LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVER5 ITY 
 or 1LL1 NOIS 
 
 v. 1
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LOXDQK: PRINTED bt \\ 1 1 i.t v > \\ i - vsn soss, -: \mford si 
 
 and CBABIHQ CBOSBa
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 a Nobel 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 By LEGH KNIGHT., 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 
 
 1868. 
 
 [Right of Reproduction and Translation reserved.]
 
 ^ TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Glasgow boat was overdue at Gourock, as was 
 shown by the impatient looks of the two persons who 
 were waiting for her on the little quay. One was 
 the Gourock doctor — a tall, thin, large-boned man of 
 fifty, — the other a plump, brisk, little woman of 
 
 (V about the same age. When the boat at length 
 
 arrived, the doctor bore down upon a red-haired, 
 
 J red -eyed miniature of himself, and strode off with 
 
 .the boy in one big hand, and his box in the other. 
 
 x The lady, with greater signs of agitation, trotted up 
 
 NO 
 
 i^to two young girls in deep mourning. 
 
 " I'm your aunt Euphemia, weans ; and I'm vera 
 
 glad to see ye," was her abrupt greeting, with a 
 
 ^.strong western Scottish accent. " Come awa, come 
 
 ? awa," she added ; " Jamie Mackellar will see to your 
 
 J bits of things, won't you, Jamie ? and we'll gang awa 
 
 •*? hame, for your aunts are just wearying for the sight 
 
 ^ VOL. I. B
 
 Z TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 of ye. Ye likely mind that sister Elizabeth, puir 
 body, lias na the right use of her limb-, and sister 
 Janet couldna find it in her heart to leave her the 
 day, seeing that Elizabeth was aye puir Davie's — 
 your puir father's — favourite sister. And how did ye 
 win through the far journey, wean> ? Your puir 
 heads will be sore, I'm thinking." 
 
 " Sore, Aunt ?" repeated the elder of the two girls, 
 with a puzzled expression. 
 
 "With that nasty, puffing, smoking machine the 
 day, and the coach yesterday, and before that the 
 other thing — the railway, as they call it — praise be 
 given, it's no my way, nor ever will be, so long as 
 I'm in my right mind. And ye're na the worse of 
 it ? And ye'll have seen Mrs. Caird ? And did she 
 show ye the High Kirk ?" 
 
 " No, we did not see anything in Glasgow, Aunt. 
 It was a great pity." 
 
 " It was because we had no time," said the younger 
 girl, hastily. " Mrs. Caird was very kind, and would 
 have taken us to everything." 
 
 "Yes, oh yes, Mrs. Caird was very kind. She met 
 us at the coach-office last night, and came with us 
 on board the boat this morning. Her little nephew 
 was with us all the way : he said he was coming to 
 his father here." 
 
 "His father has crot the laddie — that Ion:? man 
 with the red head — he's just our doctor — Dr. Lao
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 3 
 
 and Mrs. Caird was his wife's sister, puir body. And 
 ye'll have seen London, lassies ?" with a solemn 
 sinking of her voice. 
 
 " No, it was a great pity, we could not see any 
 more of London than we did of Glasgow. Gerard 
 came with us from Pixycombe, and Harold met us 
 when we got to London, and took us to sleep at the 
 house of a friend of his at Gateshill — that is some 
 distance from London — but he did not know any one 
 nearer, and he did not like us to go to an inn." 
 
 "Of course not, my lammie. It's no the same thing 
 as if the young men were your own born brothers." 
 
 " No, I suppose that was the reason. But I should 
 have liked to see something of London ; and we had 
 to start from Gateshill so very early in the morning. 
 I think he might have managed better." 
 
 " Jessie ! he could not have been kinder or more 
 thoughtful !" interrupted the younger girl again. 
 
 "No, he was very kind. But, Aunt, do you think 
 there would have been any harm in our going to an 
 inn, just for one night ? I was so disappointed not 
 to see anything of London. Effie did not care about 
 it. AVhat harm could there have been, Aunt V" 
 
 " I carina well say, bairn. But I'm thinking the 
 young man, Mr. Yonge, had his good reasons. And 
 it's no just fitting for bit lassies to be their lane in a 
 big city with them that are no kin to them, and braw 
 young laddies."
 
 4 TONIC BITTE] 
 
 M I did so wish to see London," urged Jefi till 
 unconvinced. 
 
 ■'There's sister Janet!" cried aunt Euphemia, and 
 as she spoke she ran forward, and opened the gate of 
 a garden, where there stood a tall lady, remarkably 
 square in form, and grey in colour. When she spol 
 her deliberate tones were in striking contrast with 
 her sister's hurried sentences. 
 
 "You are welcome, my nieces," said the elder 
 aunt, as she kissed each of the girls on the forehead, 
 and then she turned and led the way into the house, 
 saying, " Your aunt Elizabeth is here." 
 
 On a sofa, in a pretty window overlooking the 
 Clyde, lay the invalid sister, a little, shrivelled, 
 bright-eyed woman, with large hands, and a sharp 
 voice. The voice at once greeted the girls with, 
 t; Yes. here's the cranky body, laid on her back, 
 when she's most wishful to be on her le^s. Come 
 away, bairns, come away !" 
 
 "Come awa ! comeawa!" echoed aunt Euphemia. 
 " Come and show the puir body what like ye are." 
 
 "They'll do no such thing, sister Euphemia!" 
 cried the invalid sharply. "I'll no be speering into 
 the weans' faces when they're hungry and tired. 
 You're no better than a wean yourself, with your 
 clattering and your fashing, and your come awa 11 
 You're like to make the bairns' heads sore, if the 
 journey has not done it for them. I'll no s< t i \
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 on them till they have eaten and rested ; so you had 
 best take them to their chamber at once, and leave 
 them in peace." 
 
 Aunt Euphemia obediently proceeded up-stairs, 
 chattering all the time. " Puir sister Elizabeth ! 
 She's a wee fractious the day. It's just a marvel 
 how she lies there most times with never an ill word 
 for any one — eh ! but she's an awful sufferer, your 
 puir aunt Elizabeth ! Here's your chamber, lassies. 
 I'm feared ye'll find it a bit wee, but I'm thinking 
 ye're no over big yourselves, and what ye're no 
 needing ye can just put past in the press yonder." 
 
 " Oh, what a lovely view !" cried Efne. 
 
 " Ye'll no be caring that the chambers wee, if 
 ye're that taken with the view, lassie. And you'll 
 be puir Davie's ' little one ' ? " 
 
 The girl turned her face quite away, and any one 
 more observant than aunt Euphemia would have 
 seen that she was trembling violently. 
 
 "Puir lammie," continued the talkative old lady, 
 " ye'll no be sixteen yet, I'm thinking." 
 
 " I am just fifteen," answered Effie, with her face 
 still averted. 
 
 " Puir wee body ! Sister Janet, are you minding 
 that the bairn is but fifteen ? — puir Davie's ' little 
 one.' " 
 
 " Yes, I am minding it. Here, lassies, just drink 
 this off, and you will be the better of it." She was
 
 U TONIC BITTE1 
 
 carrying a tray, on which were two tnmbl nd a 
 
 steaming compound, which she immed poured 
 
 out. 
 
 Jessie tasted it. " Oh, Aunt, how good! What 
 is it t 
 
 " It's just a little hot toddy to warm you after your 
 journey, and then we will tuck you up in your be»l>. 
 and you must lie there till we cry upon you for t- 
 Come, come, away with it all. It will not harm 
 you." 
 
 Jessie did as she was told, but when Effie's turn 
 came, she stoutly rebelled, though only with the low- 
 spoken words, " Indeed, Aunt, I would rather not." 
 
 Aunt Janet persisted quietly, and aunt Euphemia 
 remonstrated volubly, till at length Jessie explained, 
 "She never will take any wine or spirits. Papa 
 objected to everything of the sort for children." 
 
 Aunt Janet turned away without a word, but aunt 
 Euphemia broke out with, " And she is her father's 
 very own self; that was just his way of looking, bless 
 him ! Do you mind that glint of his bonnie brown 
 eyes, sister Janet ? The wean has just his eyes. But 
 youll be your mother's bairn," she added, turning to 
 Jessie. u Davie wrote us that his elder wean v 
 of a rare beauty, like her mother before her. Ye'll 
 no be minding your mother, lassies 
 
 " Did papa say that of me, Aunt ? I did not know 
 that he thought me like poor mamma. I wonder
 
 TONTC BITTERS. 7 
 
 whether I really am like her. She was very beau- 
 tiful, you know. Aunt. I was twelve when she died, 
 and I remember her quite well — Effie was only seven. 
 1 don't think I am like her picture that we have. I 
 hope I am like her. I wish so much to be beautiful." 
 
 " Why do you wish to be beautiful, lassie ?" asked 
 aunt Janet, dryly. 
 
 " It is so pleasant to be admired. And then plain 
 people don't get on so well — no one takes notice of 
 them in company — and they don't get married." 
 
 " Is that such a sad fate, Jessie ?" 
 
 "Yes, Aunt, I think so. Nobody cares for old 
 maids." 
 
 " The wean is right, sister Janet. No woman in 
 her right senses would bide her lane if she could get 
 a man to her mind ; and no doubt but the bonnie ones 
 have a better chance in the matter than we plain 
 bodies." 
 
 " But you must have been handsome, aunt Janet." 
 
 " And you are wondering why I am an old maid, 
 eh, lassie ? What does the little one think ?" 
 
 "You must not mind Jessie's nonsense, Aunt," 
 replied Effie, who had looked very flushed and angry 
 whilst her sister was talking. 
 
 " Now you must just lay yourselves down, and rest 
 your poor sore backs. Come away, Effie ; you would 
 not take the toddy to pleasure me, but you must not 
 show yourself a wilful woman in all things."
 
 8 TONIC BITTEi:-. 
 
 Effie lay down with admirable docility, and her 
 aunt immediately proceeded to rub all over her face 
 and neck a sweet white ointment, which she Baid was 
 to preserve the complexion after exposure to the sea 
 air. She then tightly tucked up her patient under 
 two heavy blankets and an eider-down coverlet, and 
 drew the curtains close all round the bed. The same 
 ceremony was performed with Jessie, and the aunts 
 left the room on tiptoe. 
 
 " How do you feel, Jessie ?" cried Effie, from her 
 nest. 
 
 " On the brink of suffocation. I can't lie here any 
 longer." 
 
 " We can't be so ungrateful as to get up directly. 
 The idea of my brown face being treated with such 
 consideration !" 
 
 " I wonder whether this nasty salve is really any 
 good to the complexion. It makes me feel quite 
 faint. I shall be ill if I stay here any longer. I 
 feel very ill already." 
 
 " You should not have spoken so of old maids, 
 essie. 
 
 " "Why not? No one does care for old maid-. 
 
 " But no one can prevent their caring for others, 
 and that is what makes happiness really." 
 
 " Now don't moralise, Effie — that's all that is 
 needed to iinish me completely. Oh. dear! I really 
 am going to be ill. I feel so very strangv !" With
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 9 
 
 this exclamation Jessie sprang out of bed, and hurried 
 to the window. 
 
 " Effie ! do you think that tall red man is the only 
 doctor here ? I am sure I could not feel confidence 
 in him." 
 
 " It is to be hoped we shan't want to have con- 
 fidence in any doctor." 
 
 " You may not, but it is not likely that I shall be 
 here any time without being obliged to consult some 
 one. I think I ought to see a doctor at once. I am 
 sure the journey has been too much for me — I feel so 
 very weak and strange." 
 
 " I don't w r onder you feel strange after that jorum. 
 The only wonder is that you are not rolling on the 
 floor." 
 
 " How unfeeling you are, Effie ! As if that had 
 anything to do with it. I tell you the journey, and 
 all that I went through before, have had a most 
 injurious effect on my constitution. I may probably 
 suffer from it for many years. If I find that there is 
 any doctor besides ' that long man ' I shall certainly 
 speak to him at once. There is no saying what mis- 
 chief may be brewing." 
 
 " I hope it will not turn out such a strong brew as 
 the toddy." 
 
 " Effie ! I will not stand your impertinence !" 
 
 " Very well, then, I will go to sleep, to please those 
 dear old ladies."
 
 10 TONIC I3ITTEI 
 
 Jessie, after speaking once or twice and obtaining 
 no answer, threw herself again on the bed, and was 
 soon sleeping soundly. Effie then sat up in fa 
 enclosure, and, unfastening her dress, drew out a 
 small card-case, which was tied round her wa: 
 From this she took several minute packets, and 
 spreading them on the bed, proceeded to look 
 earnestly at them, one after the other. First there 
 was a lock of short grey hair, folded carefully in paper, 
 with a lon^ tress of dark broAvn. Then a similar 
 paper containing a piece of soft wavey hair of a pale 
 tan colour, and a crisp curl of that bright golden hue 
 which is seldom seen in any hair after childhood. 
 These w r ere all reverently folded up again, and put 
 back in their place. Then came three cards, on 
 which an evidently unaccustomed hand had traced 
 in coloured chalks the head of a venerable-looking 
 clergyman ; of a vigorous, fair-haired man of about 
 five-and-twenty ; and of a handsome boy of eighteen, 
 evidently the original owner of the golden curl. 
 These also were reverently handled and put away in 
 the tiny case, which Effie again fastened round her 
 waist, and concealed under her dress. She then 
 emerged from her prison, and began unpacking and 
 arranging her clothes. When the tea was announced, 
 Effie was quite ready, but Jessie had to scramble up 
 from the bed, where she had forgotten her ailments 
 in sleep.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 11 
 
 When the girls had been about a fortnight at 
 Gourock some of Effie's treasures were exposed to 
 other eyes than her own. One afternoon the more 
 vigorous aunts had gone out to pay charitable visits, 
 and the two nieces were left with the invalid. 
 
 "And what like is this hero of yours, Effie?" asked 
 aunt Elizabeth, when Effie had been hotly asserting 
 that there was no one in the world so noble, so 
 generous, and so kind as Harold Yonge. 
 
 " He is not my hero, Aunt ; but he is a dear, good 
 fellow, and Jessie never will do him justice." 
 
 " And what like is he ?" 
 
 " Show Aunt your portraits of the two boys, Effie." 
 
 Effie coloured. " Oh, they're so bad. Aunt could 
 never judge of the boys from those scrawls." 
 
 " May ' Aunt ' see ' those scrawls,' please, Effie," 
 urged the aunt. 
 
 So Effie had nothing for it but to produce them. 
 
 " And this will be Harold the Great ? Well, it is a 
 bonnie face, and a good face." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt, not ' bonnie,' " cried Jessie. " Harold 
 has no sort of good looks." 
 
 "It is a good face, Aunt," said Effie, "and it is 
 ' bonnie.' I can't think what fault Jessie finds with 
 it. His features are good, and his fair hair is very 
 nice, and his eyes are beautiful — so blue, and honest, 
 and kind." 
 
 " Well done, wee defender ! Yes, it is a good
 
 12 TONIC BITTEJ 
 
 face. But, bairns, who's this? ThU is the bonnie 
 laddie." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Aunt," said Jessie. u No one would 
 look at Harold by the side of Gerard. Gerard is 
 handsome." 
 
 " And this is Gerard. Truly a winsome young 
 man. These are the eyes and the hair of a bairn." 
 
 " Yes, Aunt," said Effie, with suppressed eagern*. 
 " they are very peculiar. His eyes are deep violet, 
 with long black lashes, and his hair is quite a golden 
 brown. That ugly thing does not give you any idea 
 of what he is really like." 
 
 " And yon lads were as brothers to you," pursued 
 aunt Elizabeth, after a short pause. 
 
 "Yes, just like brothers," returned Effie, hastily. 
 " Captain Archer Yonge was a very old friend of — of 
 papa's," she added, lowering her voice. 
 
 " Ay. I mind the day dear Davie first brought 
 Frederick Yonge to the manse, when we were all 
 bit weans." 
 
 "Then did you know Captain Archer Yon 
 Aunt ?" cried Effie. " He must have been such a good 
 man, from what Harold says." 
 
 "The lad will have been but a bairn when his 
 lather — when he parted from his father." 
 
 " Harold was twelve when they first came to us, 
 and I was seven," said Jessie. 
 
 " They never saw their father after that," pursued
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 1 
 
 g 
 
 Effie. " In about a year the news came that Captain 
 Archer Yonge had died of yellow fever. Mrs. Yonge 
 died, you know, when Gerard was four years old, just 
 before they came to us." 
 
 " It was just like dear Davie to take the charge of 
 three bairns, when he had a handful of his own." 
 
 " What could he do, Aunt ? Captain Yonge had 
 nowhere to leave the boys when he went to sea. 
 He had no other friends who would take them." 
 
 * ' And it was no trouble to us ; one or two more 
 did not make much difference in our nurserv then." 
 
 "Effie talks very grandly of 'us' — you would not 
 think she was not two years old at the time." 
 
 " And afterwards they w T ere a great comfort," 
 pursued Effie, paying no attention to her sister's 
 remark, " when — when the fever came." 
 
 "Ah ! poor Davie ! We might not write him in his 
 sorrow, but we sorrowed with him." 
 
 " Why might you not write, Aunt ?" 
 
 " Our father was vexed with Davie for leaving the 
 Kirk in which the Garnocks had been ministers for 
 many generations. I'll no believe but that Davie's 
 heart was aye with us. It was na the doctrines of 
 his own Kirk that scared him from her ; it was the 
 yoke which has been laid upon us in her name that 
 was too strait for his generous nature — the yoke of a 
 cold and heartless intolerance." The old lady's eyes 
 were flashing, and her cheeks glowing. Presently
 
 14 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 she continued more calmly, "Whenever Davie 
 entered the English Church we were hidden to hold 
 no communion with him. Eh, bairns, it was a 
 bitter struggle between duty to our father, and 
 love to our dear brother! And oh! it waa hitter 
 indeed to know of his sorrow, and to be hindered 
 writing him a word of sympathy. You are too 
 voun^ to mind that time, bairns." 
 
 " Oh, no, Aunt," said Jessie, " I remember it per- 
 fectly. You know it was only a year later that poor 
 mamma died, and I was twelve then." 
 
 " It will likely have been the loss of her weans that 
 broke your poor mother's heart." 
 
 " Yes," said Jessie, " both papa and mamma thought 
 more of Walter than of all the rest of us." 
 
 " It is always the best that go in that way, is not 
 it, Aunt ?" asked Effie, with an indignant glance at 
 her sister. 
 
 " It mostly seems so, bairn ; but we are no fit to 
 say what is best for us. What like v e, my 
 
 namechild ?" 
 
 " Papa has always said since that she was v. 
 sweet and beautiful but I don't remember that she 
 was at all remarkable." 
 
 "Oh, Jessie! Harold Bays she was Lovely, and so 
 good-tempered." 
 
 "Allan was my favourite," continued J< " poor 
 
 dear little fellow ! He had always been very delicate,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 15 
 
 and yet he fought with the fever longer than any of 
 them. I had it, you know, Aunt, and I don't think 
 I have ever been quite strong since." 
 
 « Who first took ill ?" 
 
