RIDICULED PROTOTYPE, DOES NOT ADVOCATE THE ' CUPPING AND WARM WATER ' THEORY. A S Doctor Joshua Renhard sat on the okl music-stool, that did duty in the surgery as no longer fit for the dining-room, he re- minded one forcibly of that skit in one of Hood's Annuals, ' Captain Back/ The Doctor seemed all ' back ' as he sedately sat, di'oning out the names of the patients he had to see. He was short and broad, and as his coat- tails hung doAvn behind the stool, they gave a look of immense length and squareness to his back — ^liis legs being partly hidden, added to the illusion. The Doctor's hair was leaving his head, and having nearly managed to get completely away, required very careful brush- ing to cover a moderate portion of his cranium. As he held his pen one could see how lono: his hand was, decorated on each Philip DarrelL finger, between the knuckles and first joint, by little tufts of dark hairs. The nails were scrupulously clean, in fact the Doctor was all cleanliness and immense shirt front. His big face Avas whitish and shining with cleanli- ness. His short, close-cut whiskers seemed to have whitened even more than whiskers usually do, from the continuous brushing and combing they underwent at the Doctor's hands. They stuck out on each cheek like the bristles of a hair-brush, and looked somewhat smiilar to them. Philip just stooped to open a cupboard door, and as the door gave a squeak and a rattle, the Doctor held up his hand to enjoin silence, and then went on — thus — ' Jenkins, one — Jenkins, one — Mallow, two — Mallow, two — Hobsou, three — Wliit- worth — Xo ! Jacobs, four — Jacobs, four — AYliitworth, five. What is Mrs Whit worth taking now, Mr Darrell ? ' ' Oh, she's taking a chlorate of Potash mix- ture with chloric Ether, and burnt sugar, sir,' replied Darrell. 'Well, leave out the burnt sugar, Mr 10 Philip DarrelL Darrell, please ; I promised her to make some cUange! 'Very well, sir.' ' Let me see, no^v ; Avliere was I ? Oh ! Whitworth, five — Jemiings, six — Jen nings, six — and then on to Worlands, at ]Maida-hill, seven, and home — about seven o'clock. Keep all the patients who call mitil I come in, if they mil wait.' ' I will. Doctor,' said Philip. With that the Doctor turned down the wristbands of his superfine broadcloth coat, carefully buttoned them, caught up his memorandum book, hat and gloves, and stalked out of the surgery, saying as he Avent, ' I shall have a cup of tea with Mrs Renhard, and then go on my second round. Let me know when the carrias^e is announced.' Philip made suitable answer, and the Doc- tor, softly closing the door, left him to his ruminations. Many people disliked Doctor Renhard because he always presented to the world a bland and smiling exterior. Judging only from what they could see they concluded that he must be a hj-pocrite, as no one can Philip Darrell. ii always preserve such equanimity of demeanour, or, he must ' put on ' this constant look of benevolence for a distinct pm'pose. Now this last surmise was correct. Doctor Renhard found that blandness and smiles j??«;2V/, consequently he took care to be always bland and smiling. He invariably shook hands with all his patients, and treated them mth the greatest politeness. He said they brought grist to the mill that Avas grind- ing his fortune. He once told Philip — who could not help remarking that the Doctor always gave people medicine when they asked for it, even if there was nothing the matter — that he made as much money by the foolish fears of his patients as by their actual illnesses. Ordinary people are much impressed by fine clothes, gold chains, and a big carriage with a pair of horses. Doctor Renhard, therefore, had his chain extra thick and long, his broadcloth of the finest, and jobbed a big carriage and big horses ; even his coachman was broad and fat, and did credit to his master's astuteness. Doctor Renhard also took care, from the beginning even of his 12 Philip DarrelL career, to live in a big house, in a big Square^ from whence he would go off to visit his patients. He was essentially one of those men whose genius is in their breeches' pocket ; otherwise speaking, all his efforts were directed to the grand problem of how to make money and how to keep it. AVith plenty of talent and an acute searching mind that would easily have raised him to the highest position attain- able in medicine, the Doctor, nevertheless, preferred making money to acquiring fame, and had a notion, mistaken of course, that it was better to leave his children plenty of mopuses than to struggle into European cele- brity, with the chance of his family being without bread and cheese when he died. I have heard people sneer at good Doctor Ren- hard for his care and prudence in sticking to the business side of his profession, at the very same time that they had always on their" tongue the wise and generous old proverb — ' Get money, and everything else shall be given unto thee ! ' Philip Dai' 7^ el I. 13 They blamed the Doctor for not refusing to attend the most slatternly wretch, occupying perhaps some back room in Gerrard Street, Soho, or St Giles, when he knew well that these Avere the very people who pay and give the least trouble. I have even heard them com- pare him to the Emperor Vespasian, who, w^hen his son Titus remonstrated with him for receiving tribute from a peculiarly objection- able article of taxation, is said to have taken a sesterce from his purse and held it towards his hj-percritical son, with the simple ques- tion, ' Does it smell ? ' The Doctor rightly held that if people chose to call him in to attend them, he also had a right to ask and expect them to pay him for his services. He did not care to undertake a high class of practice for the simple reason that high-class patients often make one wait a long tune before settling their medical account. In his daily work Dr Renhard was strictly professional and busi- ness-like, and at any time would sooner give a man half-a-crown than let him have a bottle of physic mthout paying for it. 14 Philip Darrell. But take him away from his professional business, and one was astonished to find how genial, how kind, and how truly generous Doctor Renhard could he. At least, so Philip Darrell very soon discovered. 15 CHAPTER III. BEINGS BEFORE THE EEADER'S FAVOURABLE NOTICE A WORTHY REPRESENTATIVE FAMILY OF THE GREAT MID- DLE CLASS. RIXG-A-RING ! Ring-a-ring ! Ring-a-ring ! went the dinner-bell, a knock came to the surgery-door, the man-servant thrust in his head and shoulders and announced — ' Dinner is ready, sir.' * Very well ; thanks,' replied Philip, who instantly began washing and scrubbing his hands, then flew into the consulting -room, gave his hair a brush at the Doctor's old- fashioned desk, settled his cravat, and thrust himself into the dining-room just as every one had sat down. ' Ah ! how do you do, Mrs Marriott ? ' said Philip, stalking up to a lady at the table, one of the Doctor's daughters, who had married a gentleman, now dead. They shook hands. Philip DarrelL 'Very well, Phil, thanks,' replied Mrs Marriott. Down sat Philip in his chair with a plump, stretched out his legs, kicked his vis-a-vis's shins, hauled his pedal extremities back and thrust them under his chair and then looked up the table to see what there was to eat. ' Are you hungry, Philip ? ' asked Mrs Renhard. ' Pretty well,' said Philip, with a smile. ' Very well, then, I shall send you your dinner first, as you may be obliged to get up to patients,' continued Mrs Renhard. The Doctor's wife Avas a brisk, short brunette, still good-looking, alert spite of her iifty years, and the kindest Avoman, after his own mother, that Philip had ever knoAMi. ' Annie, pass this down to Philip, as John- son has thought fit to go away just as he's wanted.' ' He's gone to draw the stout. Ma,' called out Maggie from the end of the table, wearing an injured look on her fat little face, probably still feeling the kick Philip had flung at her under the table. Philip Darrell, 17 Maggie was the yoimgest, verging on her twenty -second year, fat, short, dark-haired, dark-eyed, and with a regular Httle quick fierce temper. Her cheeks were soft-looking and rosy, and with her short stature helped to take off four years from her age, making her look no more that eighteen or nineteen. Mrs Marriott was taller, just as dark as Maggie, and had a certain squareness of figure and face that reminded one of the Assyrians in the British Museum slabs. Her mouth looked simply like a slit cut between her two cheeks, the lips being very thin, and with very little colom- in them. The eldest daughter, Charlotte, was just" such another dump as Maggie, only without her robustness or colom\ She was simply a good kind girl. The last to describe Avas the best; and that was owing to her extra advantage over- the others of French education, and the society of ladies and gentlemen to whom she had been introduced whilst at school in France. Fanny was taller than any of her sisters, with verv handsome features. She was dark 1 8 Philip DarrelL like the others, and was the only one who was at all gale or enjoiiee. She had acquired some- thing of a Frenchwoman's vivacity and charm of manner, and really knew how to carry on a conversation without tiring her interlocutor or herself. Unfortunately she had a terrible com- plexion — a tendency to raw redness of the nose and chin, and spots on the forehead,, which thrust themselves prominently forward to notice when least required to do so. Each sister, as to mind, was the counterpart of the other. They knew how to dress, and how to dance ; how to play, and how to sing. At least, they had been taught how to do so, and the Doctor often grew angry at the little use they made of the accomplishments he had paid so much to have drilled into them. They never played, and they never sang. It was impossible to stir up the depths of their natm'es, for there was no depth to sound — the plumb-line touched bottom as soon as dropped into their intellectual stream. Their talk was of dress, of the last fashions, of the move- ments of the roval familv, whose members to Philip DarrelL them were respectively — ' Wales ' and ' Ar- thur/ 'Victoria' and Gilbert/ 'Alfred' and ^ Beatrice ; ' so that any outsider might imagine he heard them talking about their most inti- mate friends. They occasionally did some fancy work, and the books they read were chiefly wiitten by the ' Authors of something else.' It was impossible to interest them in the grand works of our modern masters of fiction. They loved Dickens because there was nothing in his books that they could not understand. They could not quite comprehend Thackeray, and did not care for George Eliot. As to the great French authors, they indeed were sealed books to them. Lamartine was a name only, Victor Hugo a horrid monster, Dumas to be utterly avoided. Poetry or philosophical works they never cared to look into, but prided themselves on their love for the royal family and their great respectability. There were two sons, but one was living abroad. Such is the company round the dinner- table, to which the reader is respectfully pre- sented. 