 " Reggie Yonge went over to see Harold at Chel- 
 tenham. The fever broke out there the next day, 
 and Reggie came home at once. I suppose he 
 brought it in his clothes, for in a week little Allan 
 sickened, and then I, and then Walter and Bessie. 
 Bessie died first, and Walter was getting better, when 
 Reggie was taken ill, and died the same day, and some- 
 how it was not kept from Walter, and the shock killed 
 him, too. I don't wonder at it, I am sure I thought 
 I should have died when they told me Walter was dead, 
 though I was getting well then. And when we came 
 back from Ilfracombe, and the house seemed so sad and 
 quiet, I always felt as if the fever were still there." 
 
 " Poor Davie," said aunt Elizabeth, wiping her 
 eyes, tl what a trial !" 
 
 "I think papa never got over Walter's death," 
 observed Jessie. 
 
 " Harold was everything then," said Effie, " and 
 Gerard — Gerard was such a bright little fellow, he 
 cheered up the whole house." 
 
 " Yes," continued Jessie, rather bitterly, " papa and 
 mamma both turned to them for comfort, instead of to 
 us. I sometimes used to think they disliked Eme 
 and me for having lived when the others died."
 
 1(5 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " For shame, Jessie !" cried Effie, indignantly. " I 
 am sure it is no wonder if Harold and Gerard were 
 more comfort to them than we were. Jessie was 
 frightened about herself, Aunt, and was always crying, 
 and I was a fearfully naughty child, and mu>t have 
 been an intolerable nuisance in the house. I can 
 remember how good and kind Harold was to every 
 one, and nobody could help loving Gerard." 
 
 "And can no one help loving Gerard now?" asked 
 aunt Elizabeth. 
 
 Effie coloured violently, and Jessie remarked, 
 " Effie thinks all the world ought to lie on the ground 
 before Harold and Gerard. Harold is certainly very 
 good — he is one of those people who can't help being 
 good. It seems as if he never had any temptations 
 like other people." 
 
 " And yet your father wrote me at one time that 
 the lad was abiding in some foreign land, if I mind 
 rightly." 
 
 •* Yes, Aunt, he was at Bonn, at the College there. 
 But it did not do him any harm. How do you think 
 d is that it is so much easier for some people to be 
 good than it is for others?" 
 
 "I think each one knows his own bunion b 
 lassie, and we are all ever ready to think our own the 
 only laden back." 
 
 "I am sure Harold has no burden to bear, Aunt." 
 
 " He has a grave face for so young a man,"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 17 
 
 remarked aunt Elizabeth, again looking at the por- 
 trait. 
 
 "He is grave," said Effie, "but he is very seldom 
 sad." 
 
 " And this bonnie face that has stolen my heart, 
 can this be sad ?" asked the old lady, referring to the 
 other sketch. 
 
 " Gerard ? oh, no," answered Jessie, " he can never 
 even be grave." 
 
 " Sometimes," murmured Effie. 
 
 " Of course, when he is in grief," returned Jessie^ 
 shortly. " Do you think that a very lively person 
 must necessarily be unsteady, Aunt ?" 
 
 " Doubtless a dancing heart has more trouble to 
 keep a steady step. But I am no agreeing with 
 those who hold that all mirth is sin." 
 
 " Papa used to be often very uneasy about Gerard,'' 
 said Jessie. "Aunt, this room is so hot," she 
 added, " I feel quite faint. I think I will go out 
 and meet aunt Euphemia." 
 
 a And why was your papa uneasy about Gerard ? 
 asked aunt Elizabeth, when Jessie had left the room- 
 
 Effie hesitated, as she always did before mentioning 
 her father. "Papa was so fond of Gerard. The last 
 thing he said to me was, 'Take care of my poor 
 Gerard.' " 
 
 "You bit wean! Why should Davie tell you to 
 take care of a young man grown ?" 
 
 VOL I. C
 
 18 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Gerard does need taking care of, Aunt," replied 
 Effie, gravely. " He is so good-tempered that he 
 gives way to every one. And then he is so un- 
 selfish, that he never quite knows his own mind." 
 
 " A dangerous character," thought aunt Elizabeth, 
 but she did not say so. After a long silence, she 
 began, " I'm thinking, Effie, that you are just myself 
 as I was at your age. Nay, bairn, there is no need 
 to be vexed. I was not always the cranky lameter 
 that I am now." 
 
 " Indeed, Aunt, I was not vexed. I should be 
 very glad to be like you." 
 
 " Oh, dinna wish that, bairn ! I'm a poor bootless 
 body, and I have but myself to thank for it. Come 
 beside me, lassie, and I'll tell you what laid me here 
 on my back." 
 
 Effie seated herself on the floor in front of her 
 aunt's sofa. 
 
 "I'll have been just your age when dear Davie 
 brought Frederick Yonge to the house. Eh, but he 
 was bonnie, the bit sailor laddie ! Not so real bonnie 
 as yon laughing rogue in your picture ; but some- 
 thing between him and the fair-haired brother. I 
 was not so to say sick then, but I was a weakly, 
 puling lassie, and Frederick Yonge was aye the one 
 to help and tend me, and so — I was but a wean, and 
 did not rightly know what a folly it was — I just set 
 my whole heart on the bright-eyed, soft- voiced laddie.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 19 
 
 Eh, bairn, but it was just idolatry, which is ' as the sin 
 of witchcraft.' He was both this world, and the other 
 world to me. I never thought of marriage, or that I 
 would ever be anything to him — it was just joy 
 enough to bear his voice, and to feel his presence. 
 The very sound of his footfall was more to me than 
 parents, and brethren, and home and faith ; eh ! 
 bairn, but it was an awful sin ! I schooled myself to 
 think that the end must come at some time ; but when 
 it did come, it was a bitter cup. Our great trouble 
 was to the others no more than the loss of a dear 
 brother, but to me it was the setting of my sun — the 
 ending of my life. Whenever Davie was driven 
 from his home, never more to return, then I knew 
 that never more would I hear the voice that was my 
 only music. I was a lass of twenty then. When I 
 was thirty, I chanced to see an English journal, and 
 there I read, — ' On the 4th inst., at Malta, the wife of 
 Captain Frederick Archer Yonge, of a son,' — that 
 would likely be your Harold, — it was five-and-twenty 
 years ago. I suppose I had a glint of hope till then, 
 but then I sank and sank, till I sank on to this sofa, 
 and became the old piece of lumber that you see." 
 
 Effie did not raise her face, which she had hidden 
 in her aunt's dress. The old lady continued more 
 lightly, — " And now that I have finished my tale, 
 which no one ever heard before, I will just give you 
 the moral, if you have not found it for yourself.
 
 20 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Never set up an idol in your heart, lassie — never let 
 a man fill the throne that should be kept for One 
 above. Are you heeding me, my bairn T 
 
 " Yes, Aunt," whispered Effie, without raising her 
 head. But in the silence that ensued, the girl, 
 guessing the suspicion which had led her aunt to tell 
 her this tale, felt with a half-frightened triumph that 
 the warning came too late. And the aunt knew that 
 it was so, and as she thought of Effie's childish face, 
 with its strange womanly expression, she pondered 
 sadly on the hereditary precocity which had made two 
 of the same family plunge into life's most troubled 
 current at an age when they should have been safe in 
 its quietest shallows.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 21 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Effie Garxock was very happy in her new life — as 
 happy as she could be so soon after the loss of her 
 father, and of her dear old home. She enjoyed the 
 society of her aunts ; the quiet thoughtful talks with 
 the invalid ; the rambles over the hills and on the 
 shore with the active Euphemia ; the visits to poor 
 cottages with Miss Garnock ; and the occasional 
 excursions among the lovely scenery of the Clyde 
 with good-natured neighbours. To Jessie all this 
 soon became very tiresome. She missed the univer- 
 sal homage which she had received at Pixy combe, 
 where her father's simple parishioners made no secret 
 of their pride in their beloved pastor's beautiful 
 daughter. The aunts were too sensible to gratify 
 Jessie's evident love of admiration, but they were 
 rather inclined to fall into the opposite error of 
 fostering Effie's already strong sense of moral su- 
 periority to her sister. So Effie luxuriated in the un- 
 wonted appreciation of her precocious mental powers,
 
 22 TONIC bittet:-. 
 
 whilst Jessie pined for the accustomed tribute to her 
 
 physical charms. Jessie's craving \v. isfied in an 
 
 unexpected manner, when the girls had been rather 
 more than a month at Ciourock. 
 
 '• Here's a letter for you, Effie, enclosed in one 
 from Harold to me. What can Harold have to 
 say?" 
 
 Effie coloured, and then turned rather paler than 
 usual as she recognised Gerard's well-known hand : 
 
 "Trin. Coll., Sunday, October 24th. 
 
 " Dear Old Woman, 
 
 Tell me what Hay is writing to the Beauty. 
 He has not been himself a bit since he came up on 
 Friday evening, and I am sure he is telling Jessie 
 what is wrong, though he won't tell me — so much for 
 fraternal duty ! I hope he is not in any mess, though 
 that is not likely ; but since he has been writing 
 that letter to the Beauty, he has been going on in a 
 way that has made my hair stand on end. I say ! 
 He can't be in love with Cleopatra ! What fun if that 
 is it ! Now, on your allegiance I command you to 
 write instantly and tell me what's up. If there is 
 not something more than ordinary in that letter I'll 
 eat my wig, and if you don't tell me what it is, I'll 
 eat yours. Do now, there's a dear little pigmy. It is 
 horribly flat here; but I suppose it will be better 
 after my first year. Freshmen always find College 
 life an awful bore. A good many Eton fellows came
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 23 
 
 up at the same time with me, but none of my set ; 
 and I have not made many new acquaintances. I 
 wish girls were admitted here ! It would be 
 awfully jolly to have you, old woman. So give my 
 respects to Cleopatra — the beauty ! — and believe me 
 to remain, dear mite, 
 
 " Your affectionate Friend, 
 
 " Gay." 
 
 Jessie's letter was of a very different character : 
 
 "Cambridge, October 24th. 
 
 " Dearest Jessie, 
 
 " If you are surprised at this beginning you 
 must not be angry. It is no more than the truth. 
 You have been not ' my dearest Jessie only, but my 
 dearest of all, for as long as I can remember. I 
 never told you this before, because I thought the 
 time had not yet come. In those wretched days at 
 Pixycombe in June, and again when I saw you in 
 London, I was sorely tempted to speak out. But I 
 was determined that you should have time well to 
 consider your future prospects before I tried in any 
 way to influence you. Now you have been a month 
 with your aunts, and can judge whether such a life is 
 suited to you. I cannot think that it is suited to 
 you. I will tell you what I have to offer in exchange 
 for it. For the last year I have said little to you 
 about myself. I was waiting till I could speak with
 
 24 TONIC BITTER& 
 
 certainty of my growing success, and whilst I waited, 
 he of whose interest I was most certain was taken 
 from us. Then I had no heart to speak of success. 
 But now I must tell you the position in which I stand. 
 I have no longer a struggle to get on. For many 
 months I have felt no doubt of a steady continuance 
 of as much work with my pencil as I can manage, 
 and this — unless my eyes or my right hand should 
 fail me, — insures me a yearly income of from 200?. to 
 300?. A few successful pictures and an occasional 
 art-critique in some Magazine add another 150?. 
 Thus, you see, taking my incomings at the lowest 
 estimate, I can count on from 300?. to 450Z. to com- 
 mence with. As I become better known, and a 
 greater adept in my art, my profits will, of course, 
 increase. All this is very unromantic, but it is 
 necessary that you should be informed of these 
 details. I do not believe for a moment that any 
 worldly advantages — far, far more brilliant than I 
 have to offer, would influence you. But oh, my 
 darling ! Let it influence you to know that I offer 
 you the deepest devotion, and the most unswerving 
 constancy, and that it is in your power to make the 
 
 life's happiness of 
 
 " Your ever loving 
 
 " Harold A. Yoxge. 
 
 " P.S. Gay has just announced hi* arrival at the 
 wise conclusion that I am in love."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 25 
 
 Effie had long since arrived at Gerard's conclusion, 
 so, as soon as she had read of his belief that there was 
 something unusual in Harold's letter, she began to 
 watch her sister with some anxiety. Jessie flushed 
 up directly she commenced reading, but it was a 
 flush more of surprise than of gratification. When 
 she had come to the end of her letter, she exclaimed, 
 " Effie ! What do you think ?" 
 
 "That Harold has proposed to you," answered 
 Effie, quietly. 
 
 " How did you know ?" 
 
 " I knew he cared for you." 
 
 " Did he ever tell you so ?" 
 
 " No, never, — but it was easily seen." 
 
 " I never saw it. Why did you not warn me ?" 
 
 " Warn you ! You don't mean, Jessie, that you 
 are sorry for it ?" 
 
 "I don't know," answered Jessie meditatively. 
 "No, I don't think I am sorry exactly — but I don't 
 think I am glad. I don't know what to feel. How 
 ought I to feel, Effie ? How should you feel ?" 
 
 " How should I feel if a man like Harold — brave, 
 tender, noble — were to tell me he loved me! I 
 should feel as if I were thousands of miles higher — 
 I should feel as if the world were too small to hold 
 me and my happiness." 
 
 " But are you sure Harold is all you say ? He is 
 brave, certainly — but I never thought him tender.
 
 20 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 He writes very nicely about his feelings — Here, you 
 may see, Effie. — Not quite enough. It is rather 
 short for a love-letter, and I don't like his hand, it's 
 so round and sprawling, like a clerk's. Well, what 
 do you think of the letter, Effie ?" 
 
 "I think it is like himself — all that could be 
 wished." 
 
 " Do you really think him noble, Effie ? I wish 
 he were taller, and then that light hair is so like a 
 ploughboy's, and, Effie, are you sure that a designer 
 is a gentleman ? I don't feel at all easy about that. 
 It is not one of the professions, so it must rank as a 
 trade. — I don't believe artists and designers, and that 
 sort of people, are thought much of, and I should not 
 at all like my husband to be looked down upon." 
 
 " Jessie ! As if any one would dare to look down 
 upon Harold ! As if an artist did not take the very 
 highest rank ! Do people look down upon Raphael, 
 or Michael Angelo ? How can you talk such non- 
 sense, Jessie?" 
 
 Jessie went on with her own thoughts, taking no 
 notice of her sister's outburst : " Then he dresses so 
 badly. He wears such ugly waistcoats ! And his 
 coats never fit. And he is so silent in company, 
 and never tries to make himself agreeable, and " 
 
 " I don't believe you care about him at all, Jessie," 
 broke in Effie, most indignantly. 
 
 * Of course I care about him — I like him very
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 27 
 
 much, and all that sort of thing. I wish you had 
 told me he was in love with me, Effie. He is quite 
 right about this not being the kind of life to suit 
 me," she continued, referring to the letter. " It tries 
 me very much. The pokiness and dullness, and all 
 the aunts' old maidish ways make me feel quite ill 
 and nervous ; and I am sure I shall be ill if 
 something is not done to give me a change soon." 
 
 * How can you talk so when my aunts are so kind, 
 and think of nothing but how to make us comfortable ? 
 And I am sure it is not dull. I could live for ever 
 with aunt Elizabeth ; she gives one some fresh idea 
 every minute." 
 
 " Oh ! of course it is all very well for you. You were 
 cut out for an old maid, and dullness seems your 
 native element. But now you are not thinking about 
 all my troubles, and what I am to say to Harold." 
 
 " What can you say ? You either love him, or you 
 do not." 
 
 " But I don't either love him, or not. I don't 
 know which I do. Oh dear ! I wish some one would 
 help me — I am so very much worried," and she 
 seemed on the point of crying. 
 
 " Look here, Jessie. Let us see if we cannot make 
 out what your feelings really are. Do you like being 
 with Harold ?" 
 
 " Yes, I like being with him ; he is always kind, 
 and then he always knows what to do whatever
 
 28 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 happens ; and when there is no one else by, I don't 
 mind about his appearance." 
 
 Effie let this pass with only an impatient gesture, 
 and continued : " Are you glad when you can do 
 anything to please him?' 
 
 " Yes," answered Jessie, promptly, " I like to please 
 him ; he is not very lavish of his thanks, and some- 
 how they seem worth more than most people's." 
 
 This was satisfactory, and the examiner continued 
 with greater heart : " You would not like him to 
 care for any one else ?" 
 
 " No, that I certainly should not ! Fancy Harold 
 caring for any one besides all of us !" Jessie was quite 
 excited now. 
 
 "But not ' all of us,' Jessie. You would not like 
 him to care for me more than for you." 
 
 u That is an absurd question. Of course it would 
 be quite a different thing. — You are only a child." 
 
 " Of course," said Effie, calmly, but she looked 
 hurt. "And you like that other people should like 
 him ?" she continued. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Jessie, losing ber interest : 
 " I never thought about it." 
 
 " Well, we can do without that," said Effie, pro- 
 ceeding to sum up: " You like Harold's society; 
 you desire to please him ; and you are jealous of his 
 loving any one but yourself. All this looks very 
 much as if you did care for him, Jessie."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 29 
 
 "Does it? I hope it is so. I am sure I should be 
 much happier with him than remaining here, and I 
 suppose that is the alternative — he evidently thinks 
 so. Well then, am I to write and tell Harold I am 
 willing to marry him ?" 
 
 " If you care for him," said Effie, rather startled 
 by her sister's coolness. 
 
 " You say I care for him, so I suppose it is all 
 right. You have thought more of such things than I 
 have ; you know you were always our oracle on those 
 matters." 
 
 So, with Effie's help, the following answer was 
 written : — 
 
 " Gourock. Tuesday. 
 
 " My dear Harold, 
 
 " Your letter was a great surprise to me. I 
 had never at all thought that you cared for me in 
 that way. You see we have all been so like brothers 
 and sisters together, that it seems very strange to 
 think of any other connection. You are quite right 
 in what you say about Gourock not suiting me. I 
 don't think it agrees with me either physically or 
 mentally. I often feel very low and weak. My aunts 
 are very kind, but they do not understand me at all. 
 I am sure I should be happier with you. I think from 
 what you say your prospects seem very good, but I 
 cannot quite understand what rank a designer holds,
 
 30 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 — is he looked upon as a gentleman ? Perhaps you 
 will ex])lain this to me when you write again. I hope 
 you will write, or I shall be afraid I have offended 
 you. I cannot say decidedly that I will do as you 
 wish, because I have been so taken by surprise that I 
 can hardly tell whether I like you enough to marry 
 you. But I do really like you very much, and I think 
 when I get used to the idea, that I shall be able to 
 like you quite as I ought. 
 
 " In any case, I shall be ever 
 
 " Your affectionate Friend, 
 
 "Jessie Isabel Garxock." 
 
 Jessie would have run on for pages of uncertainty — 
 one sentence contradicting another — but Effie reso- 
 lutely struck out all wanderings. Jessie, however, 
 would not submit to all her sister's amendments ; she 
 would on no account give up the inquiry as to a 
 designer's rank, which Effie considered especially 
 objectionable. 
 