20 Philip Darrell. ' Charlotte, have you heard when the Duchess is going to the opera ? ' asked Maggie. ' Yes ; I think she is going on Thursday ; but you had better look in the Times, they are sure to say something about her/ replied Charlotte. ' Do you know what Victoria wore at the last drawing-room ? ' asked Mrs Marriott. ' No ! I'm not quite certain, though. Didn't she wear gray satin, trimmed with Utrecht ? ' said Maggie. ' I think that was it,' said Panny. And so on, and so on, ad nauseam. Then the talk diverged from the Throne to the Church, and the Eeverend Canon Sisbert was greatly criticized for his last very poor sermon on Mission Sunday. Philip sat out all this, occasionally fling- ing a sarcasm or a joke up the table, which was seldom received with more than a faint sort of laugh. Philip, who laughed at the whole tissue of nonsense about Queen, Princes, and Princesses — Philip, who was deeply imbued with the ideas Philip Darrell. 21 •of Rights of ]\Ian and Social Contract, all this twaddle sickened and disgusted him. He would occasionally burst forth and tell them so, but all to no good; they simply smiled — ' It was Philip's way ' — and went on mth the same nonsense as before. It would not be saying too much, that of the girls each so resembled the other as to thought or intellect, that any man seeking a ^nfe among them would have been thoroughly puzzled which to choose. These girls were so shallow, to one living with them in the same house for a few days, that all their dulness and faults could soon be discovered ; their virtues were so few as never to be found out. They were chaste, genteel, and dull. At tea-time ]\Iaggie asked Philip whether he was going out on the next Sunday. ' Oh, yes,' said Philip, ' you know it's my tiu-n this week ; I am going do^^m to Maid- stone. I say, though, Vaughan, if you want to go anywhere specially, don't let me prevent jou, I can easily wait.' ■ ' Pass the toast,' said Vaughan ; ' I don't 22 Philip Darrell. think I care to go anywhere, thanks. Have you the butter in that dish ? ' ' Yes ! But I thought you spoke of riding to Kew?' continued Phihp. ' Well ! Rover hasn't been out since yesterday, you know ; my coachman is such a fool that he's afraid to ride him,' said Yaughan, who then subsided for a moment and munched his toast. ' Maggie,' cried he suddenly, ' have you put the eggs in ? ' ' Yes ! they'll soon be done now,' replied Maggie. ' How long have they been in ? It's no use giving me hard-boiled eggs, you know, I can't digest them ; it's as much as I can man- age to do to eat them just set,' said Vaughan. Maggie got up from the table and fished out the eggs. Of course they were hard, hav- ing been boiling for at least five minutes. * What's the good of these to me,' said A'^aughan, ^ I can't digest them, I'm blowai out now Avith wind.' Yaughan was the Doctor's eldest son, as nice and pleasant a fellow as one could wish Philip Barrel I. 23 to know. He and Philip had been at school in England for a short time together, and so they never left off their friendly familiarity even when Philip became the Doctor's assistant. He had, however, an amusing peculiarity of alwavs beino; ' blown out with wind/ If vou met him in the street, ten to one any inquiry after his health w^ould elicit the reply, ' Blown out with wind. Can't eat without having an awful indigestion.' It was Vaughan's chronic state. He was handsome, and the only fault one could find with him, perhaps, was that of being a little too much occupied Avith his oimi interests. He insisted a good deal on the pain he suffered from his indigestion, his fatigues, his wind ; and was fond of expati- ating on the excellencies of his horse Rover and his dog Jack. He diligently bought the latest editions of books and stacked them in a cupboard with the leaves uncut. Of maga- zines and periodical publications he subscribed to at least a dozen. These he had bound and put away like the rest of the books. But it certainly must be said that he rarely had any 24 Philip DarrelL time to read them, and so could not have done better than stow them carefully away. Altogether he was a very kmd-hearted fellow, merry, exceedingly droll at times, and never for a moment forgot to be kind and gentlemanly as well as familiar with his old school-fellow Philip Darrell. He followed the same profession as his father, but did not much care for it ; the work was occasionally too dirty, and at all times very close. ^5 CHAPTER lY. PHILIP GOES TO MAIDSTONE, ENJOYS A MUSICAL EVENING, AND HAS A SHAKE HANDS WITH THE HEEOINE. SUNDAY came roimcL and as Yauglian had said lie did uot care to go out, Philip