 As soon as the letter was despatched Jessie repented 
 that it had not contained a more decided rejection, 
 saying that she was sure she did not love Harold 
 enough to marry him, but that after what she had 
 written to him it would not be honourable to draw- 
 back. Effie began to think that it certainly would 
 be wrong for Jessie to become engaged, with so little 
 true feeling, and that she herself had done very
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 31 
 
 foolishly in persuading her sister to give Harold any 
 hope. When, however, a week had passed without 
 any letter from Harold — a dull, stormy week, with 
 the mountains hidden in clouds, and the Clyde 
 one sheet of foam, — Jessie altered her tone, and 
 lamented that she had not more decidedly accepted 
 the love which would have secured her a refuge from 
 this gloomy life. It was too late now, she said ; 
 Harold was evidently deeply offended, and they 
 should probably never see nor hear from him again. 
 This mood was even more trying than the former one, 
 and it became almost unendurable to Effie when her 
 sister's troubles took the form of physical ailments in 
 which she did not believe. The aunts were less 
 sceptical, or more compassionate, and Dr. Lang was 
 sent for. His treatment of the case was very much 
 to Effie's taste, and very little to Jessie's. 
 
 "Ah, I know," he said curtly, when Jessie had 
 been detailing her symptoms at great length ; " a 
 trifling cold, supervening upon a little biliary derange- 
 ment, and a slight prostration of the nervous system. 
 Your aunt Euphemia must give you a posset, and I 
 shall do the rest with a pill and a draught. We'll 
 soon set you up between us, won't we, Miss Euphemia ? 
 By-the-by, I saw widow Bain yesterday, and she 
 was very much aggrieved at not having seen any of 
 you ladies lately. Will you be passing that way soon, 
 Miss Euphemia ?"
 
 32 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "I was calling for the puir boly this morning, 
 doctor, and found her very sick. She is wearying to 
 see you the day, but I just told her it was no reason- 
 able to be aye crying on you." 
 
 " Reasonable or not reasonable, I must go to the 
 poor soul, so good morning, ladies. You'll not need 
 me again, Miss Jessie." 
 
 " I knew I could never feel confidence in that 
 man," said Jessie, when aunt Euphemia had bustled 
 out after the doctor. "How shamefully he treated 
 me ! He never attended to anything I told him 
 about myself, and seemed in a hurry to be gone all 
 the time. I am sure I shall not take his medicine, — 
 a pill and a draught for a person in my weak state ! 
 It would be enough to kill me ! I wish I were in 
 London, or in some other place where I could see a 
 doctor who knows something of his profession — not a 
 conceited ignoramus like this. A posset, indeed ! 
 Why, I want bracing. Really, Effie, it is a serious 
 matter. I am positively wasting away — sinking into 
 my grave before your eyes — and you have none of 
 you the sense to see it. But you none of you care 
 whether I live or die. The aunts only think of you, 
 and you never had the least feeling for me. The 
 only person who cares for me has been estranged 
 from me. Oh, if Harold were but here ! If you had 
 not persuaded me to write that unfortunate letter, I 
 should have been engaged to him by this time, and
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 33 
 
 he would not have al]owed me to remain here, ill and 
 miserable. But now that is all over ! I have cast 
 off his love, and no one else will ever love me so well. 
 He would not have made light of my illness. But 
 now I shall never see him again. I shall never 
 have " 
 
 " Look there, Jessie !" cried Effie, a sudden glow 
 overspreading her face as she stood at the window. 
 
 Jessie looked as she was bid, and the glow spread 
 to her face also. " There he is !" she cried. " Oh, 
 Effie, what shall I say to him ?" 
 
 She was not required to say much. Harold Yonge 
 was one of those gentle, firm men who invariably 
 have their own way with weaker characters, and he 
 knew Jessie well enough not to expect any decided 
 expression of feeling from her. Considering how apt 
 she was to worry herself with indecision, he had not 
 written again, but had chosen to wait until he could 
 himself come and settle all her doubts for her. 
 
 " So you think I am not a gentleman, Jessie ?" he 
 said, when he had persuaded her to take a turn with 
 him whilst the aunts were engaged in hospitable 
 preparations for his entertainment. 
 
 " No, not you, Harold ; only — I don't know what 
 sort of people designers generally are." 
 
 " I am not a designer merely, Jessie. I lay claim 
 to being an artist and an art-critic." 
 
 " Then that, I suppose, is higher." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " So the world thinks, I believe. But, Jessie, you 
 know as well as I do that all such distinctions are 
 nothing — that it is not the position makes the man, 
 but the man makes his position. I feel something 
 within me which tells me that if I am happy I shall 
 be successful — and success is rank. So you see, 
 Jessie, you can make me of what rank you please. 
 For you can make me happy, darling, and the rest 
 will follow." 
 
 " Will it ?" asked Jessie, doubtfully. 
 " Yes, it will," replied Harold, with perfect con- 
 fidence ; " I know that it will." 
 
 " How do you know that you — that you care for 
 me, Harold ?" 
 
 " How do I know ! How do I know that the sun 
 shines ?" 
 
 " The sun is not shining now," objected Jessie, 
 simply. 
 
 " Yes it is, my darling, only this Scotch mist hides 
 it from us. And that is the case with you, Jessie. 
 I believe that you have a little real love for me 
 shining behind these mists of doubt of yourself and of 
 me. Is it not so ?" Seeing that she looked still un- 
 satisfied, he continued — "But there are no mists over 
 my love. It has been shining on for years so brightly 
 that if ever I can get you to trust yourself under its 
 rays it will soon dispel all you clouds. Come, Jessie. 
 try its power."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 35 
 
 " I don't quite understand you, Harold. What do 
 you want me to do ?" 
 
 "To say that you love me a little, and that you 
 will let me love you — Jessie !" he cried, with a sudden 
 deepening of his voice ; " I cannot tell you how much 
 I love you !" 
 
 " I do like you very much, Harold, — but " 
 
 " That will do, my dearest. I can do all the rest !" 
 cried Harold, rapturously. " Then that is settled. 
 And now, when will you come to me, and be my very 
 own ?" 
 
 "To London?" cried Jessie, joyfully. 
 
 " Yes. Or not exactly to London. I am afraid 
 my country rose would lose its bloom in the smoke of 
 London. I thought of Gateshill." 
 
 " Gateshill seemed a very pretty place from the 
 little I saw of it. J)o you think it is a healthy 
 place ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, extremely healthy — the air is most 
 bracing. We shall soon have you looking quite your- 
 self again there." 
 
 " I am certainly not myself here. I feel so very dull 
 and depressed. And I don't like Dr. Lang at all." 
 
 " Who is Dr. Lang ?" 
 
 11 The only doctor here — or, at least, the only 
 doctor my aunts would like me to consult." 
 
 " You have not required a doctor, have you, my 
 darling ?" asked Harold, anxiously.
 
 36 TONIC BITTEi 
 
 " I have required a doctor for a long time, but 
 Effie laughed at me, and I did not like to make a 
 fuss. To-day, however, I felt so very unwell that I 
 could not keep up any longer, so I saw Dr. Lang. 
 But I don't think he is at all clever in his pro- 
 fession." 
 
 " He does not think you are seriously unwell, I 
 hope, Jessie ?" 
 
 " I don't think he understood my case at all. If I 
 go to London I must see some physician in whom I 
 can feel confidence." 
 
 "You shall, my own darling. And when will you 
 come to London, Jessie ?" 
 
 " How do vou mean ? Where should I sjo to ?" 
 "Tome." 
 
 " You mean when we are married, then." 
 " Next month, Jessie ?" 
 
 " Oh, no. Not so soon as that. I could not be 
 married in such deep mourning." 
 
 " Your father would have been so glad." 
 u Yes, but people would be shocked." 
 " January would not be too soon. Nobody could 
 be shocked if we were married at the beginning of 
 January." 
 
 " It is such a short time to get ready." 
 w What have you to get ready V 
 " Oh, 1 don't know. Girls always have so many 
 new things when they are married."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 37 
 
 "I don't want you to have any 'new things.' I 
 want you, not your ' things.' " 
 
 " But I could not marry without a trousseau, you 
 know." 
 
 " I did not know. How long does it take to get a 
 trousseau ?" 
 
 " Two or three months." 
 
 " Well, I will give you three months. That will 
 be the middle of January." 
 
 " It had better be February. It would be very nice 
 to be married on Valentine's day." 
 
 " No, no. You are always my Valentine, without 
 that. The 14th of January ; not a day later. I 
 shall be able to make you happy, I am sure, Jessie. 
 Don't you think so, dearest ?" 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so. There is Erne beckoning 
 to us. Dinner must be ready. We had better 
 go in." 
 
 Effie, as she watched the two coming in, was 
 infinitely relieved at the sight of Harold's radiant 
 face. 
 
 " Congratulate me, my dear little sister !" he cried, 
 as he caught her at the drawing-room door. " And 
 give me a brother's due," he added, stooping to kiss 
 her. Efne threw her arms round his neck in childish 
 fashion, and whispered eagerly, " Oh, dear, dear 
 Harold, I am so glad !" 
 
 11 Come into the room with me, little one ; I
 
 38 TONIC BITTEKS. 
 
 cannot face the aunts alone, and Jessie has es- 
 caped." 
 
 The silent man had plenty to say now, and he said 
 it gracefully enough. 
 
 " I am afraid you will hate me, aunts — may I call 
 you aunts? I am going to rob you wickedly. I 
 must try and move your compassion before I confess 
 my evil intentions." He drew a chair to aunt 
 Elizabeth's sofa, and continued — " I have had such a 
 happy home ever since I was twelve years old, that 
 the loss of it is more than I can bear," — his trem- 
 bling voice here instantly enlisted the aunts in his 
 favour. " I am now in a position to secure a home 
 of my own. Is it to be wondered at that I desire to 
 gain for my very own a part — the dearest part — of 
 the same home in which my boyhood and youth were 
 passed ? Am I very selfish to ask you for these two 
 girls ?" Jessie at that moment entered the room, and 
 Harold, as he spoke, rose, and with one hand drew 
 her arm through his, whilst with the other he caught 
 Effie by the shoulder. 
 
 u Both !" cried aunt Euphemia " Does the man 
 want two wives ?" 
 
 EfhVs eyes sparkled as she raised them gratefully 
 to Harold's face. 
 
 " You are thrown in with Jessie, are you not, 
 Effie? We should never keep right without your 
 sageship to direct us."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. * 39 
 
 " Are you for leaving your old aunts, bairn ?" 
 asked aunt Elizabeth. 
 
 Effie looked distressed. 
 
 " She has no choice in the matter, Aunt," said 
 Harold. " We could not get on without her, could 
 we, Jessie ?' 
 
 " Effie is so fond of my aunts, that I suppose she 
 would rather stay with them," replied Jessie, whose 
 face had become rather cloudv. 
 
 " Well, Effie, which shall it be ?" inquired Harold, 
 looking at her with confident affection. 
 
 " You, Harold," Effie replied, putting her hand on 
 his hand, which still lay on her shoulder. Then she 
 suddenly turned from him to her aunt Elizabeth, 
 and bending over the sofa, whispered — "Dear aunt 
 Elizabeth, I love you very much, but Harold has 
 been my own brother all my life." 
 
 " God bless you, my bairn, wherever you go !" said 
 the invalid, with something very like a sob. 
 
 " Now then, good folks," broke in aunt Euphemia. 
 "I'm no doubting that sentiment is vera well in its 
 way, but in the meantime the hotch-potch is getting 
 cold. So come awa, come awa !" 
 
 Aunt Euphemia kept up a lively chatter whilst they 
 dined, but the others could find little to say, and 
 they were all glad to return to aunt Elizabeth's sofa. 
 
 "And now I must be off again," said Harold, after 
 talking for a short time to the invalid. " I have an
 
 40 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 engagement in London on Thursday morning, and I 
 shall only just manage to get there in time. Now, 
 aunts, remember, whatever this young woman may 
 say against it, I am going to be married in the 
 middle of January. It must be before Gerard's 
 Christmas vacation ends. Then I shall have a little 
 time alone with my wife " — he stopped with a half 
 choke, and they all laughed in rather a quavering 
 manner. " And then Effie will come to us, and we 
 must all get comfortably settled before Gay comes 
 home at Easter. I wanted it all to be over, ready 
 for the boy at Christmas, but Jessie declared that to 
 be quite impossible, and that, for reasons of state, I 
 must not think of any time earlier than February. 
 She wanted to fix on the 14th of February, for luck's 
 sake. But we don't need any such encouragement. 
 We can't help being a happy couple, can we, aunt 
 Elizabeth ? Give us your blessing, aunts ; and now 
 good-bye. Good-bye, little sister. Keep her in 
 mind of me, Effie," he whispered, and then drew 
 Jessie from the room with him. 
 
 When the sisters met again, Jessie asked, "What 
 did you think of him, Effie ? He was very nice, was 
 not he? I think I really do care about him very 
 much. I suppose he is very fond of me. Do you 
 think he is ?" 
 
 "You know he is, Jessie! How absurd to ask 
 such a question !"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 41 
 
 " I suppose it is all right. Do you think we shall 
 be happy ?" 
 
 Effie did not answer this question, but it haunted 
 her for many days. "Was she right to be glad that 
 those two were to marry ?
 
 42 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Well, Effie, how do they get on together ?" 
 
 Gerard Yonge and Effie were alone in the tiny 
 study of the tiny house on Prior's Mount, Gateshill, 
 to which Harold had brought his bride. Harold and 
 Jessie could be seen strolling in the little garden, in 
 the gloaming of a mild March evening. 
 
 Effie had often asked herself the question which 
 Gerard now asked her. All had happened as Harold 
 had planned. On the 12th of January he and Jessie 
 had been quietly married at Glasgow — Mr. and Mrs. 
 Caird, aunt Euphemia, Effie, and Gerard being all 
 the wedding party. Harold and Jessie, after spending 
 a month at Stirling, had returned to Gourock to 
 fetch Effie, and the three had then proceeded to 
 Gateshill, where they had now been established for 
 more than six weeks. Gerard's arrival from Cam- 
 bridge had been the first break in the monotony of 
 their daily life.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 43 
 
 " You must help me to make out, Gerard," was 
 Effie's answer to the difficult question. " I cannot 
 tell what to think. Harold seems quite satisfied ; 
 and Jessie is certainly improved — her spirits are less 
 variable, and she does not think so constantly of her 
 health." 
 
 " How is her temper ?" 
 
 " Better, I think, altogether. We have not had 
 more than one — no, two — really bad scenes since we 
 came home. There was a terrible one at Gourock " 
 — Effie hesitated, with a half laugh on her face. 
 
 " Come, out with it, little woman. What was it 
 about ?" 
 
 "About me — she thought the aunts were too sorry 
 to part with me. But it was absurd that she should 
 mind it ; of course, when she had Harold to care for 
 her, they thought more of me." 
 
 " Of course they thought more of you, little 'un, 
 and would in any case, if the old ladies have any 
 sense." 
 
 The blood rushed violently to Effie's face as Gerard 
 looked affectionately at her. 
 
 " I say, Effie," Gerard continued, " whatever in- 
 duced Hay to marry the Beauty ?" 
 
 " Oh, Gerard, she is very beautiful." 
 
 "Of course she is — isn't she the Beauty? But 
 what good is that ? Her beauty won't prevent her 
 leading him an awful life. Take my word for it,
 
 44 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 Effie, she'll make him desperately miserable." The 
 boy was quite solemn in his earnestness. 
 
 "Gerard, don't talk so ! It will break my heart 
 if Harold is miserable ; and it is partly my fault 
 that they married. I half persuaded her to accept 
 him." 
 
 " She didn't care for him, then ?' 
 
 " Yes, she did. Yes, I really think she did — but 
 she did not quite understand herself." 
 
 "I should think not. Who ever did understand 
 her, and whom did she ever understand ? She is no 
 more capable of appreciating dear old Hay than — 
 than this chair is of appreciating me. But she if 
 awfully beautiful. What a pity she should be 
 such a demon !" 
 
 " Gay, don't ! She has some very good qualities ; 
 she is so truthful, and so candid and forgiving." 
 
 " Yes, so she is. And she can be very agreeable. 
 But she is so stupid. And what aggravates me more 
 than anything is that she is so blind to Harold's 
 virtues." 
 
 " Not more blind than Harold is to her faults." 
 
 "No! he is utterly bewitched. He thinks her 
 perfect. There never was such infatuation. Now 
 if it had been you, small woman ! I say. pigmy, 
 you'll be a capital little wife some day: I wonder 
 what lucky fellow will get you. I suppose you 
 wouldn't have such a good-for-nothing dog as I am ?'
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 45 
 
 " Cambridge has certainly not improved you, 
 Gerard ! How absurdly you talk !" 
 
 " I want to talk seriously to you, really, Effie. Are 
 those two likely to come in?" He got up, and 
 walked to the window : " No, they are sentimentalizing 
 over slugs, and won't stir yet." 
 
 Gerard remained standing in the window, looking 
 down at Effie, whose heart beat so violently that she 
 feared he would see her dress tremble ; she hardly 
 knew what she expected. 
 
 " I am awfully afraid that I'm getting all wrong. 
 Somehow, I cannot keep out of debt, and — and he 
 — daddie " (Gerard's voice sank nearly to a whisper) 
 " always said debt was the beginning of everything bad. 
 I know I ought to manage. There's my scholarship ; 
 and there's the fifty pounds a-year that he left me ; 
 and Harold gives me another fifty — it's a shame that 
 he should, dear old fellow, and I am a sneak to take 
 it — but I should be in a worse muddle than ever 
 without it. You see, fellows take notice of one, and 
 are kind to one, and ask one to their rooms, and 
 what's a fellow to do ? It seems so bearish not to 
 make any return. And then I don't want to be 
 thought a prig, or a sap, and if one doesn't go out, 
 and that sort of thing, one is sure to be set down for 
 one or other of those objectionable animals. And so, 
 you see, I'm going the pace, and he would have been 
 so grieved, and it is such a shame after his sending me
 
 46 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 to Eton and all ; and I daren't tell Harold ; and, 
 Effie, dear little woman, tell me what I am to do !" 
 He threw himself on the floor beside Effie, and looked 
 beseechingly at her, his face flushed, and his bright 
 eyes brimming over with tears. Effie's heart yearned 
 over the poor, weak boy, with something of a mother's 
 love, in spite of her being such a mere child herself. 
 
 " Could you not manage to draw in your expenses, 
 and so gradually to pay your debts ?" 
 
 "How can I ? If I cut away at one end, the other 
 will be growing all the time. Look here, if I were 
 to determine to pay my tailor, I should have to leave 
 some one else unpaid. What's the common saying ? 
 ' Rob Peter to pay Paul,' that's just what I should 
 do." 
 
 " Then you really have not enough to manage with. 
 Is there no way in which you could earn money ?" 
 
 " I might take a tutorship in the holidays, but then 
 I should never see anything of you all ; and it would 
 be such an awful bore. I am sure cramming small 
 boys with the Latin grammar is not my vocation." 
 
 " Could not you make your drawings profitable ? 
 You are quite as clever as Harold in that way." 
 
 " No, you are wrong there, Effie : I am nothing of 
 a draughtsman. I might do something, perhaps, if I 
 were to study anatomy for a year or two, but I don't 
 see how I could iind time for that ; and then if I am to 
 take Orders, all the trouble would be thrown away."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 47 
 
 " If you are to take Orders, Gerard !' 
 