got up very early, made a careful toilet, combed and brushed his hair about five different times before he was satisfied with its appear- ance, and sallied forth to catch the nine o'clock train from London Bridge. AYalking down Holborn and Cheapside and King William Street, over the Bridge to the station, rather tired him as a beginning of the day. However, a glass of lemonade and a biscuit refreshed him, so he went to get his ticket — third class — and trudged on to the platform, was clipped, past through the gates, and ensconced himself safe in a 'iage. A whistle, a tug, and the train steamed 26 Philip Barrel I. out of the station, not more than ten minutes later than it should have started. The sun was blazing down and poured its heat into the carriages with an energy and perseverance that soon caused the ten miser- able beings therein to pant and mop their heads and faces. A woman, very fat, with a baby on her knees, also very fat (the baby of course), ex- pressed her opinion several times in the question, ' It's very 'ot, ain't it. Mister ? ' which being addressed to Philip, who sat directly opposite to her, elicited from him a sort of acquiescent grunt. Then the fat baby flung its head back with a dismal howl and refused to be com- forted till it suddenly caught sight of Philip's spectacles, when it chuckled as heartily as it had dismally howled. Philip could not help snapping his finger and thumb at the plimip morsel, which of course made it laugh the more. Thereupon a man, with a squint, in the corner, remarked, to no one in particular : « Aint he a fat 'un ' — and as nobody raised a Philip Darrell. 27 voice in contradiction, lie proceeded to wonder how old it was. ' He's only eleven months, sir,' said the fat mother, beaming with pleasure to have her child noticed. ' Aint, he thousrh ? ' said the man in the corner. ' I'd never have guessed it.' Upon this the mother proceeded to give a detailed account of her baby's birth and sub- sequent career. Philip heard that the fat thing had five teeth already, and ' was a-try- ing to cut a double tooth in the back of his head ; ' and as a natural consequence the baby did not forget to keep the whole house awake over his double-tooth, so much so that his mother said she had often wished it icould come soon, if it meant to come at all. When this woman got out at Gravesend, everybody relapsed into silence. The object of the one-sided discourse having vanished the talkers held their tono-ues. Through all this Philip was amused to notice that no one addressed his neighbour, or, indeed, any one else. They all spoke into the air, scattering their words as if they only 28 Philip Darrell. wanted to send them through the open wm- dows, and not at all for the purpose of con- versation. Soon the hop-poles began to show them- selves, and below Strood Philip noticed how thirsty the byne seemed. The hop strobiles were beginning to form, but Avere in danger of fading from Avant of water. The wheat fields looked magnificent, the heavy ears sway- ing to and fro to the soft breeze that came from the river. There all was calm and still, even a baro-e with its bis; red sail went so slowly up the stream that it heightened the general appearance of stillness. By Cuxton the train, even, seemed to have become drowsy and infected with the general desire for re- pose ; for it ran along the rails less noisily and more smoothly than at first. Then the train stopped, and the cry * all tickets ready,' woke up those passengers who had half succumbed to sleep. The tickets all given up, the train moved on another thirty or forty yards and stopped again. They had reached Maidstone. Philip stepped leisurely on to the platform, waited a minute, saw by Philip DarrelL 29 the door a well-known face, walked calmly up and extended liis hand. ' How are you, old fellow ? ' said he. ' Oh, I'm fine ! How are you ? ' replied Allen Heyson. (Be it noted Heyson is pro- nounced H<2yson.) ' Jolly ! and much obliged to you for meeting me,' answered Philip. ' Which way do we go ? I really forget, it's such a time since I was down here.' ' Come along ; I brought my trap up. I guessed you wouldn't care to walk much this hot time.' So Heyson, a fine manly looking fellow about twenty-three, Philip's age, leading the the way, they tm-ned just the corner of the station and there was the trap, with a stout brown pony in the shafts, apparently impa- tient to be off. At any rate the youngster who had been holding him remarked — ' He's a very hard 'un to 'old, sir,' and consequently Allen Heyson pitched him an extra sixpence. ' By Jove, Allen, how you've gone in for 30 Philip DarrelL beard and moustache/ said Philip, as he settled himself in the trap. Heyson tm:'ned his head and laughed as he retorted, almost in the same tone of voice, ' By Jove, Phil, how you've gone in for whis- kers, and moustache, and spectacles.' ' Come, now, don't chaff, there's a good fellow,' said Philip ; ' my spectacles are always being attacked.' ' What do you wear 'em for, then ? ' asked Allen. ' What do I wear 'em for, my boy ? Why, because they pay ! Didn't I write you word what sort of family I was with now. Every- thing is a question of " Hoav will it pay " in that house. And so when I presented my- self for the situation my spectacles brought me twenty pounds a year more than I other- wise should have got,' and Philip laughed as he finished this defence of his spectacles. ' Oh, all right, then. I advise you to stick to them like a barnacle,' replied Allen. By this time the pony had covered most of the ground between the station and the ^Woodlands,' and as they rattled past the Philip Darrell. 