 " Well, as I am to take Orders, then, little woman. 
 Don't be frightened, Erne ; I'm not flinching — I am 
 not going to flinch from what dad die planned for me. 
 I tell you what it is, Effie, I can't be trusted by 
 myself. I can't go straight now I have not him to guide 
 me. — There's no help for it, I must run off the rails." 
 
 " Oh, Gerard ! Papa told us to take care of you !" 
 
 " But you won't, you see ; you have such a bad 
 opinion of me ; you won't have anything to do with 
 such a scamp." 
 
 " Don't call yourself names, Gerard. You know you 
 are not a scamp — and you know I am ready to do 
 anything in the world for you." 
 
 "Why don't you promise to marry me, then? 
 You would be able to manage me if I belonged to 
 you altogether." 
 
 "How absurd to talk of marrying, Gerard, when 
 we are both almost children !" 
 
 " Speak for yourself, little 'un. We are all ' men ' 
 at Cambridge. Then you positively won't marry me, 
 and I must wear the willow all my life. Harold," he 
 cried, as his brother pushed up the window, and 
 came in, " Effie has gone and been and refused me, 
 and my heart is shivered to atoms." 
 
 As he spoke, Gerard pulled Effie's little workbox 
 towards him, and began to draw in the papered lid. 
 In a few moments the box was decorated with a
 
 48 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 spirited sketch of a woful swain, who was engaged 
 in weaving for himself a willow wreath, whilst his 
 scornful fair one — a ludicrous caricature of Effie — was 
 retiring in the distance. 
 
 " Poor Effie !" cried Jessie, looking over Gerard's 
 shoulder. " What a shame !" 
 
 "It is the old conventional idea of Effie," said 
 Harold. "It has never changed at all since she was 
 ten years of age." 
 
 " When old Isaacs mistook her for ' a dear little 
 Hebrew,' 1 added Gerard, laughing. "I am sure 
 there is nothing of the Jewess in this." 
 
 "No," said Effie, eagerly, "the nose is very much 
 modified since then. I think the gradual ageing is 
 shown with consummate skill in all Gerard's por- 
 traits." 
 
 " It is a shame !" cried Gerard, as he surveyed his 
 own work. 
 
 "You never caricature me, Gerard," remarked 
 Jessie. 
 
 " It can't be done," said Gerard. u You have no 
 salient points." 
 
 " What a very inexpressive face I must haw." 
 observed Jessie, looking highly gratified, however. 
 
 "Handsome people won't caricature." proceeded 
 Gerard. "See how I always fail with myself." 
 
 " Thank you, Gerard," cried Jessie. " You are not 
 often so complimentary.* 1
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 49 
 
 "Do you consider it a compliment that he classes 
 you with himself?" asked Harold. 
 
 " Oh, yes," returned Jessie, archly, " I know what a 
 high opinion he has of his own appearance." 
 
 " Of course Gerard knows he is good-looking," said 
 Effie, fiercely. "It would be as vain for him to think 
 himself ugly as it would be for me to think myself 
 beautiful." 
 
 " You are beautiful, little one," Gerard asserted. 
 
 " There is the proof," said Effie, pointing to the 
 caricature. 
 
 " It's not a bit like you — when you call me good- 
 looking." 
 
 " Come, has no one got any compliment for me 
 amongst all these fine speeches?" asked Harold, 
 plaintively. 
 
 " Dear old face !" cried Gerard, looking up at hi> 
 brother ; " it's the best I ever saw !" 
 
 "I think you might say the handsomest, Gerard," 
 said Effie. 
 
 "If it is true that 'handsome is as handsome 
 does,' " added Jessie. 
 
 Harold looked intensely delighted. "There! The 
 best of all the complimentary speeches has fallen to 
 my lot ! Thank you, my darling wife." 
 
 As the little family assembled at breakfast the 
 next morning Gerard whispered to Effie, "There is a 
 storm gathering." 
 
 vol. I. E
 
 50 TONIC BTTTEB& 
 
 Effie glanced at her sister, and o her horror 
 saw that Jessie's face was overspread with gloom. 
 Harold, little observant of variable moods, which 
 were unknown to his calm temper, saw nothing 
 wrong, and was in high spirits, enjoying his brother's 
 society. Gerard surpassed himself in fun and non- 
 sense. Effie saw that Jessie ate nothing, and she 
 awaited in trembling the inevitable moment when 
 Harold should notice this circumstance. It soon 
 came. 
 
 "Jessie, you are not eating. Have some of this 
 cold chicken." 
 
 " No, thank you." 
 
 " You are ill, darling !" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You must be ill, Jessie. I kept you in the 
 garden too long last evening." 
 
 " Oh, no." 
 
 " Help yourself to some of that bacon." 
 
 " 1 am not hungry." 
 
 11 My dearest wife ! You must be ill !" 
 
 ■' Hear him, Jessie," cried Gerard. " He calls you 
 his ' clearest wife' — the villain has more w T ives than 
 you." 
 
 " I hope the others are more agreeable to him." 
 said Jessie, not smiling at all. 
 
 " My darling Jessie ! Who could be more agree- 
 able to me than you are ?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 51 
 
 " It appears that every one is." 
 
 " Jessie ! What do you mean ?" 
 
 " You seem to prefer every one's society to mine." 
 
 " Society ! What society but yours do I ever care 
 about ?" 
 
 Jessie did not answer. 
 
 " Do I seek any society away from home ?" asked 
 Harold again. 
 
 " Not away from home, perhaps." 
 
 " Then what would you have ?" 
 
 " It is evident that my society is not enough for 
 you at home." 
 
 " How evident ? My dearest Jessie, I don't under- 
 stand you in the least !" 
 
 " I dare say not. Nobody does. That is my mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 "But what do you mean now? Whose society 
 have I preferred to yours ?" 
 
 " You always prefer Gerard's — and even Erne's." 
 
 " Gerard and Effie ! My brother and sister ! You 
 surely are not jealous of them." 
 
 " Jealous ! You always accuse me of being jealous !" 
 
 "Well, Jessie, what but jealousy could give you 
 such groundless fancies ?" 
 
 " Is it a ' groundless fancy ' that you were almost 
 out of your wits yesterday with delight at Gerard 
 coming ? that you could not tear yourself away from 
 him for ten minutes in the garden last night? and 
 
 UBRAW 
 
 UNIVERSITY 0*1"
 
 52 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 that you sat up with him till past twelve o'clock, 
 although you knew how tired I was ?" 
 
 " Whew ! Is that it ? Why, my dearest, I have not 
 seen Gerard for two months, and I have you alwa; 
 thank Heaven !" 
 
 " Yes, and ' familiarity breeds contempt.' — You 
 would not once have shaken me off for Gerard. I 
 knew how it would be. I knew you would soon be 
 weary of me. It is always the case — nobody ever 
 cares for me for long. I am the most miserable 
 creature. I wish I were out of your way. I had 
 better go and hide myself somewhere, so that you 
 may none of you ever see me again. You would all 
 be glad to get rid of me. But you won't have long 
 to wait. I am not so strong as I was — and I can't 
 stand all this worry — it will wear me out at last — 
 I know it will. I feel that my constitution is sinking 
 under it. One can't be so miserable — so misera- 
 ble " here Jessie fairly broke down, and sobbed 
 
 passionately. 
 
 Harold was greatly distressed. He tried every 
 means to soothe her, and at last led her from the 
 room, still sobbing violently. 
 
 "There! I knew it was coming !'' cried Gerard as 
 soon as the door closed behind them. 
 
 u Oh, Gerard, it is too dreadful ! Poor dear Harold ! 
 I quite hate Jessie when she worries him so." 
 
 "I shall strangle her if she goes on in this way,'*
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 53 
 
 said Gerard. "And you say this is the third or 
 fourth row since their marriage ?" 
 
 " The third. How will it all end, Gerard?" 
 
 " If I were Harold I'd run away — to sea, or 
 somewhere." 
 
 " But Harold would be miserable away from her, 
 Gerard." 
 
 " I know he would, that is the mystery. What 
 can make him like her ? I suppose he thinks these 
 fits of ill temper interesting sensibility. Well, I am 
 glad she is gone. Now we can enjoy our breakfast. 
 I say, Effie, I'm ravenously hungry. Isn't there any- 
 thing more substantial in the house than these 
 chicken bones ? Here, cook !" he cried, walking to 
 the top of the kitchen- stairs — " here, somebody ! 
 Help ! Murder ! Fire ! Thieves ! Quick ! Give me 
 something to eat — I'm starving !" 
 
 The servants came from different parts of the house, 
 grinning broadly, and soon a meat-pie was produced 
 which promised Gerard some satisfaction. Just as 
 he was beginning to attack it, Harold returned. 
 Gerard immediately rose, and, takiug his brother by 
 the arm, patted him soothingly on the back, saying 
 as he did so, " Poor dear old boy, has he caught a 
 Tartar ?" 
 
 Effie could not help laughing, though she saw that 
 Harold was distressed. 
 
 M I have persuaded her to lie down for a little
 
 54 TONIC BITTEIJS. 
 
 while," said Harold, gravely. " She is very much 
 shaken — quite hysterical. It is terrible to see her so 
 agitated," he added, sitting down by the table, and 
 leaning his head on his hand. " I think I cannot 
 treat her properly. I am afraid she is right in saying 
 that I do not understand her. What can 1 do, Erne ? 
 How ought I to behave to her ?" 
 
 " Flog her," muttered Gerard, with his mouth full 
 of pie. 
 
 Harold looked at his brother angrily, almost for 
 the first time in his life, and Effie hastened to say. 
 " You can do nothing, Harold. She will come round, 
 if she is left to herself." 
 
 " And then she will be penitent, and abuse herself," 
 said Gerard. 
 
 Harold groaned. " That coming round is worse than 
 all. It is so dreadful to hear her blame herself so 
 bitterly." 
 
 " I rather enjoy that part," muttered Gerard to 
 himself and his pie. 
 
 But when, after wandering about all day, looking 
 like a very discontented ghost, Jessie came into the 
 study where they were all Bitting in the twilight, and 
 it was evident that " that part " was coming, Gerard 
 abruptly raised the window, and slipped into the 
 garden. Poor Effie would have liked to follow him, 
 but dared not. 
 
 " I am sorry Gerard should think it necessary to
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 55 
 
 avoid me," said Jessie. " But I dare say he is right — 
 I am not a pleasant companion to any of you. I am 
 very sorry for it. I am sure I wish I could be like 
 other people. Do you think I ever shall be, Harold ? 
 I know I shall soon make you hate me. You do hate 
 me. now!" she cried, vehemently, as Harold did not 
 at once answer; "you cannot forgive what I said this 
 morning. Oh, what shall I do if I lose you, the only 
 friend I ever had ?" And she began to sob again. 
 
 " My darling wife ! You will never lose me. You 
 must put up with my love for ever and ever, Jessie, 
 for you will never get rid of it. And I would rather 
 have you not like other people. — I would have you 
 like yourself only, my own wife." 
 
 " You only say that to please me, Harold. You do 
 not really think that I am better than other people." 
 
 " Better — ten thousand times — to me." 
 
 " I know I spoke very unkindly to you this 
 morning. I am sure I wonder you can forgive me. 
 Bo you really forgive me, Harold ?" 
 
 For all answer Harold took her in his arms with 
 infinite tenderness. 
 
 " I am sure Gerard will hate me," Jessie began 
 again, as soon as her husband released her ; " I make 
 the house miserable to him ; — and Eflfie. I am very 
 sorry, Efne. Will you kiss me, dear ?" 
 
 Effie complied, and was delighted at the same 
 moment to hear a visitor in the hall — a visitor whose
 
 56 TONIC BITTEi:-. 
 
 voice preceded her into the study as soon as the door 
 was opened. 
 
 " I beseech you, my kind friends, be so very 
 indulgent as to imagine that I am not here in the 
 body, but that this is my immaterial part — thirsting 
 for a fresh supply of literary nourishment." All this 
 was poured out in a rapid stream, whilst the talker 
 was approaching from the hall-door. As she entered 
 the room she exclaimed, " Thanks, oh, ye propitious 
 shades of twilight, for the veil ye throw over my 
 mantling blushes ! No, really, Mr. Yonge, you are 
 
 always so kind but I dare not intrude upon a chair 
 
 at this unseemly and how is the lovely bride ? Oh, 
 
 envious pall of night that hides her blooming beauty 
 
 from and is that the fairy form of my little friend, 
 
 Miss Effie ? Ah, Mr. Yonge ! Gallant as ever ! But 
 
 indeed I will not give up my treasures till Miss 
 
 Effie, on my honour, I have faithfully returned them 
 
 all. This beautiful little set of Byron ah ! what 
 
 a noble genius, but how sadly perverted ! Don't you 
 agree with me, Mr. Yonge ?" 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Mrs. Mortlake " 
 
 " You would rather not discuss the subject before 
 these sweet young ladies ! A thousand pardons, Mr. 
 Yonge ! I bow to your superior — And here is our fasci- 
 nating Christopher North ! Here we need fear nothing 
 
 to call a blush to the purest ah ! Mrs. Yonge. I am 
 
 sure you feel with me that there is a freshness, a poetry
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 57 
 
 in these volumes — That tale of the mountain lovers, 
 Miss Effie — what pathos! What touching simplicity 
 and truth ! I know you sympathize in my ardent ad- 
 miration." 
 
 " No, Mrs. Mortlake, I must confess " 
 
 " True, quite true — it does overpass the bounds of 
 pleasurable sensation — such a strain on our most ten- 
 der feelings is more than and ' Smith's Wealth of 
 
 Nations,' a truly, valuable work and ' Cole- 
 ridge's Aids ' — what a mind ! what true philosophy ! 
 Ah, Mrs. Yonge, I feel sure that this is your frequent 
 companion — there is in that lovely countenance, 
 which is now so cruelly hidden from my longing eyes, 
 a depth of thought and feeling that I know must 
 
 instantly respond to this truly wonderful now, 
 
 Miss Effie, tell me, is not your sister a she is too 
 
 modest to confess the philosophic impeachment '' 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs. Mortlake, I don't think " 
 
 " I stand reproved, Miss Effie. I grovel in the 
 dust before you, Mrs. Yonge. It was most indiscreet 
 
 of me to pry into No, Mr. Yonge, pray do not 
 
 light the candles, or, after such an unpardonable 
 breach of decorum, I must vanish into the dark abyss 
 
 of And here, last not least, is the exquisite little 
 
 volume for which I can never sufficiently Miss 
 
 Effie, you remember that beautiful picture : — 
 
 4 Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in bis glowing hands ; 
 Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.'
 
 58 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 'Love took up the harp of life, and smote on all the chords with 
 
 might ; 
 Smote the chord of self, that, trembling, paced in music out of sight.' 
 
 And this powerful apostrophe : — 
 
 'Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth ! 
 Cursed be the social lies that warp us from the living truth ! 
 Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest Nature's role ! 
 Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd forehead of the fool !' 
 
 " I am ashamed to say, Mrs. Mortlake " 
 
 " It is I who am ashamed, Miss Erne. You are 
 quite right ; with your usual delicate judgment you 
 feel that ' Locksley Hall,' with all its sublimity, is 
 
 not quite the poem for the youthful female " 
 
 " No indeed, Mrs. Mortlake, 1 never " 
 
 "I am wrong again : 'In tritium chicit ctUpaefuga.' 
 You are always right, Miss Erne. As you were about 
 so appropriately to quote, ' To the pure, all things 
 are pure.' But now I am sure that your favourite 
 is that lovely little poem, the ' May Queen.' 
 
 • You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; 
 To-morrow '11 be the happiest time of all the glad New V. ar; 
 Of all tli ■ glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day; 
 For I'm to be Queen of the May, mother; I'm to be Queen O* the May. 1 
 
 Then the touching contrast : — 
 
 ' If you're waking, call me I arly. call me early, m< tlur dear. 
 
 For I would st e the sun rise upon the glad N< H Yt ar. 
 
 It is the last New Year that I shall I v. r 
 
 Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.' 
 
 The poor May Queen takes your heart by storm. 
 I am sure, Miss Erne."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 59 
 
 " Yes, I thought that very " 
 
 " Exactly ; the most touching little scene from 
 simple domestic Mr. Yonge, have you seen Black- 
 wood ?" 
 
 " No ; in fact, Mrs. Mortlake, I " 
 
 " You don't approve of it ! There again I am 
 falling into indiscretion. But the truth is — I must 
 confess it, even at the risk of incurring your ever- 
 lasting contempt — I shall positively expire — a hope- 
 less victim to unsatisfied desire, unless I can obtain 
 
 a glimpse of the article on Your brother, Mr. 
 
 Yonge ?" as Gerard came in from the garden. 
 
 " Yes, my brother. Gerard, this is Mrs. Mortlake, 
 a very kind friend of ours." 
 
 " Spare me, Mr. Yonge ; if you speak in such flatter- 
 ing terms, my emotions will be too much for " 
 
 the rest of the sentence was lost in an immense 
 pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 " If you are Harold's friend, Mrs. Mortlake, I wish 
 you would persuade him to " 
 
 " Oh, fie, Mr. Gerard ! Oh, for shame ! There is 
 the persuasive angel who is to lead Mr. Yonge into 
 
 all give me air, give me air ! I am ready to faint 
 
 at the idea of your appealing to me to " 
 
 " Only to make him pull down that horrid " 
 
 " Now Mr. Gerard, I cannot hear another word. 
 ' That horrid ' ! 
 
 ' Procul, O, procul, esto profani ; 
 Couclamat vates, totoque absistite luco.'
 
 00 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Do you, rash intruder into the joys of Paradise, dare 
 so to designate anything presided over by the Queen 
 of Beauty ? I can endure no more. Mrs. Archer 
 Yonge, allow the humblest of your admirers to do 
 homage, and retire. Ah ! now I have a glimpse ! 
 Blooming and sweet as ever, I see. Good-night, 
 Miss Effie : would that those pale cheeks could borrow 
 
 a little of Good-night, Mr. Yonge. No, indeed you 
 
 shall not — I cannot suffer it. I shall not wish you 
 ' good-night/ Mr. Gerard ; I will only wish you as 
 much repose as your conscience will permit you, after 
 speaking as no, Mr. Yonge, really! — Oh, dear me ! 
 
 1 have quite forgotten my need of mental sustenance. 
 No, Miss Effie, not to-night ; I must not be so indulged. 
 It will be pleasure enough for to-night to think over 
 all the wise and witty things with which my poor ears 
 have so lately been enchanted. — Well, Mr. Yonge, if 
 you will ; but you run the risk of my fainting on the 
 door-step with overmuch Good-night." 
 
 The instant Mrs. Mortlake left the room, Gerard 
 seized a scrap of paper, and drew diligently, without 
 saying a word, till Harold returned. Then he cried 
 out, — " Harold, where did you pick up that prize ? 
 She's worth her weight in crold ten times over. You 
 don't mean to say she lives next door ! Why, what 
 a charming house this is ! I shall not go to ^lunro's ; 
 I shall stay here all the vacation, please. There, 
 Effie, — there she is." 

 
 TONIC BITTERS. 61 
 
 " For shame, Gerard," cried Harold, laughing in 
 spite of himself, as he looked over Effie's shoulder at 
 a capital representation of Mrs. Mortlake's very pecu- 
 liar appearance. 
 
 " Don't destroy it, Gerard ; I must keep it," and 
 Effie made an addition to her fast accumulating 
 treasures.
 
 62 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "Oh, Jessie, do look! That smile was just like 
 Harold's." 
 
 "You are as foolish as Harold," returned Jessie, 
 "talking of his smile, when nurse said it was all 
 fancy." 
 
 " Nurse said ! that was three months ago !" cried 
 Effie, indignantly. " lie does really smile now, don't 
 you, Baby?" 
 
 Baby was now the most important member of the 
 little household. Having made his appearance with 
 the snowdrops, he might fairly claim the credit of a 
 real smile now that the pretty Gateshill lanes were 
 fragrant with hawthorn. He was a fine, stout, 
 healthy boy, who took life very philosophically, 
 either sleeping placidly in his cradle, or. as at the 
 present moment, kicking vigorously on the floor. 
 His aunt was on her knees beside him. watching his 
 every movement, whilst his mother looked down on him 
 from an easy-chair, whenever her attention could
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 63 
 
 be drawn from the novel with which she was en- 
 grossed. 
 
 "Jessie, you must look at him. I'm sure he will 
 have just Harold's eyes." 
 
 " I hope not. I hate such blue eyes for a man." 
 
 " I hate anything but blue eyes," returned Effie, 
 vehemently. " I hope you are not going to have 
 stupid brown eyes, Baby, like your mamma, and your 
 aunt." 
 
 " My eyes are very much admired, Effie." 
 
 " So is the sphinx," returned Effie, viciously. 
 
 "I don't see the analogy," said Jessie, in a cool 
 tone. "Harold, ami like the sphinx?" she added, 
 as her husband entered the room with some papers 
 in his hand. 
 
 " Yes, my beauty, so far as that the sphinx is the 
 type of ancient perfection, and you are the type of 
 modern." 
 
 "You are complimentary this morning, Harold," 
 said Effie, rather disdainfully. 
 
 " You are benefiting by the fine things the critics 
 have said of me." 
 
 " I am not benefiting. But what have they 
 said ?" 
 
 " First let me have a look at my boy. Well, 
 
 , young man, what do you think of the world in 
 
 general ? It seems to me that aunt Effie does not 
 
 give you a chance of seeing much of the world beyond
 
 G4 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 a certain small face, with brown hair, brown eyes, and 
 brown skin : I always find that face bounding your 
 horizon, my son." 
 
 " Effie thinks brown eyes hideous, Harold," said 
 Jessie, looking off her book for a moment. 
 
 " Does she ? I think some brown eyes lovely." 
 
 u Baby will have blue eyes, won't he, Harold ?" 
 asked Effie, eagerly. 
 
 " I really am not sufficiently learned in babies to 
 decide that question, Effie. I only hope, if such are 
 your intentions, young sir, that you will copy your 
 uncle Gerard's eyes, not those of your respected 
 father." 
 
 " I want him to have your eyes, Harold," said 
 Effie. 
 
 " That's kinder to me than to Baby. What does 
 Jessie say?" 
 
 "Jessie is absorbed in that stupid novel," answered 
 Effie. 
 
 " What is it about — the sphinx ?" And Harold 
 took the book out of his wife's hand. 
 
 " Don't, Harold ! Now you have lost my place. 
 How tiresome you are." 
 
 " There's your place, but I have some better 
 reading here than any novel. I want 3*011 to listen 
 to me. Listen, Baby. You'll hear how your father 
 is to be a great man some of these days." Harold 
 unfolded the paper he held, and began to read :
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 65 
 
 * ' We are able to notice with decided approval two 
 small companion pieces, entitled The Dairy-farm 
 Fields, and Millstream Lane, Gateshill, the 
 works of a young, and hitherto little-known artist, 
 Mr. H. A. Yonge. There is a simplicity and purity 
 in the treatment of these two subjects, which in this 
 age of striving after meretricious effect is peculiarly 
 refreshing. We venture to predict a successful career 
 for one who has known how to give such true poetic 
 feeling to these unpretending sketches of suburban fields 
 and lanes.' There, Jessie !" cried Harold, as he finished 
 reading, " sha'n't we be proud of ourselves now ?" 
 
 " What ?" asked Jessie, looking up with a be- 
 wildered air — " what new wonder has he performed ? 
 Has he spoken ? I should not be surprised if you 
 two were to make that out soon." 
 
 "No," said Harold, quietly; "we were not speaking 
 of Baby. I was reading out a very favourable criti- 
 cism on my pictures ; but I dare say it would not 
 interest you." 
 
 Harold was leaving the room with a heavy, crushed 
 air which made Effie's blood boil. " Yes, Harold," 
 she cried, "it would interest her — it must interest 
 her ! Stop ! Come back ! Come and read it in her 
 ears ! She shall hear it. Jessie, throw away that 
 abominable novel ! How can you read that trash 
 when you might be hearing words that would be 
 music to any woman with one spark of feeling r" 
 
 vol. i. F
 
 6G TONIC BITTEKS. 
 
 Beside herself with indignation at her sister's conduct, 
 Effie seized the book out of her hand, and flung it 
 through the open window into the garden. Harold 
 stood at the door transfixed with amazement at this 
 outbreak from the usually self-possessed Effie ; Baby, 
 finding himself no longer the centre of attention, set 
 up a loud shout ; and Jessie sprang to her feet in a 
 passion of anger equal to Effie's. 
 
 " Harold, will you stand there and see me insulted 
 in this manner?" she cried. "Make her beg my 
 pardon this instant ! Am I to submit to be treated 
 so in my own house — and my own husband to stand 
 by and smile ?" Poor Harold was very far from 
 smiling. " Will no one quiet the child ?" he cried, in 
 despair. 
 
 Effie, recalled to herself at once, took up the baby, 
 and went through the open folding-doors into the 
 other room. Jessie continued — " You always take 
 her part against me. I suppose you would like me 
 to beg her pardon for having been the cause of her 
 violent excitement. I hope you see now that she has 
 not such a sweet temper as people imagine. You see 
 what I have had to put up with all my life." 
 
 " Effie does not often forget herself in this way/" 
 Harold at last put in. 
 
 " Oh, of course not ! Effie does nothing wrong ! 
 It is I who have forgotten myself. J am always to 
 blame. I cannot take up an amusing book for a
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 67 
 
 moment, in the hope of forgetting some of my troubles, 
 but I am to be reproached and insulted as if I were 
 guilty of a crime/' 
 
 " What are your troubles, Jessie ? Let me hear, 
 that I may try to remedy them." 
 
 " How can you remedy them ? If you had the 
 least sympathy with me, you would not have to ask 
 what my troubles are. And I married you that 
 1 might have some one to feel for me !" 
 
 " I am very sorry, Jessie, if I have disappointed 
 you. I am sure I feel most acutely for any suffering 
 of yours. But what is there now ?" 
 
 " Everything !" said Jessie, now in her usual 
 paroxysm of weeping. "Nobody cares for me, 
 not even Baby. He likes you and Effie, and even 
 Hannah, better than me. I have no friends, and 
 I have no amusements — nothing to divert my mind ; 
 and yet you all know how bad it is for my mind to 
 be allowed to prey upon my body. Of course I shall 
 be ill after this. I was just feeling a little better, 
 and now all my bad symptoms will come on again, 
 and — and — I wish I was dead, and then you would 
 all be satisfied." 
 
 " Jessie ! Jessie ! if you knew how wretched you 
 make me when you speak in that manner !" 
 
 4C Wretched ! It is J who am wretched !" And 
 she clasped her hands on her forehead and sobbed 
 violently.
 
 G8 TONIC RITTERS. 
 
 " Don't Jessie, pray ! For Heaven's sake command 
 yourself. You will frighten Baby." 
 
 ie Baby ! baby ! Any one but me ! Well, I will 
 not injure your child. I will get out of his way, and 
 yours too," and she flounced angrily from the room. 
 Harold threw himself into a chair and groaned aloud. 
 
 Effie, hearing her sister leave the room, brought 
 baby back and held him up to his father, without 
 speaking. Harold stretched out his arms for the 
 little fellow, and for a few minutes kept his face 
 buried in the soft white frock. 
 
 M Effie, you must not be hard upon Jessie," he 
 said at last. 
 
 "I am sorry I was so violent, Harold — it could do 
 no good." 
 
 " Jessie is so sensitive." Harold continued, " that 
 the least agitation upsets her completely. I am 
 afraid she will be ill after this." 
 
 It was a proof that Effie's repentance was sincere 
 that she punished herself by now holding her tongue. 
 Harold went on : " It was very foolish and egotistical 
 of me to insist on reading my news when I saw she 
 was interested in her book. It is not often she is 
 interested in anything, poor girl ! I am afraid she 
 has but a dull life of it — you must help me to try 
 and make it a tranquil life, Effie." 
 
 " Why should she be dull, Harold ? You are not 
 dull."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 69 
 
 "No — 7 have only too many objects in life. And 
 here is this young fellow bidding fair to swallow them 
 all up, are not you, Baby ?" 
 
 " Jessie has him, too," remarked Effie. 
 
 "If you remember, Effie — I was recalling it to 
 mind the other day — Jessie never liked children ; 
 she always said so." 
 
 " But her own, Harold !" 
 
 11 1 dare say it will be different when he is older. 
 She can hardly realise being a mother yet." 
 
 Effie said nothing, and, after a short pause, 
 Harold continued : " I hope, if I get on pretty well, 
 that in a few years we may be able to move to a 
 larger house, nearer town, and then we shall have 
 more society. It is selfish in me, because I am 
 poor, and ambitious, and shy, to make a recluse of 
 one who is so eminently fitted for intercourse with 
 the world. You never saw her at a party, Effie . 
 you cannot picture to yourself the brilliancy of her 
 beauty when animated by dancing and gay conversa- 
 tion. I wish I could reconcile it to my conscience to 
 launch out at once, and take her to all the parties 
 within my reach." 
 
 " You, who hate parties, Harold !" 
 
 " Come, Effie, I am not such a selfish monster as 
 all that. I could make some sacrifice for her, who 
 has sacrificed so much for me." 
 
 " Yes — giving up the life with the dear old aunts
 
 70 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 at Gourock was an immense sacrifice to Jessie, cer- 
 tainly," said Effie, satirically. 
 
 Harold looked first mystified, and then rather hurt. 
 " Of course that life would not have lasted, Effie. 
 She would soon have married." 
 
 " Dr. Lang it must have been, then," replied Effie. ' 
 
 u Well, we need not discuss that matter. She has 
 married me, poor girl, and the only question now is, 
 how I can make her life a little less monotonous." 
 
 " You will be able to plunge into all sorts of dis- 
 sipation when your 'successful career' commence-.' 
 said Effie, cheerfully. 
 
 Harold shuddered. M I hate the recollection of 
 that critique," he said. And then he quietly laid the 
 baby in Effie's arms, stepped into the garden to pick 
 up the maltreated novel, and left the room with it. 
 
 Effie continued for some time to walk about with 
 baby, who was restless, and refused to lie down in his 
 cradle. She had seated herself by the garden-window, 
 and was warming his little feet in the sun, when there 
 came a low, quick ring at the gate-bell, and a minute 
 afterwards the front window was softly raised, and a 
 well-known step crossed the room. 
 
 " Gerard !" cried Effie, not rising, for her legs 
 trembled too much, and baby was an excuse for sit- 
 ting still. 
 
 "Yes. Are you glad?" asked Gerard, as he took 
 her hand.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 71 
 
 " Of course I am. But what brought you ?" 
 
 " Why should I not come ? I was turned out at 
 Weymouth, and I did not care about going to Earle's 
 just now. I mean to spend the rest of the vacation 
 here. I've got lots to tell you, little woman." 
 
 " About yourself ? Why were you turned out of 
 Mr. Monro's?" 
 
 " They gave up the house at Weymouth, and have 
 gone back into Norfolk. I say, is that the infant 
 phenomenon ? Halloa ! old fellow, how are you ?" 
 
 "He seems to approve of you, Gerard — how he 
 stares !" 
 
 " Look here, old fellow, what's your name ? By- 
 the-by, has he any name ?" 
 
 " He has not been christened yet. Harold wants 
 you to be one of the godfathers." 
 
 "I! Oh no, I couldn't possibly! There are all 
 sorts of dreadful responsibilities to undertake." 
 
 Effie smiled, but rather seriously. " Well," she 
 said, " you must hear what Harold has to say." 
 
 " Not if he is likely to say anything to induce me 
 to make rash promises," cried Gerard, in a tone of 
 alarm. " But you haven't told me the young shaver's 
 name yet." 
 
 " David," answered Effie in a low voice. 
 
 Gerard did not speak for a minute, then he said, 
 " I thought of that ; but I hoped they might not 
 choose it."
 
 <2 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "So did I," said Effie, " but they both wished it." 
 
 There was a long pause, which was broken by 
 Gerard saying, in quite an altered tone, "Does he 
 like apples ?" 
 
 " Apples !" cried Effie, aghast. 
 
 '•' Yes. I've brought half a dozen for him. Here 
 they are," and he pulled a bag out of his coat-pock- 
 " Here, old fellow, catch \" Baby grasped one side 
 of the apple in his little fat fingers, and immediately 
 conveyed it and Gerard's hand to his mouth, much to 
 his uncle's delight. 
 
 " There, I thought so ! I knew he was a man of 
 taste !" 
 
 " Take it away, Gerard, pray !" cried Effie. 
 
 " Why ? See how delighted he is with it. De- 
 pend on it nature dictates what food is good for 
 him." 
 
 "Nonsense. He will hurt himself, Gerard. See, 
 he is knocking his mouth with it ! Do take it away." 
 
 " You ungrateful little girl ! When I have taken 
 the trouble to carry them in my pocket all the way 
 from Covent Garden." 
 
 " Present them as an offering to Jessie ; she will 
 appreciate them more than Baby can." 
 
 " No, I shan't, I shall present them to you. Here !" 
 And he rolled the six apples into Effie's lap. much to 
 her discomfort, and not a little to Baby's. 
 
 " What are you doing to his feet ?" asked (ierard,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 73 
 
 when he had watched the apples roll off into different 
 corners of the room. 
 
 " Warming them," replied Effie. 
 
 " You can't warm them !" cried Gerard, with su- 
 preme disdain. " His foot is as large as your hand ! 
 Here, shy him over to me. I'll soon warm his feet." 
 
 Effie did not comply. 
 
 " Effie, I say, give him to me." 
 
 Still she was obdurate. 
 
 " I'm his uncle, as much as you are his aunt. I 
 demand my rights. Hand him over instantly, small 
 woman." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Effie, hesitating. 
 
 " Now, Effie, don't be absurd — as if I should not 
 be as careful as you can possibly be. Do trust me — 
 that's a good little woman." 
 
 Effie could resist no longer, so Baby was transferred 
 to Gerard, who quite proved his right to be trusted 
 with the precious charge, and acted as nurse with 
 great satisfaction to himself and his two companions, 
 till the real nurse arrived to claim her child. As 
 Baby was carried out Harold and Jessie entered, the 
 latter without the slightest trace of her recent emotion. 
 
 "This is a very pleasant surprise, Gerard," she 
 cried. " I have been worrying Harold as usual, and 
 I am so glad you have come to make amends to him. 
 Effie, dear," she added, going up to her sister, " I 
 was very wrong just now, will you forgive me?"
 
 74 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Effie did not feel that such wrongs were to be 
 wiped out by a few penitent words, but she could 
 only receive and return the proffered kiss, and hope 
 that the peace thus restored might be lasting. Ge- 
 rard drew other hopes from these amicable signs. 
 " I seem to have come in at the fag-end of a battle - 
 royal," he cried, "just in time for the celebration of 
 peace. But whoever heard of rejoicings with a bare 
 table? Though I am rather tired, Harold, I don't 
 mind getting up to ring the bell/' He suited the 
 action to the words, and then said, " Don't mind mp. 
 Jessie. Give your orders just as if I were not by." 
 Then, pretending to be absorbed in meditation, he 
 muttered aloud, u Cold lamb and salad — a pint of 
 Bass — gooseberry-tart and cream — not bad for a mild 
 spring day. Or a tender young chicken, and a nice 
 fresh dish of asparagus — or if there should be such a 
 thing as a raised pie in the house — or a piece of cold 
 boar's head — or a pate de foie gras — a pate, or two? 
 I mean — or " 
 
 " Well, what do you want, Gerard ?" asked Jessie, 
 as a servant answered the bell : " we dine at six, and 
 it is three now." 
 
 "I beg your pardon," exclaimed Gerard, with an 
 affected start. "I was plunged in meditation on the 
 probable bearing on the mean ratio of human 
 happiness, of the hydrostatic forces of the solar bj 
 tern. What do I want ? The merest trifle — a crust
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 75 
 
 and "a worm — anything will content me — content- 
 ment with a frugal mind — Hoigh ! Jane, stop ! 
 What is there in the larder ?" 
 
 * A round of cold beef, sir, and a piece of bacon, 
 and a meat-pie, and a jam-tart, and I don't know 
 what else, I am sure." 
 
 " Bring it all up, and ask cook to broil half a dozen 
 rashers of bacon, with a few eggs — all the rest will do 
 as it is. Only be quick. Tell cook not to mind the 
 dinner — that can be put off." 
 
 When the contents of the larder had appeared, and 
 disappeared, Gerard walked into the garden, and 
 called Erne to him. " 1 want your sympathy, and 
 your advice, and your everything, Effie. I have been 
 longing to see you. I did not like to write about it. 
 What do you think ? I am in love !" 
 
 Gerard looked down into EfBe's face triumphantly 
 as he said this. Fortunately, Effie had so schooled 
 herself to expect such an announcement some day, 
 that the slightest possible loss of colour was her only 
 sign of emotion. 
 
 "Are you, really?" she said. "And with 
 whom ?" 
 
 " How horribly straightforward and unromantic 
 you are, Effie, with your nasty, correct accusative 
 cases ! It isn't a ' whom ' at all. Rules of grammar 
 only apply to mortals." 
 
 " Well with what, then : is that better?"
 
 76 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " With an an^el — a creature much too celestial 
 for this earth." 
 . "And what is her what is its name?" 
 
 "Name! Names are for mortals; to me she is 
 light, life, love, meat, drink, sleep, air, water, hope, 
 happiness ; are not those names enough ? If to others 
 she is differently known, I care for no other titles." 
 
 " You are very absurd, Gerard." 
 
 Ci But seriously, Effie, I am desperately in love. 
 Her name is Lilian Home ; she is just eighteen, tall 
 and fair, with soft languishing blue eyes, and softer 
 flaxen curls ; her father is a savage old general, and 
 her mother an awful old tartar. We used to meet 
 every day ; we walked together, we rode together, 
 we danced together, and we were sea-sick together : 
 she let me call her by her Christian name, and she 
 gave me a piece of ribbon ; and oh, Effie, tell me, do 
 you think she will ever marry me ?" 
 