31 barracks Allen whispered that they would soon be there. The two had been at school together in France, and great chums whilst there. Tom Darrell, Philip's brother, had been there at the same time with them, but had not kept up the schoolboy friendship. ' Here we are at last,' cried Allen, ' and there's Edith and Florry Avaiting at the gate. Jump down, old felloAv, while I take the trap round. The girls will show you the way in, which you can't have forgotten yet, though.' 'How are you, Edith? and how do you do, Elorry ? you look well, I must say/ cried Philip, as the two rosy-cheeked girls came up to meet him. ' We're all right, Philip,' said they ; ' come along into the house ; Ma and Pa are both anxious to see you.' Philip insisted upon each taking an arm and so marching up to the verandah. ' Ah ! you sad dog,' cried old Mr Heyson through the dining-room window, ' you're not a bit altered ; come through here and shake hands.' Philip DarrelL * Couldn't do it, sir/ said Philip ; ' must escort this convoy safe into port.' ' No, you shan't/ said the girls, slipping away and darting into the house, so Philip stopped and walked in at the window, where a cordial grasping of hands took place all round. Mr Hey son was a short, well-made man, getting rather square and stout, and verging upon his fiftieth year. He wore his beard and moustache clipped somewhat a V Amerkaine, had clear gray eyes, a good complexion, rather dark ; his dark hair was kept well and closely cut. Altogether he looked a hearty kind man, and what he looked he was. His wife was taller than he, moderately good-looking, with very dark hair, and brown eyes that were almost black. Philip always cherished a fond remem- brance of her unpretending kindness to him. Oh, what a relief it was to him to find himself once more among people who were not afraid to laugh, who said what they thought so that every one could hear, and who never noticed Philip's awkwardness. Perhaps with them he was not gauche and stupid, somehow he seemed Philip DarrelL ^i'b in his element here, and threw off the con- strained ' assistant ' manner that sat so hea\dly on him in London. 'My dear/ said Mr Heyson to his wife, ' haven't you anything to offer PhiHp after his journey ? ' ' Of com'se I have, dear,' rephed she. ' What do you hke best, PhiHp ; you're grown such a man that I don't like to offer you the glass of milk you used to be so fond of.' ' And of which I'm just as fond as ever, Mrs Heyson,' replied Philip, ' so please give me a cup of milk. We can't get it without water in London, you must know.' Plorry ran out into the dairy and soon came back with a cool glass of beautiful milk. ' Thanks,' said PhiHp, and betook himself to a good deep draught. ' Ah ! how fine 1 ' he exclaimed, as he set down the glass, three parts emptied. ' At it again, are you,' cried a voice from behind him, Allen having just stepped in from looking to the horse and trap. ' What a feUow you are for milk ! I w^ant something stronger than that, mother, please,' continued Allen, so VOL. I. 3 34 Philip Darrell. he quietly filled up a bumper of claret, and with a ' Here's to our jolly good healths/ tossed it off wdth evident relish. ' What shall you do with yourself till dinner time, Philip ? ' said Mrs Heyson. ' Philip must come into the garden, mother,, and see Allen's workhouse,' said Edith. ' Allen's workhouse ! ' cried Philip ; ' what- ever do you mean ? ' ' You must go with them, Philip,' said Mr Heyson, ' as I can see your curiosity is strongly excited already, and we may fear an explosion if you remain here much longer.' 'Very well, thanks, I will,' replied Philip ; and Edith, Elorry, Allen, and he sallied forth through the long passage into the garden. ' How do you think the governor is look- ing, Phil?' asked Allen. ' Just the same ; only, of course, a little older, than when he came over to Prance,' j-eplied Philip. ' Do you see Allen's workhouse, now ? ' cried Edith, as they reached the bottom of the garden. Philip looked before him, and beheld a Philip Darrell. 35 small summer-house kind of building, erected at the right angle of the garden palings, just overlooking the river, which rolled lazily along about half a stone's throw beyond the garden end. ' Why, that's something new, Allen, isn't it? ' said Philip; ' I certainly don't remember it when I was here last.' ' Of com'se you don't,' said Allen, ' it hasn't been fixed up more than six months. Just look in and say what you think of it/ and with that he threw open the door. It was a square room about fifteen by fifteen feet, and tastefully fitted up with shelves, hooks, and pegs innumerable. Two or three good fishing-rods, disjointed, were thrust in one corner, with some small nets hanging on a hook over them. A rook-rifle graced one side of the room, a couple of pairs of foils and basket-sticks showed more war-like tendencies on the other. Half-a-dozen rows of deal shelves, stained to imitate mahogany, decorated the third side, and supported rows of well-thumbed books. Lastly, a square table with movable flaps, a couple of chahs and ;^6 PJiilip Darrell. a spittoon, completed the furniture of the room. Yet, I forget ! A pipe and case and a fat tobacco jar were on the table above mentioned. On the river-side a long window, with old Erench shutters fitted outside, threw light and air into the snuggery. Philip declared himself delighted with it, and expressed a determination to smoke a cigar in it before he left. After that they strolled through the big fruit-garden, chatting and laughing, and plucking the fat luscious cherries, that some- times knocked against their heads as they walked under the trees. At such direct in- vitation, who could help raising a hand to pluck them? and once plucked, how resist eating them ? Time flew, though, and soon the dinner- bell clanged through the house and all hurried in. There was just five minutes to run up- stairs and wash hands and brush hair, and get rid of the cherry juice, before the second bell would ring — so, of course, the above pro- gramme was immediately carried out. Philip Barrel!. ■ ' ' 37 ' Philip, you sit by me,' said Mrs Heyson ; ' I seldom see you now, so I must make the most of you ; ' and obedient Philip, 'cute dog, who knew how well he would be looked after, instantly did so. Mr Heyson, however, raised his voice in protest, but was instantly talked down by the femininity of the party, who declared that ' mother did quite right.' And as one sat next to Philip and the other op- posite him, perhaps they were not altogether impartial in their decision. For some little time the conversation rather languished, consisting chiefly of such remarks as follows : — ' Phil, do you take anchovy ? ' ' Yes, thank you ; and may 1 trouble you for the melted butter ? ' * Philip, a glass of wine with you.' Another interval of silence. Servant changes course. Fresh remarks. ' My dear, you haven't given Phihp any lemon. Don't you care for any bacon, Phil ? ' from Mrs Heyson. ' No, thanks,' says Philip, ' I prefer the veal alone.' » 38 Philip DarrelL ' Please yourself, my clear boy.' By this time appetite is somewhat ap- peased, and conversation becomes more brisk. ' What's the last epidemic, Phil ? ' cried Mr Heyson from the top of the table, at which all laughed. 'Well, I fancy it's nothing more than '' Who's your hatter ? " or, " How are your poor feet ? " ' answered Phil. Mrs Heyson laughed, and immediately told Philip he had quite misunderstood the question. ' Didn't you ask " AVhat's the epidemic ? " my dear ? ' she said to her husband. ' Yes ! of course I did,' replied he. ' Well, Philip has only told us what the last mania is,' continued Mrs Heyson. ' I won't remain here any longer,' cried Philip, if I have to be so exact. 'No punning, PhiKp. Mania and "remain here" won't do,' said Allen. ' But, noAV, seriously,' said Mr Heyson, ' Avhat is the last epidemic ? ' ' 'Pon my word, sir, I don't know. I may say there's lots of measles about, and scarlet Philip DarrelL 39 fever, and small pox, and plague of London. Probably a great number of people are affected by this hot weather. Certainly verij old folks make up their mind to die, and really manage it very creditably. I suppose very old folks haven't much mind left to make up, so do it quickly and well.' 'Philip, you're incorrigible,' said Mrs Hey son. ' I'd better give you some of this cherry and currant pie to prevent you saying any more nonsense.' ' I'll mllingly be quiet for such a bribe, and stop the current of my speech for such a cherry -Y^Q^L dish,' cried Philip. ' Mother ! don't give him any pie till he apologizes for those horrid puns — current and C'/^err^-ished. Shocking, isn't it ? ' But Allen's affected horror only made every- body laugh the more at Philip's absurd jokes, and he got the pie at once without apology. Dinners will come to an end, even when lengthened and seasoned by fun and laughter, and Mrs Heyson, soon after dessert was on the table, left the room with Edith and Piorry, and the men remained by themselves. 40 Philip Da^n^ell. ' Bring yom- chair round here, Phil, it will be better for talking. You, Allen, fill his glass. AYliich will you take, Phil? Hock, or Moselle, or Claret ? ' ' Oh, Hock ! by all means. It's not so sweet as the Moselle, and I'm still thirsty. Thanks.' ' Well, my boy, I'm very glad to see you with us. How you have grown since your last visit. Quite a man ! ' said old Heyson, as Philip di'ew his chair up and crossed his legs. ' Yes, sir, I've had to work hard since that time,' said Philip. ' You know I was about commencing my studies at University College when that last crash in America nearly ruined my poor mother. AVhat little she had been able to get together of my father's property, a kind, but rather officious friend persuaded her to invest in the shares of the San Luis West- ern Railroad. Certainly everything looked fair and plain-sailing, but twelve per cent dividend and a bonus every nine months did not some- how quite succeed ; the whole thing has gone to smash, and all mother could realize was about a thhtieth of the price she had paid for Philip Darrell. 