 " You have not asked her, then ?" said Effie. 
 
 " Asked her ! How could I ? The old general 
 would have kicked me down stairs, and the she- 
 tartar would have thrown me out of window. Sh 
 awfully rich, you see, that's the bore, and I haven't 
 got a penny, except fifty pounds a-year, and what 
 poor dear old Harold gives me. I say, Effie ! what 
 a brick he was to add that thirty !" 
 
 " You are not to say a word about it, you know !" 
 cried Effie, in a tone of alarm.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 77 
 
 " I know — but why ? Doesn't Jessie know of it ?" 
 
 " No," replied Effie, faintly. 
 
 Nor did Harold know of it. Effie, for the first 
 time in her '-life, had been guilty of a deception. 
 Mr. Garnock had left each of his children fifty pounds 
 a-year, and Effie, after hearing of Gerard's college- 
 troubles, had determined to spare more than half of 
 her share, sending it to Gerard in such a manner 
 that he should attribute the generosity to his brother. 
 
 " Well, you see," said Gerard, returning to the 
 subject of his love, " I can't go to the general, and 
 say, ' Please, sir, I've got fifty pounds a-year of my 
 own, and my brother gives me eighty pounds more, 
 and may I marry your daughter ?' But what else 
 can I do ? Shall I try a rope ladder ?" 
 
 "Would the young lady agree to that plan ?" 
 
 " I am not sure. She would like the fun of it ; 
 and then she's very proud of her feet, and it would 
 be a capital chance of showing them." 
 
 " But would .she be willing to share your poverty ?" 
 asked Effie, unable to help viewing the whole matter 
 in a rather more serious light than Gerard did. 
 
 " No, she would not like poverty at all." 
 
 " Then you can only wait a few years — till you 
 have made your way in the world." 
 
 " A few years ! She will be married in less than 
 a year. There was a brute of a captain, with red 
 whiskers, alwavs damrling after her."
 
 78 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Would she not wait for you ?" 
 
 " Not she. Why she won't wait even for a bath- 
 ing-machine." 
 
 " Then she can't care for you !" cried Effie. 
 
 " No, I don't think she can. But what ought I 
 to do, Effie ?" 
 
 " Work on," said Effie, earnestly, " and hope that 
 constancy will meet with its due reward." 
 
 u But suppose I should not be constant T 
 
 " Then you don't care for her." 
 
 " Oh yes, I do. I tell you I am desperately in 
 love. But you have such frightfully sublime view- 
 on these matters. If ever you are in love, Effie, how 
 awfully hard you'll do it. I say, don't you think 
 dinner must be ready?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 79 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Private and Confidential. 
 
 " The Oaks, July 20th. 
 
 " My dear Effie, 
 
 " Congratulate me ! She has sent me the 
 dearest little pink note. The sight of it made me so 
 all-overish that I thought I should have been obliged 
 to have a hot bath, to restore the circulation. If I 
 write too medically it is Kent's fault, and if I write 
 too theologically it's Munro's. It is awfully dangerous 
 to be shut up alone with two fellows, each with a 
 rampant hobby-horse. But to return to our muttons 
 — that is, to my dear little lamb of a pink note. 
 During that blissful fortnight — out on that word ! 
 to me it was unmixed day — during that fortday, 
 then, she asked me to get her some autographs. 
 Now, I had not the slightest idea how to procure 
 any autographs worth having — except my own ; but, 
 if she had asked me to get her half an ounce of light, 
 of course I should not have owned to any inability to
 
 80 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 satisfy her. So directly I went up I set to work, and 
 made myself the black beast of all the men I met. 
 By the end of term I was avoided as though I were 
 plague-stricken ; I had no sooner entered a room 
 than I was alone in it ; and men who wanted to save 
 their wine had only to give a hint that they expected 
 me. But I succeeded in collecting half a dozen 
 autographs, and I have my reward. It is too precious 
 to part with — it lives between my shirt and my 
 waistcoat on the left side, where Kent says my heart 
 is — but I will copy it word for word : ' My dear 
 Mr. Yonge ' — I think that ' My ' looks well — she 
 need not have said more than ' Dear Mr. Yonge.' 
 1 Many, many ' — only one c many ' was necessary, so 
 that's another good sign — ' thanks for your very 
 valuable addition to my collection of autographs. I 
 assure you I prize them most highly ' — may not that 
 be a delicate way of saying she prizes them for my 
 sake? — you know she could not say that outright. 
 'I hope you will some day ask me to do something 
 for you in return' — isn't that rather giving me an 
 opening to ask her to marry me ? * Papa and 
 mamma beg to be very kindly remembered to 
 you" — I'm sure the two old savages wouldn't beg 
 to be kindly anythinged, but it looks well that she 
 should say so, doesn't it? But the end is the best. 
 * I hope you have not forgotten our pleasant fort- 
 night at Weymouth. I shall never forget it.' That's
 
 TONIC BITTEKS. 81 
 
 rather strong, isn't it ? That is all, except that she 
 remains mine sincerely. I wish sincerely that she 
 were mine ! — ' Lilian Home.' Now what do you 
 think of it ? Write directly, and give me your 
 candid opinion. I have an immense respect for your 
 judgment in these matters. 
 
 " We are getting on very well here, excepting that 
 I live in continual dread that Kent will dissect me in 
 the ardour of his professional zeal, and that Monro 
 will be a willing accomplice, for the sake of the practice 
 in reading the burial-service. He, George Monro, 
 and I are going over to Eton on Election Saturday ; 
 his father and mother, and brothers and sisters are 
 to meet us. One or two of them — the brothers — are 
 there. 
 
 " Give my love to Hay and the Thunderess, and 
 to my godson. I say, are any more of my duties 
 coming on yet ? Any more plate ? Or have I any- 
 thing to do with his teething? When is the Cate- 
 chism to begin ? Mind you warn me when any of 
 my promissory notes fall due. And believe me to 
 remain, 
 
 " Your affectionate Friend, 
 
 " G. Archer Yonge." 
 
 Effie read out to Harold and Jessie the public 
 
 parts of this letter, which she received at the break- 
 fast-table. 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 82 TONIC BITTEES. 
 
 " I am glad Gay has written," said Harold. " I 
 was beginning to wonder what had become of the 
 boy." 
 
 " I suppose he has been reading too hard to write 
 much," said Effie, but she hardly thought it. 
 
 " Is Election Saturday this week ?" asked Harold. 
 " Yes, to be sure it is. Well, young women, I have 
 a proposal to make. You have neither of you ever 
 seen anything of the sort. Let us go down to Slough 
 early on Saturday ; take up our quarters at the inn 
 at Salthill ; leave our young encumbrance there ; go 
 over to Eton, and see the fun ; have a quiet day on 
 Sunday ; and come home on Monday morning. What 
 do you say ?" 
 
 " That you are a man of genius — a most promising 
 young artist, and a dear, good old hubby," cried 
 Jessie, ecstatically. 
 
 " That it would be very pleasant," said Effie, calmly, 
 though a bright flush had overspread her 1; 
 
 " We'll say nothing to Gerard about our plan.'' 
 said Harold. 
 
 The plan was carried out to the letter, as Harold's 
 plans generally were ; it must have been a tough 
 obstacle which would have turned him from a purpose 
 once formed. When Effie, whose sleep had been 
 very light and disturbed, peeped out of window at 
 dawn on the Saturday, a cloudless sky. and a sheet 
 of dew over the grassplot gave promise of a brilliant
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 83 
 
 day. At nine they started, all in high spirits ; even 
 Baby seemed to know that this was no ordinary drive 
 in the lumbering fly which conveyed them to Pad- 
 dington. At the station Effie's heart began to beat 
 tumultuously. The platform was crowded with old 
 Etonians, and in every one that approached she 
 expected to recognize Gerard. It was the same at 
 Slough, and she was quite glad of the little bit of calm 
 when they turned off to shady Salthill. Here they saw 
 Baby comfortably settled, and then proceeded across 
 the fields to Eton. Effie felt quite at home here ; she 
 knew the neighbourhood so well from Gerard's various 
 narrations of "jolly walks," when a master bad been 
 cleverly " shirked ;" "first-rate rides " — the grandest of 
 exploits to an Eton boy — or still more exciting steeple- 
 chases. She was so interested in finding out the 
 different landmarks, especially near the College, that 
 she had forgotten the chance of an unexpected meet- 
 ing, when suddenly Harold came to a full stop. The 
 street was crowded, and immediately in front of them 
 stood Gerard, with a very pretty girl leaning on his 
 arm. A spasm of dread shot through Effie; this was 
 Lilian, and they should interrupt his pleasure ! It 
 did not seem like it, however, by the glad way in 
 which Gerard cried out, " Harold, you here ! What- 
 ever — and Jessie, too, and Effie — by all that's jolly ! 
 What a capital idea! What did put it into your 
 heads ? Monro, here ! Where are you ? This is
 
 84 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 my brother, and these are my sisters — or something 
 very like it. My friend Monro, and this is his sister. 
 Mrs. Monro, let me introduce my brother, and my 
 sister-in-law, and her sister — Effie ! Where have you 
 disappeared to ? Mr. Monro, you have heard me 
 speak of my brother — Harold, Mr. Monro. And this 
 is Miss Kate Monro, and here are Ned, and Harry, 
 and Charlie. And now I think I have done my 
 duty, and everybody knows everybody. It is im- 
 mensely jolly to see \ou all." 
 
 There had been a general clamour — all talking at 
 once, and all bowing confusedly to one another ; but 
 Effie had heard nothing but Gerard's voice, and seen 
 nothing but his pleased face. She was relieved that 
 it was not Lilian Home with whom he was walking. 
 
 " Of course you will join our party now," continued 
 Gerard, directly he had recovered a little breath after 
 his introductions. " How shall we mix ?" 
 
 Mr. Monro, a gallant old gentleman of the Sir 
 Roger de Coverley school, immediately offered his 
 arm to Jessie. 
 
 "If you take my lady, sir, you must give me 
 yours," said Harold, securing Kate Monro, a merry 
 girl of fourteen. 
 
 " Come, Effie !" cried Gerard, <l I have another 
 arm, and you must belong to me." 
 
 " Let me go to one of the boys," said Miss Monro- 
 " You must have so much to say to your sister."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 85 
 
 " Indeed, I shall not — we have no secrets to talk 
 of. Where were you making for, Effie ? We are 
 going to the Playing-fields." 
 
 " That is just where I wish to go," answered Effie. 
 
 " Have you never been at Eton before, Miss 
 Yonge ?" asked Miss Monro. 
 
 "What, after all my trouble, you call her by a 
 wrong name ! That is too bad, Miss Monro ! This 
 is Effie Garnock — she is not my sister, really. She 
 is my sister-in-law's sister. I don't know what rela- 
 tionship that is — excepting that it is a very pleasant 
 one," and he gave a slight pressure to Effie's hand, 
 which lay on his arm. 
 
 "Yonge!" cried George Monro, "you might spare 
 me Clara, now that you have got so good a substitute 
 for her." 
 
 " How greedy you parsons are !" returned Gerard, 
 " you have got Mrs. Monro. What else do you want?" 
 
 "Why do you say 'you parsons,' Gerard?" asked 
 Effie. " Mr. Monro is no more a parson than you 
 are, is he ?" 
 
 w George Monro ! He is a parson from the top of 
 that tall hat of his to the lowest nail in his charity- 
 boots, and from the tip of one beaver glove to the 
 other, taking in the most remote corners of the 
 indigent tailor's handiwork." 
 
 "You traitor!" cried George Monro, "to expose 
 all the weak points in my outer man !"
 
 86 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 " That is right, Gerard !" exclaimed Mrs. Monro 
 at the same moment : " ] wish you could laugh him 
 out of some of his foolish fancies." 
 
 " I hope you will not, Mr. Yonge," said Clara. 
 *' Miss Garnock, do you think that self-denial, and zeal, 
 and liberality deserve to be called ' foolish fancie.- 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Effie, rather confused 
 by the other's warmth. " Oh, how beautiful those 
 old trees are !" she exclaimed, by way of a diver- 
 sion. 
 
 " Are they not ?" said Gerard ; " I knew you would 
 like this." 
 
 "It makes me so angry," Clara continued, "that 
 papa and mamma will persecute George. I call it 
 nothing less than persecution to try and work- 
 people out of their conscientious scruples and con- 
 victions." 
 
 "You are quite right, Miss Monro," said Gerard, 
 earnestly. "George is a noble fellow, and I only 
 wish I had some of his high principles. But Mrs. 
 Monro was onlv in fun." 
 
 " I know mamma would not be intentionally unkind, 
 but neither she nor papa can understand that George 
 is no longer a child. They do n<>t seem to me to 
 rested him as they ought. You know, having been 
 away so long, I see my homo with the eyes of a 
 stranger, and so I sometimes speak in a very unduti- 
 ful manner; don't you think so. Miss Garnock?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 87 
 
 "I confess I was rather startled," replied Effie, 
 candidly. 
 
 "You must not expect polite denials from Effie," 
 said Gerard. " She always tells the naked truth — 
 and awfully naked it is sometimes ; it cuts through all 
 one's pretty pretences, scatters all one's pet delusions, 
 and leaves one hopeless, surrounded by the ruins of 
 all one's favourite air-castles. Oh! beware of her, 
 Miss Monro, she is a most ruthless little woman. 
 You would not believe there could be so much venom 
 in so small a compass." 
 
 " I will not believe that there is anv venom in 
 Miss Garnock," said Clara, courteously. 
 
 " Wait till you have tried her. You just tell a lie, 
 pick a pocket, or rob a church, and you will soon feel 
 her sting." 
 
 "I hope I may never try her in that way," 
 returned Clara, laughing. " Have you often done so, 
 Mr. Yonge ?" 
 
 "Not quite literally, perhaps; but just as bad. I 
 say, Harold, have you got a carriage for Surley?" 
 
 " No ; can't we have a boat ?" 
 
 " We are going by the road. And I doubt whether 
 you will find a boat, now." 
 
 " Shall we find a carriage ?" 
 
 "I must make haste and hunt for one," Gerard 
 replied. "Shall I leave you here, or shall we all 
 walk that way ?"
 
 88 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " I think we shall have had quite walking enough," 
 said Mrs. Monro. " Edward, where are you striding 
 away to, as if you were a young man ?" 
 
 "You need not concern yourselves about us — 
 Mrs. Yonge and I will be back by the time luncheon 
 is ready," replied the old gentleman. 
 
 Harold followed his wife, and the boys followed 
 him, but the rest of the party turned town wards. 
 
 " Should you like a boat best, Effie ?" asked 
 Gerard. 
 
 " I like the water, but I don't think Jessie would ; 
 and I dare say it will be better to have a carriage." 
 
 "Would you have liked the water, Miss Monro? 
 Monro said his mother would prefer the road. But 
 our party might divide — there is no reason why some 
 of us should not row." 
 
 "That would be very nice," said Clara. "But 
 would it be possible to get a boat now ?" 
 
 "I will see what can be done. What would our 
 number be ? If Mr. and Mrs. Monro will take Jessie 
 and Harold, there will be you and Effie and Kate 
 for sitters, and George, Harry, and I to pull, and 
 Ned to steer — no, by-the-by, Ned will be in the 
 boats — I suppose Charlie couldn't steer? We must 
 make Kate coxswain. You are sure you would like 
 a boat, Miss Monro ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " I say — it seems so stupid to be calling you ' Miss
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 89 
 
 Monro ' — I call all the others by their Christian 
 names — Mayn't I call you Clara ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly, Mr. Yonge." 
 
 " But then you mustn't call me ' Mr. Yonge.' All 
 the others call me ' Gerard.' " 
 
 " Very well — I like the name of Gerard." 
 
 " Effie, is it not strange — I am quite like a brother 
 with all the rest, and I never saw — Clara" — he hesi- 
 tated, coloured, and laughed — " till the other day ?" 
 
 " Ycu have been away from home, Miss Monro ?" 
 
 " Yes, I was for two years at school in Paris, and 
 for two more in Italy with my uncle and aunt. It 
 was a long time to be away. When I left, my 
 brother George was a boy like Ned, and when I 
 came back I found him a man of whom I felt quite 
 afraid." 
 
 " One does feel afraid of George sometimes," said 
 Gerard, " he is so tremendously good." 
 
 " But he is not in the least censorious," said Clara. 
 
 " Oh, no — nor even strait-laced," replied Gerard ; 
 " and I suppose a clergyman-elect ought to be super- 
 good." 
 
 " This is the second time that you have spoken as 
 if you were not also a clergyman -elect, Gerard," 
 remarked Effie. 
 
 Gerard hesitated. 
 
 "You intend to take Orders, do you not, Mr. Yonge ?" 
 asked Clara.
 
 90 TONIC BITTE' 
 
 " I — I hardly know," replied Gerard. "You have 
 asked me an awkward question, Miss Monro. The 
 fact is, I don't feel at all fit to be a clergyman, but I 
 dare not say I don't mean to take Orders, for Effie 
 would think me the basest, meanest, most fickle, and 
 most contemptible deserter that ever disgraced his 
 colours. And I have other reasons for shrinking from 
 giving up the idea, as much as I shrink from carrying 
 it out," he added, in a low, serious tone. There v. 
 a long silence, broken at last by Gerard exclaiming, 
 " There's Joyce ! If any one can manage to get a 
 boat for us, he's the man ! Just take care of these 
 ladies, George," and he ran off, to reappear at 
 luncheon with the welcome news that the powerful 
 Joyce had prevailed, and a boat was at their service. 
 
 " Are you sufficiently acquainted with the river to 
 venture on such an occasion as this ?" asked Mr. Monro, 
 nervously. 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; George and Harry and I all know 
 the river as well as we know your pond." 
 
 " But knowing the river under ordinary circum- 
 stances, and getting safely through the confusion of 
 such a scene as this, are verv different tliii You 
 
 young people must do as you like ; but I consider 
 it a most dangerous experiment." 
 
 "Come, Edward, wo had better get on," said 
 Mrs. Monro. " Is there anything wholesome coming, 
 George ?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 91 
 
 " Why, Mrs. Monro !" cried Gerard, laughing, 
 " what would you have more wholesome than that 
 eel-pie, or that lobster-salad ? We ordered the salad 
 on purpose for Mr. Monro." 
 
 " Edward ! Take care what you are about !" 
 exclaimed Mrs. Monro. " You had better take just 
 the inside of one of those meat patties. Is this the 
 kind of trash you boys generally live on? No wonder 
 George complains of headache, and Harry has a com- 
 plexion like a turnip." 
 
 " Mamma !" cried the insulted youth. 
 
 " Never mind your mother, boys," said Mr. Monro. 
 " This is an excellent pie, George. But where's the 
 champagne ? I must have a glass with Mrs. Archer 
 Yonge." 
 
 " It is too bad of you people not to eat," said 
 Gerard, " it makes us all seem so greedy. Can't you 
 forget that feed at Salthill ? My theory is that one 
 meal should never interfere with another. Am I not 
 right, Mr. Monro ?" 
 
 " Mother, do try your eloquence on Mr. and Mrs. 
 Yonge. Gerard and I will be in despair if our spread 
 is treated so disdainfully," said George Monro. 
 