41 those shares. Of course, you know, Tom and I had to set to work to help her.' *Very hard to bear, such reverses,' re- marked Mr Heyson. ' Well, perhaps so,' said Philip ; ' but for my own part I fancy I have worked along very well. Friends have been kind to me. 1 for- tunately proom-ed a good situation near the hospital, and have been able to follow up my studies. Certainly not so well as I wished, but still sufficiently to enable me to go up for ex- amination, and that you know is the grand thing.' ' True ! It is the grand thing, and I sin- cerely hope you will pull through. If I can be of any use to you in any Avay, Philip,' said Mr Heyson, ' remember I shall feel offended that you should apply to any one else for help.' Philip grasped the old man's hand, and pressed it warmly, but assured him that he hoped to manage by his own exertions, if not, he would come to him. *Well, now you have finished that little bit,' said Allen, ' I vote we join the ladies. 42 Philip Darrell. Mother, I dare say, is having forty winks, but the girls will be certain to be wide awake, as it isn't every day we have Phil down here.' All laughed and rose from table, Mr Heyson going up-stairs to his wife's room, and Allen and Philip sauntering out into the garden. Edith and Plorence Avere found cosily seated on the grass under a big cherry tree in the Miiddle of a sort of group of fruit- trees, so that they were amply shaded. Allen and Philip threw themselves down beside them. Edith put down the work she was reading when they came up. Philip took it up to see what book it was. He had been so used to surfeits of Dickens and Trollope, that he was agreeably surprised to see such a title as ' Corona Tragica.' ' Why, this is one of Lope de Yega Carpio's Avorks ! How do you like it ? And how do you like Spanish ? I didn't know you knew it,' said Philip. ' I don't care much for that,' said Edith, ' it is rather serious ; I like his comedies best.' ' Yes, so do I,' rejoined Philip. ' I was not aware that you knew Spanish,' Philip Darrell. 43 said Edith, in such a tone tliat all lauglied — it seemed like a retort for Philip's similar remark. ' Si, Seiiorita ! Hay mucho tiempo que ■conozcolo,' replied Philip with a bow a V Usjjahoia, vrhich turned the laugh against Edith. * Who do you think is coming to tea to- night, Philip ? ' said Elorry, by way of diver- sion. ' Can't imagine, I assure you,' replied he ; * I know so feAV people down here.' ' Why, Adhle De Brenne,' said Elorence. ' You don't say so ! ' cried Philip ; ' why, I haven't heard the slightest bit of news about the De Brennes since I was at school there. Why, she must be a big girl now.' * Oh, yes, she is, I can assure you.' 'Do you remember how old she was, Allen, when we left ? ' asked Philip. ' I don't think she was more than five,' replied he, ' but now one would think she was quite groAvn up.' ' Yet she can't be very old. It is just nine years since I left Bourville, so that Adele is about fifteen,' continued Philip. 44 Philip DarrelL ' Yes, that is her age, Phil, but she looks a little older,' said Edith. ' Didn't her father, old De Brenne, kill himself somehow, by accident, with a pipe ? ' ' Yes. He was coming down-stahs, and as he reached the last stair he fell forward — the carpet Avas loose or something — and drove the clay pipe stem into his throat. Inflam- mation set in, and he died the next day. Fortunately he was a careful man, and had saved money, so that his wife and daughter can live decently. You know Madame was English ? ' ' Oh, yes ! I remember that,' said Philip. ' Well, and not only English, but a native of Maidstone,' continued Elorry ; ' so that she came over here soon after her husband's death, and began giving private lessons in French and music. And they have got on very well.' Of course Philip was very pleased to hear news of old friends, and even hinted to Allen, sotto voce, that he would like to go to his room to tidy up a bit. So, as it was past four, and Adele was Philip Darrell. 45 expected every minute, Allen and lie Avent indoors. Philip spent some little time brushing his hair and tying and re tying his cravat. Then Edith's voice summoned the two young fellows down, by calling out that Adele was impatiently waiting to see her old play- mate Philip. Down they came at once, Philip first, and as he reached the bottom of the stairs a lovely fair-haired girl sprung towards him, threw her arms round his neck, and before he could recover from his astonishment, kissed him on each cheek, then flew away laughing. ' Est-ce que tu m'as oublide, par hasard, Philippe ? ' cried she. ' Ah ! non ! pas du tout. Je te reconnais iDien, Ad^le, tu es toujours la meme. On ne m'a pas embrass^ si fort que ca depuis que j'ai quitte Bourville,' said Philip. ' C'est bien, alors, tu n'auras pas trouv^ d' autre bonne amie,' rejoined Ad^le, so came back to him, and hooking arms, marched him in to tea. Adele De Brenne was really beautiful; 46 Philip Darrell. lier light brown, almost golden, hair fell over her shoulders in rippling profusion. Her com- plexion was exquisitely clear, she was some- what pale, and her features generally Avere lovely. The nose was well-formed and straight, the brow good, the lips full and coloured ruby red. Long lashes shaded the clear blue eyes that flashed brightly under her well-marked brows. And yet a perfect child, merry, insouciante,. and as pure-minded as ever God created a human being. After tea Mr Heyson readily agreed to her request that they should have some music. So Adele sat down to the -piano at once, and, without music, played with pure expres- sion one of Beethoven's lovely Sonatas. Philip sat entranced by the piano, and listened in a perfect ecstasy. Then Mr Heyson asked her to accompany him in a duo, piano and violin, but Adele insisted upon giving up her seat to Edith,, who, she said, played much better. She was looking for a seat near the piano when Philip beckoned to her, so she came and PJiilip Darrell. 