 " I think Mr. and Mrs. Yonge and Miss Garnock 
 are the only wise people of the party. We should 
 all have done much better to follow their example. 
 Edward, let us go down now, and see if the carriage 
 is ready."
 
 D2 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " My dear, I am not ready for the carriage. I 
 must have some of those stewed eels. Mrs. Yonge, 
 another glass of champagne ? To our next meeting !" 
 
 "Mrs. Monro hopes that may be far distant, if such 
 meetings are always to be celebrated in champagne," 
 said Gerard. 
 
 " Now, do see if the carriage is ready, Ned," im- 
 plored Mrs. Monro. 
 
 " We have only a chaise with two seats, Mrs. Yonge,'' 
 said Mr. Monro. " I hope you will not object to it. 
 Does your husband drive ?" 
 
 " You will drive, Mr. Yonge, will you not ?" asked 
 Mrs. Monro, hastily. 
 
 " Oh certainly, if you wish it." 
 
 " Somehow, I don't think my people have much 
 confidence in m}' charioteering skill," said Mr. Monro. 
 " Now, then, are we all ready to start ?" 
 
 The start of the chaise was satisfactorily accom- 
 plished, Harold driving, with Mrs. Monro by his side, 
 and Jessie sitting behind with Mr. Monro. The two 
 couples managed to make themselves so agreeable to 
 each other that, although they never got near the 
 tables, and could not obtain a good view of the boats, 
 they were perfectly satisfied with their evening, and 
 when they all met again at the " Christopher," main- 
 tained that their enjoyment had been quite equal to 
 that of the boating-party. Efne said nothing, but she 
 thought many times that evening that no earthly
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 93 
 
 enjoyment could be equal to hers. After" the excite- 
 ment of the crowd at Surley, and the rapid row back, 
 there came a moment of delicious calm, when all the 
 boats lay moored by the banks, or only drifted along 
 the stream, waiting for the commencement of the fire- 
 works. Gerard was the stroke-oar, and therefore 
 engrossed the two sitters, but Effie noticed with 
 surprise and intense pleasure that he made more 
 frequent demands on her attention than on that of 
 Clara. It was the first time she had had any 
 opportunity of seeing Gerard with any other girl, and 
 instead of the pain she had often feared such an 
 opportunity might bring, she experienced almost 
 unmixed pleasure — not quite unmixed, however, for 
 not even Gerard could make her enjoy the fireworks. 
 
 The Monroes were to sleep at Eton. Gerard had 
 intended to do the same, but he now declared his 
 intention of going to Salthill, and being domestic for 
 a day. So the Yonges packed comfortably into the 
 Monros' chaise — Gerard driving, with Effie by his 
 side, and Harold and his wife behind, Jessie being 
 afraid to face the night air. 
 
 " I did not answer your letter, Gerard," said Effie, 
 as soon as they got out of Eton, " because I thought 
 I should see you soon, and could talk about it more 
 comfortably." 
 
 " Oh, ah ! I wrote to you about Lilian's pink note. 
 Wasn't it a queer composition ?"
 
 94 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " No, I did not think it anything peculiar. To be 
 as unpleasant as usual, Gerard, I did not think she 
 wrote either more or less than any girl might have 
 done under the circumstances." 
 
 " No ? Well, I dare say not. It was all the 
 better for being copied, she writes such a horrid 
 scrawl. I will show it to you some day." 
 
 " You can show it to me to-morrow," observed Effie. 
 
 " No, I can't, for I left it at Ban stead. The fact 
 is, I found it awkward to have it loose about me, so 
 I put it in my waistcoat-pocket, and I changed my 
 waistcoat in a hurry just as I was leaving, and so 
 forgot it." 
 
 Effie said nothing, meditating on the nature of a 
 love which left its treasures in a cast-off waistcoat - 
 pocket. 
 
 " I say, Effie," began Gerard again, " what do you 
 think of Clara Monro ?" 
 
 "I like her very much indeed. She is sweetly 
 pretty." 
 
 ' ; Is not she ? She is prettier than Jessie, I think. 
 though Jessie looked splendid to-day ; and how agree- 
 able she was ! But Clara wins on one so. V u will 
 think her prettier still the next time you Bee her." 
 
 "She and her brother are verv much alike." 
 
 " Yes. George is a splendid fellow. I think he 
 is the handsomest man I ever saw." 
 
 " He is very good-looking. Both he and his
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 95 
 
 sister have such refined features, and so much ex- 
 pression — at least, such refinement of expression. 
 Those long eyes always make a face interesting to 
 me." 
 
 " Hurrah, Effie ! I believe you are smitten with 
 George. He would make a capital husband. And 
 he admires you very much. He was quite angry 
 with me for suggesting that your style of beauty is 
 not generally recognised as such. He says there is 
 something quaint and elfish about you which strikes 
 his fancy much more than regular beauty ; and then 
 he talked some nonsense about a sylph-like form, 
 which I shan't repeat, for fear of making you vain. 
 But I must say, little woman, that is an awfully jolly 
 get-up of yours. I don't think Clara dresses well. 
 But I like her immensely. I am not sure that she 
 is not better than Lilian ; at any rate, she is much 
 more intellectual. I must confess that Lilian has 
 about as much mind as a pretty doll. What do you 
 think of the old people ?" 
 
 " I like Mrs. Monro extremely. She looks so kind, 
 and she is so original." 
 
 " Yes. Oh, she is great fun. And the old gentle- 
 man is very well in his way, only he is rather 
 fidgetty." 
 
 They were bowling along the smooth Slough road 
 all too rapidly to please Effie, who could not get up 
 her courage to sav a\ hat she had determined should
 
 96 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 be said during that drive. At last she forced out the 
 words : " I was sorry to hear what you said about 
 taking Orders, Gerard ; but I think you are quite 
 right." 
 
 " Do you, really?" cried Gerard, turning round to 
 her with eager delight. 
 
 " I should be the last person to wish you to take 
 Orders if you feel unfit for it," Effie continued. " I 
 am certainly disappointed, because I had always 
 thought of you as a clergyman. But I would much 
 rather respect you for refusing to be a lukewarm 
 clergyman, than see you what I must despise." 
 
 " I don't want you to despise me, Effie. I have 
 dreaded telling you of my scruples on that account. 
 I know I am terribly weak. I never seem able to 
 make my anchors hold. But I don't think I could 
 be a hypocrite. And I could not bear to desecrate 
 an office which I have seen filled as we used to see it. 
 You understand what I feel, Effie ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. But, Gerard, I wish you would not 
 think yourself so weak. There is strength, not 
 weakness, in these scruples of yours, if you could but 
 see it." 
 
 " Thank you, Effie. That is the first pat on the 
 back I ever got from you. I ought to go right with 
 you to hold me up on one side, and George Monro 
 on the other, and Harold pushing behind. But I 
 shall slip down in spite of you all — you see if I don't
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 97 
 
 Here we are, and I wish we weren't ; I could drive 
 on like this all night." 
 
 Effie, also, had thought the drive by moonlight 
 most delightful. But she still more enjoyed strolling 
 with Gerard in the shady garden of the hotel, after 
 their late breakfast the next morning. 
 
 " How jolly this is !" cried Gerard. " What a 
 capital idea it was of Harold's to bring you ail here !" 
 
 " Harold always has such excellent ideas," replied 
 Effie. " How delicious this garden is !" 
 
 " Yes. It is much better than being in Eton. 
 And it is better to be with you, little woman, than 
 with the Monroes." 
 
 " Oh, you humbug !" cried Effie. 
 
 " No, really, Effie, it is not humbug. I like them 
 all very much, and I should have had a very pleasant 
 day with them. But, somehow, I always feel better 
 — a better boy, I mean — with you than with any 
 one else." 
 
 " Better with me than with Mr. Monro ?" 
 
 " Yes, I think so. You see, with George I daren't 
 go wrong ; but with you I don't feel inclined to go 
 wrong." 
 
 "Again, Gerard? When will you learn to walk 
 alone ?" 
 
 "Never. I shall always want you to walk with 
 
 me. 
 
 Effie did not answer this. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 98 TONIC BITTER?. 
 
 "Don't you think Sunday is always pleasanter 
 than any other day T* Gerard continued, after a 
 pause. "I mean the whole thing — the air, and the 
 sky, and all the sounds and scents. Do you re- 
 member the Sundays at Pixycombe ?'' 
 
 " Remember them, Gerard ! It seems to me that 
 Pixycombe must have been Paradise." 
 
 " I have just the same feeling about it. Do you 
 remember the look of the little church on such a 
 summer's morning as this ? By-the-by, had we not 
 better £0 to church this morning: ?" 
 
 " Yes, to be sure. Thank you for reminding me. 
 Do you know, Gerard, I am afraid I am beginning 
 not to care about church." 
 
 " Ah ! You want George Monro to keep you in 
 order. Run away now, and put on your thing-. 
 There is only just time to get there." 
 
 " I wish I had not been such a good boy this 
 morning," said Gerard, as he and Effie came out of 
 church. " It always upsets my temper for the whole 
 day, when I hear a man going on like that for an 
 hour — yes, let me see"' — looking at his watch — 
 '•actually for an hour and rive minutes. And what 
 possible good can lie have done to any one of his 
 hearers? With me he has just undone all the good 
 of the prayers — which, fortunately, he could not spoil. 
 He has answered a string of questions that nobody 
 ever thought of asking ; and tilled our minds with
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 99 
 
 doubts which would never have got into them with- 
 out his help. Bah ! It makes me so savage !" 
 
 " So it seems," said Effie. " But vou need not 
 revenge yourself by kicking the dust all over me." 
 
 "Did I? Poor little woman! Puff!" — blowing 
 away an imaginary obstruction — " There, now he is 
 gone, and we won't think of him again. Only I must 
 not forget to give George my views on the subject." 
 
 "You can do so at once, then," said Effie, "for 
 here he comes." 
 
 "We are only just out of church, and you have 
 had time to walk from Eton !" cried Gerard, as 
 George Monro and his two younger brothers came 
 over a stile into the road. 
 
 "I hope we did not knock you up yesterday, Miss 
 Garnock ?" said George. 
 
 " No, nothing knocks her up," answered Gerard, 
 for Effie : " She's ' a bad 'un to look at, but a good 'un 
 to go.' How do you all get on without me?" 
 
 " Very badly," said Ned, " so we have come over 
 to look after you." 
 
 " Why do you allow him to be so rude, Miss 
 Garnock ?" asked George, referring to Gerard's last 
 observation. " I wish you would accept me as your 
 champion, and let me chastise him." 
 
 "Come on!" cried Gerard, defiantly. 
 
 " I thought you were a man of peace, Mr. Monro," 
 said Effie.
 
 100 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " I could fight in a good cause," returned George, 
 skilfully appropriating Effie to himself as he spoke. 
 
 This appropriation continued throughout the day, 
 much to Effie's vexation, though she could not but 
 confess to a great want of taste in preferring Gerard's 
 boyish nonsense to George's really intellectual conver- 
 sation. It was no consolation to her that Gerard told 
 her she had made a complete conquest of George. 
 Effie had no thirst for conquest, and she was annoyed 
 instead of being flattered, when her supposed admirer 
 came early next morning to see them off by the train 
 to London, and thus deprived her of her hoped-for 
 tete-a-tete walk with Gerard to the railway station. 
 As the train moved slowly off, leaving the two young 
 men on the platform, all George's fervent glances 
 were wasted on their object, who kept her eyes fixed 
 on his companion, and could not even spare him one 
 parting look.
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 101 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Such treats as the visit to Eton were of very rare 
 occurrence in the little family at Prior's Mount. As 
 Harold had said, theirs was usually a very monoto- 
 nous life. Peaceful, certainly, excepting during one 
 of Jessie's outbreaks, but not free from signs, which 
 to an experienced observer, would have given warn- 
 ing of future storms much more serious than these 
 ebullitions of an undisciplined temper. And these 
 danger-signals were displayed, not by the two in 
 whose characters the most casual acquaintance could 
 detect innumerable failings, but by the two who 
 appeared the most entirely free from any dangerous 
 tendencies. It is a great truth that the many fail- 
 ings of a weak character are much less to be 
 dreaded than the one fault of a strong character. 
 Jessie's selfishness, egotism, and petulance, or Ge- 
 rard's volatility and self-indulgence, were less likely to 
 lead to serious trouble, than Harold's narrow rigidity, 
 or Effie's pride and self-confidence. One reason for
 
 102 TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 this was the fact that all the four knew how Jessie 
 and Gerard were prone to fail, whilst not one of them 
 was aware that Harold and Effie had any vulnerable 
 points at all. 
 
 Three letters from Effie to her aunts will serve to 
 give an idea of some of these indications which bore 
 a close analogy to a tiny cloud on the horizon, to the 
 ignorant eye a harmless vapour, but to the learned in 
 Nature's secrets, a sure herald of the storm which will 
 shortly obscure the bright summer day. 
 
 " Prior's Mount, December 31st. 
 
 " Dearest Aunt, 
 
 "A Happy New Year to you, and to aunts 
 Janet and Euphemia. I hope that my first happiness 
 to-morrow will be mv usual New Year's budget of 
 Gourock gossip : it seems a long time since we have 
 had any tidings of you all. I suppose you will say 
 the same of us, and I know that I deserve anv 
 amount of scolding from you, so I will at once disarm 
 your wrath by throwing myself on your mercy. I 
 have some excuse for my neglect in the quantity of 
 work which falls to me at present. Jessie has been a 
 complete invalid for the last three months — never 
 leaving her bed till the middle of the day, and then 
 only to be carried to the sofa. Harold is very 
 anxious about her, but 31 r. Rogers assures us that 
 there is no cause for serious uneasiness. She is, I
 
 TONIC BITTEKS. 103 
 
 think, in better spirits than she often is when in good 
 health. Harold, as you may suppose, waits upon her 
 with the most devoted tenderness. The poor dear 
 fellow is very busy, and every moment that he can 
 spare from his wife and his profession is spent on 
 what he calls the ' play-work ' of a picture for the 
 Water-colour Exhibition, larger than any he has 
 before undertaken. His evenings are occupied with 
 contributions to various journals, which I write to his 
 dictation, as he finds that much pen- work cramps his 
 hand for his delicate pencil-work. 
 
 "Davie is very nourishing, and keeps us all alive 
 with his fun and mischief. I wish you could see him, 
 dear aunt. I am sure it is not the blindness of 
 affection which makes me say that he is a lovely 
 little fellow. We are all proud to walk out with him 
 — his pretty blue eyes, and his golden curls attract so 
 many admirers. He is a dear, good-tempered, happy 
 child, and the only trouble he gives is from his super- 
 abundant spirits. Poor little Walter is, at present, 
 very different. He has never been strong — always 
 small, pale, and fretful — and now that he is teething, 
 his irritability is most distressing. The expense of 
 these two young men has so alarmed Harold that we 
 have been trying various schemes for retrenchment, 
 amongst others the substitution of an occasional 
 charwoman for Jane, the nice housemaid who has 
 been with us from the first. Cook and Hannah
 
 104 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 undertook to manage the housework between them, 
 — but of course this arrangement has given me much 
 more to do, especially since Jessie has required so 
 much waiting upon. Hannah seems to manage 
 better for her than any one else can, so I take almost 
 the entire charge of the children. Walter is now 
 on my lap — quiet for the first time to-day — and 
 Davie is sitting at my feet, building a tower ' as high 
 as Ben Lomond/ about which (idiom I am always 
 inclined to say of that dear old friend of mine) I 
 have been telling him. You will judge from what I 
 have said that I have not much time for letter- 
 writing. Every spare moment is taken up with 
 needlework, of which Hannah and I have to get 
 through a considerable stock. All this occupation 
 keeps me very well and happy, though I certainly 
 do feel glad when the time comes for creeping into 
 my bed, and feeling Davie's dear little soft arms 
 round my neck. Baby lies in his crib by my side, 
 for Hannah now sleeps in Harold's dressing-room, to 
 be ready in case Jessie should need anything in the 
 night. I do hope we shall be able to remain in this 
 house— we are so comfortable here ; but it is certainly 
 a very tight fit, and if our family increases, it will 
 soon become impossible to manage. We shall all be 
 sorry to move, however. 
 
 " Gerard is coming to live in London. He took a 
 very good degree, and has got his Fellowship. He
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 105 
 
 has been working 'most steadily for some time, and 
 Harold is very happy about him. He has a capital 
 friend in George Monro, of whom I have often 
 written to you. Gerard is not quite decided about 
 taking Orders, but as he will not be of a suitable age 
 for two years, he intends to have chambers in London, 
 and to see something of life before he binds himself 
 to any vocation. Mr. Monro, who got his Fellowship 
 at the same time as Gerard, is going to remain at 
 Cambridge, and read for a year, and then to travel 
 abroad, for some months. Gerard may, perhaps, 
 decide to accompany him. In the meantime it is a 
 great delight to Harold to have his brother so near 
 at hand, and also to Davie, with whom his godfather 
 is an especial favourite. 
 
 " Xow, I really must leave off — baby is becoming 
 restless, and Davie is making alarming advances to 
 the pen and ink. All send much love. Accept very 
 much, dearest aunt, 
 
 " From your affectionate Niece, 
 
 "Effie Garnock." 
 
 "January 10th. 
 
 "My dearest Aunt, 
 
 "I have been thinking over your questions 
 ever since I had your letter, and I am sorry to find 
 that I cannot answer them at all satisfactorily. It 
 has worried me once or twice to consider what a
 
 106 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 different tone pervades our life at present from that 
 of the happy old life at Pixycombe. Of course much 
 of this change is owing to the loss of that influence 
 which used then to keep us all from getting wrong ; 
 but I do think that our life is, as you say, too full of 
 business. The present is quite taken up with little 
 duties and little cares, which will not make way for 
 anything that is not present. I know that we might 
 avoid this, and that many people — quite as much 
 occupied as we are— do manage to keep an invisible 
 thread running through their lives, which preserves 
 them from either trifling or grovelling. But this we 
 cannot do — I suppose because we do not set about it 
 in the right way. I often feel with horror that I am 
 gradually losing that hold on higher things which 
 used to seem so firm when papa was here to help us 
 all. Another thing which used to distress me, but to 
 which I am now becoming indifferent, is that none of 
 us attend church regularly, and that we have no 
 family prayers. Jessie is often unwell, and not able 
 either to go out or to be up to breakfast, and then 
 Harold is occupied with her ; and we are not very 
 regular in our hours at any time. You will think 
 that all these are only excuses, and that the honest 
 truth is that we have none of us the will to overcome 
 obstacles. Harold is so good — so high-principled 
 and so kind — that it seems impossible to find any 
 fault in him, but it certainly is the fact that he is
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 107 
 
 utterly careless about all outward forms of religion. 
 Gerard is very different, but then he has a constant 
 support in his friendship with George Monro ; and, 
 besides, Gerard's nature is so affectionate that with 
 him papa's influence is still all-powerful. 
 
 " I have written you a long rigmarole, dearest 
 aunt, but your questions seemed to necessitate rigma- 
 rolish answers, and I cannot help trying to persuade 
 you, as well as myself, that we are not such utter 
 heathens as, in my heart, I feel to be the case. 
 