47 witlioiit the slightest affectation' of coquetry sat down on his knees, and with Phihp's arm holding her round the waist, listened to an adao;io movement which formed the duo. Mr Hey son played most exquisitely, and Edith was a careful and splendid accompanist. Then Allen brought in his violoncello, and they played an elaborate trio with great ex- j^ression. After that Philip was requested to add his contingent, so he sat him down after begging- leave, laughingly, of Adele, and played and sang Schubert's ' Erlking/ His voice was a baritone with half tenor compass, and the song just suited him, so that he sang it pretty well. As his time was nearly up they would not allow him to leave the piano till he had given them the ' Wanderer,' and two little songs of his OAvn composition. After that Adele sang two French Ro- mances, the ' Masque de Fer ' and ' Daniel.' Last, and perhaps most beautiful, Edith played Beethoven's ' Sonate Path^tique,' with an infinite tenderness and pmity of expression. All felt sad as it ended — Philip most of all. 48 Philip Darrell. for lie thought of what he was leaving for the dulness of his daily Avork. Laughingly he said to Mr Heyson, ' Don't you think Ave have been very wicked to sing and play on Sunday ? ' 'No, Philip, I do not think so,' replied Mr Heyson. ' Seriously speaking, my dear boy, I conceive that God is never displeased at his creatures' use of the gifts he has given them. Whether on a Sunday or a Aveek day I hold it is just the same. I, and my family, from my example, laugh, joke, sing, play, and fiddle just as much on Sunday as any other day. AVe sunply, to my thinking, show our appreciation and enjoyment of the life our Creator has allotted to us.' Philip could not but agree, and thought his host completely in the right. Adele took her place by him at supper, and soon Avon him back to the old allegiance from which Philip, perhaps, had never cared or wished to be free. In the spirit of gii'lish joy and artlessness she claimed him again as her cavalier, and Avith a feeling of mingled pleasure and pain Philip voAved himself happy in her choice. Philip Dam^ell. 49 Allen Heyson had not been quite so joy- ous since tea-time as lie was in the afternoon. Perhaps he felt slighted that Adele had said so few words to him and had shown herself t|uite engrossed Avith her old play-felloAV. So the supper was ended, and Philip made the round of the table, Avith cordial hand- grasps from all and an impetuous mad kind of kiss from Adele. Heyson went Avith him to the station, and at first, as they Avalked briskly on, neither spoke; then Allen remarked in a peculiarly constrained tone of voice, ' I say, old fellow, little Adele De Brenne seems quite taken with you.' Philip turned, noticing the strangely altered voice, and answered with a laugh, ' Why, my dear fellow, she's nothing but a child, and only sees in me an old playmate whom she had not thought to meet again.' Nevertheless, as Philip Avas being sloAAdy dragged up to London, the image of that ' child ' Avas ever present Avith him. Her soft hand-clasp and dainty kiss lingered with him, and long after he had turned into bed VOL. I. 4 30 Philip DarrelL lie lay awake that night, dreaming and plan- ning a fresh life and bnilding wondrous ' castles in the air/ where he and Adele might be as one. Can it be wondered that after this, every day he could be spared from work, and cer- tainly every second Sunday, found him at Maidstone, growing more and more infatuated with Adele 's gentle beauty, she also perhaps learning to love him even more then she used to love her old playmate ? One thing was peculiar in this intimacy, Philip had never once seen Madame De Brenne. She was always ' ill *" when he wished to do so. 51 CHAPTER Y. A FURTHER GLANCE AT DOCTOR RENHARD AND VAUGHAK, AND A LITTLE DETAIL CONCERNING THEIR METHOD OF ANSWERING UNWELCOME MESSAGES. THERE is such an atmosphere of petty de- ceit and barefaced equivocation breathed in the surgery of a modern general practi- tioner that, to the uninitiated, it must present, when disclosed and analyzed, a fruitful subject for speculative thought. The old distinctions of rich and poor have become so bhuTcd and vague that modern life everywhere presents the same problem — Which are the rich, and which the poor ? Only this state of society would give birth to the modern practitioner, of whom the grades and rank are just as difficult to fix and define as are the distinctions between rich and poor themselves. The grand maxim of ancient doctors was that the rich man's fees should cover the iJi