 "I have no time for any gossip, and indeed nothing 
 has occurred since my last letter. Jessie continues 
 much the same. The babies are quite well, and so is 
 Harold. 
 
 " Ever your loving Niece, 
 
 "Effie." 
 
 " Gateshill, March 3rd. 
 
 " My dear Aunts, 
 
 " You must open your hearts to receive another 
 grand-nephew. A third son made his appearance 
 this morning, at five o'clock. A fine brown boy, 
 whom cook declares to be the ' very image of his ma.' 
 I can't say that I see the likeness to anything but a 
 callow bird. Harold professes to be horrified at the 
 rapid increase of his responsibilities, but he is really 
 almost bursting with pride in his three sons. Davie 
 stared intently at the baby for some minutes, and
 
 108 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 then said solemnly, ' More budder P which seemed as 
 if he also thought it more than enough. 
 
 " Do not let dear aunt Elizabeth be uneasy about 
 me. I really am not overworked. Walter has been 
 much better lately, and he is such an interesting 
 child that it is a delight to have the charge of him, 
 even when he is fretful. My labours have been much 
 lightened since Gerard has been in London. He 
 undertakes all the writing to dictation, and a good 
 deal of the nursemaid's work — the children are better 
 with him than with any one. He spends every 
 evening here, and many whole days, and he helps us 
 all in turn. He has now got the little boys in the 
 garden. Those hieroglyphics on the other page mean 
 Davie's love to his aunts, whom he would like very 
 much to see. 
 
 " Your affectionate Niece, 
 
 " E. Garxock." 
 
 Before Effie had finished her letter, Gerard came 
 in with a child perched on each shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, Gerard, take care !" cried Effie in alarm. 
 
 " They're all right. Hold on by my whiskers, 
 Davie." 
 
 " He would find it difficult," said Effie, laughing. 
 
 "I assure you there are as many as three hair 
 rejoined Gerard, solemnly. 
 
 11 Give Walter to me," pleaded Effie.
 
 TONIC BITTEUS. 109 
 
 " Indeed I shall not. Walter is very well where 
 he is ; and you are to rest, small woman." 
 
 "I have had my rest, and now it is your turn. 
 How hot you look, Gerard." 
 
 " I should think so. This young rascal has been 
 tearing out my hair' by handfuls, and that villain 
 Davie has been drumming on my chest with his 
 heels." 
 
 " Do let me have them now." 
 
 " What I thinks I says : what I says I means : 
 and what I means I does. What I thinks is that 
 you look pale and fagged : what I says is that you 
 are to go and lie down : and what I does is to dis- 
 mount my young tyrants, and to show them the 
 most delightful game on the floor that it is possible 
 to imagine. Come, Effie," he continued, when he 
 and the children were stretched on the carpet, 
 " you go and lie down for at least two hours — even 
 a ministering angel can't do without natural rest, 
 and you will be anything but angelic by to-morrow 
 if you keep slaving on in this way." 
 
 " Indeed I would rather not lie down, Gerard. I 
 could not sleep." 
 
 " Why should you not sleep ?" 
 
 " Me tell untie Day," lisped Davie. 
 
 " Tell, then, Davie," said Gerard. 
 
 ''Auntie tant seep cos me be naughty boy." 
 
 " W T hy ' me be naughty boy ?' " asked Gerard.
 
 110 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "If auntie seep," persisted Davie. 
 
 " But why should you be a naughty boy if auntie 
 sleeps ?" 
 
 " Course me be naughty boy if auntie seep." 
 
 " Are you always naughty when auntie is asleep r" 
 
 "Alius naughty," rejoined Davie, complacently. 
 
 Gerard and Effie laughed. " Davie is like a 
 certain uncle of his," said Effie, " who is always 
 threatening to be naughty. I don't think you are 
 so bad as you used to be, Gerard ; you are not now 
 always asserting that you must inevitably go wrong." 
 
 "The change is due to you, then," said Gerard, 
 hurriedly. He went on, bending his head over 
 Walter, so that Effie could not see his face : " When 
 one sees a small sprite going on day after day, and 
 week after week, doing everything for everybody, and 
 never thinking anything of it — slaving like a nigger, 
 and yet always keeping a white face — always clean and 
 always cheerful — one can't have this always before 
 one's eyes and not become better and stronger in 
 right-doing." lie suddenly raised his head, and 
 looked straight at Effie : " If I could make sure of 
 having such a ministering angel always about me 
 I should have no more doubts of myself/' 
 
 There was an earnestness in his tone very unusual 
 in Gerard, and a look in his eyes which Effie had 
 never seen there before. Her heart beat rapidly, 
 sending the blood so violently to her face that she
 
 TONIC BITTERS. Ill 
 
 was immensely relieved when Davie seized the poker, 
 and made such alarming demonstrations towards the 
 fire that she was forced to interfere. It was not 
 calculated to calm her agitation that during her little 
 struggle with her nephew she felt that Gerard was 
 still regarding her with that strange look. When, 
 however, peace was restored, and, in accordance 
 with the terms of the treaty, Effie began to draw 
 Davie a " booful budder," Gerard was quite himself 
 again. 
 
 "Oh, by-the-by, Effie," he said, "I have had such 
 a shock this morning. Look here !" He threw her 
 a smart white envelope, with silver edges, containing 
 two cards, also edged with silver, and tied together 
 with a silver true-love-knot, on which was engraved 
 " Captain Hector Beamish," and " Mrs. Hector Bea- 
 mish/' There was a third card, a plain one, bearing 
 the name of u Lilian Home." 
 
 " Poor fellow !" cried Effie. 
 
 " You unfeeling girl !" said Gerard, " you seem more 
 amused than sympathetic." 
 
 " I don't think there is any demand on my sym- 
 pathy at present. Now if the lady's name were " 
 
 Effie hesitated. 
 
 "What?" asked Gerard, breathlessly. 
 
 " Clara Monro," replied Effie, with some timidity. 
 
 " You are wrong," said Gerard, in a strange, em- 
 barrassed manner. " There is a name," he continued
 
 112 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 vehemently, u which it would make me awfully savage 
 to see coupled with any other man's, but it is not 
 ' Clara Monro.' " 
 
 Effie dared not ask " Whose then ?" so she occupied 
 herself with Davie, and said nothing. 
 
 " See here, Effie," whispered Gerard, after a short 
 pause, " this poor little fellow has fallen asleep." 
 Walter lay in his arms, sleeping peacefully. 
 
 " You must be tired of holding him, Gerard. Lay 
 him on the sofa ; I will make it comfortable for 
 Irim." 
 
 " Well, I ought to be going. I am engaged to 
 dine out. But I want to speak to Harold. I wonder 
 whether Talk of the — etc." 
 
 "And he is sure to appear," pursued Harold, 
 entering the room. '* What were you saying of me ? 
 Nothing bad, 1 hope." 
 
 "Effie, you must take him," said Gerard, in diffi- 
 culties with the child ; " I can't lay him down com- 
 fortably." 
 
 Effie took the little boy. from his uncle's arms, 
 and laid him on the sofa. Harold sat down, with 
 Davie on his knee. 
 
 "I wanted to speak to you, Harold," began Gerard, 
 nervously. " I must be going directly, but I have 
 something to say first." 
 
 " Say on," returned Harold, contentedly beginning 
 to take Davie to Banbury Cross.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 113 
 
 " I have nearly paid off all my College debts, and 
 my Fellowship, with my own fifty pounds, is quite 
 enough for me — so, please, I won't take the eighty 
 pounds from you any longer." 
 
 " The eighty pounds from me !" 
 
 " Yes. I know you said I was not to thank you, 
 or to say anything about it ; but now that I have 
 determined to give it up, it can't signify, — and we all 
 here know about it, except Davie." 
 
 "But I don't know what you mean by eighty 
 pounds. I would much rather you should continue 
 to take the fifty I have allowed you, for the present, 
 at any rate ; but it has never been more than 
 
 fifty." 
 
 "Why, Hay, what a rich man you must be, to 
 give away thirty pounds a year, and never miss it ! 
 I have had eighty, instead of fifty, for three years 
 now. I never spoke about it before, because I had 
 a message from you that you did not wish to be 
 thanked." 
 
 " I never sent you any such message — and I never 
 gave you more than fifty pounds." 
 
 " Effie ! Bear witness. Did he not ? His threefold 
 paternity has affected his memory !" 
 
 Poor Effie ! She had stood trembling in a corner 
 — turning from pale to red, and from red to pale 
 from the moment when she saw what turn the con- 
 versation was taking. She now came forward, look- 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 iug like a culprit. Both Harold and Gerard were 
 wonder-struck at her agitation. 
 
 " No, Gerard, he did not. I told a lie. I had no 
 need for fifty pounds a year — and I knew how papa 
 would have liked me to spend it. — I beg your pardon, 
 
 Gerard — I " She broke down completely, and 
 
 fled from the room. 
 
 "Harold ! She is an angel 1" cried Gerard, greatly 
 moved. 
 
 "She is a good little gill," said Harold, quietly. 
 
 " Poor dear little thing ! And I used to bully 
 her for being so shabby ! Harold, what shall I do ? 
 How can I ever repay her ?" 
 
 " Do you think she wishes to be repaid ?" asked 
 Harold. 
 
 " No — but — 1 say, I must be off! — I suppose Effie 
 won't come back. Give my love to Jessie." As he 
 spoke, Gerard caught up a piece of paper, and wrote 
 on it : — 
 
 " Dearest Little Woman, 
 
 Don't be shy of me — I won't say a word more 
 about it. But I never shall forget who it was that, 
 when she had only a very little loaf herself, gave me 
 more than half of it. What a selfish brute you must 
 have thought me all the time ! 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 ■ G. A. Y." 
 
 *©
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 115 
 
 Gerard folded this up, and, giving it to Harold, 
 said, "That is for Effie. Good-bye, little man. I 
 say, Davie, don't be a naughty boy when auntie is 
 asleep ; be a very good boy, and then poor auntie 
 will be able to rest when she is tired — so tired ! 
 Really, Harold, you must look after Effie : she will 
 slave herself to death, if you don't take care. It's 
 not fair that she should have so much to do. Good- 
 bye, old fellow. I hope the baby will turn out a 
 first-rater. I shall come early to-morrow, to make 
 sure that Effie is not put upon. Now, remember 
 Davie, be very good to your aunt."
 
 116 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Let me see if you'll do, Effie. Turn about ! Yes, 
 all right — very simple and nice. And here is a finish 
 for you." 
 
 " Oh, Harold, how kind ! What beautiful flowers! 
 You extravagant fellow ! But, nevertheless, thank 
 you very much." 
 
 " You must not thank me, nor scold me either. 
 Gerard brought them this afternoon. A bouquet for 
 you, and another for Jessie — rather a scrubby one for 
 his sister-in-law, I must say. I suppose he ex- 
 pended all his forces on those beautiful camelias. 
 Yes, put one in your hair, it wants some ornament." 
 
 " Gerard here this afternoon ! At what time ?" 
 
 " When you were out with the children. He was 
 very hot and breathless, but he would not stay a 
 minute. He gave me most particular injunctions 
 about keeping his precious flowers fresh, and only 
 giving them to you when you were dressed." 
 
 The Monros had taken a house in London for the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 117 
 
 season, and to-night George's twenty-first birthday 
 was to be celebrated by a dance, to which the Yonges 
 and Effie were invited. 
 
 "Will Jessie be long?" asked Harold, after a 
 pause, during which Effie had been gloating over her 
 flowers. 
 
 " I don't know. Hannah is acting as her maid ; 
 she would not have me." 
 
 " And who acted as your maid ?" 
 
 " Davie," answered Effie, laughing. " He was so 
 excited that he could not go to sleep ; indeed, I had 
 hard work to get him to bed at all ; and I was so 
 afraid he would wake Walter." 
 
 " What would Hannah do if Baby should wake ?" 
 
 " Oh, Baby is quite safe ; he never wakes when he 
 ought to sleep. He is like Davie was." 
 
 " You can't say the same of Davie now, it seems. 
 I wish Jessie would come ; the fly has been waiting 
 nearly half an hour." 
 
 In spite of Jessie's unpunctuality, the music had 
 not begun when they reached the Monros' house in 
 Portman Square. Unobservant as Harold usually 
 was, be could not but be struck by the admiring 
 glances which were directed to his wife, as she 
 entered the drawing-rooms, leaning on his arm. 
 George Monro immediately hastened towards them. 
 
 " Mrs. Yonge, let me find you a seat. How kind 
 of you to come, Yonge. That faithless Gerard has
 
 118 TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 not made his appearance yet, though he promised 
 to support me through all my responsibilities. Miss 
 Garnock, the dancing is just going to begin — will 
 you take me for your partner ?" 
 
 In spite of Effie's ignorance of such matters, she 
 was conscious that it must be an unjustifiable breach 
 of etiquette for the hero of the evening to open the 
 ball with one so insignificant as herself. But George 
 Monro had no notion of consulting " Mrs. Grundy ' 
 as to what he should or should not do. 
 
 " I am so glad you are all here to-night," George 
 said, as soon as they had taken their places at the 
 top of the long quadrille. " How lovely your sister is 
 looking ! What a proud man Yonge must be !" In the 
 next pause of the dance he said, " Was it not good of 
 my father and mother to resolve to spend this spring 
 in town ? They are both so wedded to a country 
 life. But Clara ought to see some society beyond 
 that of our village/' 
 
 When the figure allowed of his returning: to Effie's 
 side, George continued -'* What particularly pleases 
 me in this arrangement is that I hope it may give 
 Clara an opportunity of seeing a great deal of you. 1 
 do so wish that she may have you for a friend, Miss 
 Garnock !" 
 
 " I am sure 1 should be very glad," answered Effie. 
 
 " Clara is the best girl possible," George went on. 
 11 If she has a fault, it is that of beiDg too amiable."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 119 
 
 " And therefore you wish that she may see a great 
 deal of me," remarked Effie, maliciously. " Gerard 
 must have been betraying home secrets I' 1 
 
 " Whatever Gerard has told me has done you the 
 highest honour," protested George. " What I mean 
 is that Clara wants strength of character, and it is 
 therefore most essential that her friends should be 
 well chosen." 
 
 " Miss Monro looks in better health than she did 
 when we met at Eton ; I have not seen her since, you 
 know." 
 
 " That is nearly two years ago ! It was on the 
 25th of July ; two years all but two months. How 
 well I remember that clay !" 
 
 " So do I. It was quite a day to be remembered 
 with us — we have so few holidays." 
 
 Effie fuund it rather hard work to keep up this 
 conversation with George. Her attention would 
 wander to the door, and every movement in the 
 group collected there caused a corresponding agitation 
 under her white dress. Clara was just opposite, at 
 the other end of the long room, and Effie thought 
 that she also appeared peculiarly interested in the 
 group at the entrance. Presently Clara started and 
 coloured. Effie followed the direction of her eyes, 
 and saw Gerard, towering above all the other heads, 
 and coming forward with his usual bright, eager look. 
 As he passed behind Clara, she put out her hand.
 
 120 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 He stopped for a minute, but Clara was evidently not 
 his object : he was looking beyond her. Soon he had 
 made his way to the top of the room, and Effie caught 
 his eye. She nodded and smiled. He returned the 
 greeting, but very gravely. Effie looked up at George, 
 to see if he noticed Gerard's strange manner, and 
 she was struck with the wonderful animation of her 
 partner's countenance, and the fervid glow in his 
 handsome eyes. She was relieved when the dance 
 was over, and wished George would take her back to 
 her seat, but he kept walking about the room, talking 
 earnestly. 
 
 " You must promise to dance with me very fre- 
 quently to-night, Miss Garnock," he said, suddenly 
 breaking off in the midst of a glowing account of the 
 good deeds of a zealous clergyman in one of the 
 mining districts. " I am to have everything my own 
 way to-night, and am to be allowed to enjoy myself 
 thoroughly. You know the popular belief, that a 
 criminal on the eve of his execution is given what- 
 ever dainty he may desire. It is the same case with 
 me. I look upon this as my last meal in Vanity 
 Fair, and therefore I am not to be stinted in any 
 delicacy." 
 
 "Do you intend to forswear the world, then ? I 
 did not know you disapproved of dancing.'' 
 
 " Nor do I. I think dancing a particularly whole- 
 some exercise ; and, for my own part, I am passion-
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 121 
 
 ately fond of it. But in my judgment — many 
 better men think otherwise, and I will not presume 
 to say they are wrong — but my feeling is that there 
 should be some line of separation between the clergy 
 and the laity, and I think that this matter of dancing, 
 play-going, hunting, &c, is as good a line as any 
 other. You see, a clergyman can never lay aside his 
 office — he cannot put it in a bag with his surplice — 
 and it seems to me that where his surplice would be 
 out of place, he and his office have no right to be. 
 
 " Then would you give up all parties ?" 
 
 " By no means. If I chose to come in my surplice, 
 and sit on one of those benches, no one would object, 
 and it would not appear any very out-of-the-way 
 proceeding. But should I, in that garb, whirl round 
 in a waltz, with my white tails flying out behind me, 
 and my hood acting as a lasso to catch my partner, I 
 imagine that even the least scrupulous would cry 
 shame upon me." 
 
 " I never thought of the matter in that light," 
 said Effie, meditatively. " My father, who was a 
 clergyman, never mixed in any frivolities himself. 
 But he used to say that he was prejudiced from 
 having been brought up as a Presbyterian, and that 
 his rule would not apply to others in his position." 
 
 " I have seen your father, Miss Garnock," said 
 George, in a low voice. 
 
 " You, Mr. Monro !"
 
 122 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Yes. At Eton Gerard used often to talk to me of 
 his home, and he inspired me with a great reverence 
 for his adopted father. Just after the Easter holidays, 
 four years ago, I had the measles very severely, and I 
 was sent to Devonshire to recruit. Finding myself 
 within about twenty miles of Pixycombe, I rode over 
 there one Saturday, and was present at both the 
 services the next day, but I had not courage to 
 introduce myself at the Vicarage. Do you know, 
 Miss Garnock, that Sunday has coloured my whole 
 life. I had previously no thought of taking Orders. 
 1 was to follow in my father's steps as a country 
 squire. My career seemed chalked out for me ; but 
 your father said words that day, — I remember both 
 his sermons as if I had heard them only yesterday, — 
 so simple, and yet so elevated, full of that true, 
 dignified simplicity which proceeds from wealth of 
 ideas, not from the poverty which we so often meet 
 with in sermons. But what was I saying?" 
 
 " That papa's words " 
 
 " Oh. yes. What I heard that day, and still more 
 what I saw, — the reverend, grey-haired priest, and 
 his devoted people, — so impressed me, that from that 
 moment my highest ambition was to take upon me 
 an office which, when so discharged, could confer 
 such an almost unearthly dignity." 
 
 Effie felt greatly moved. u Have you ever told 
 Gerard this?" she asked.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 123 
 
 " No. There are some things of which one cannot 
 speak, even to one's dearest friend. But how the 
 same feeling influences Gerard ! You see, he cannot 
 resolve to take Orders, because your father's example 
 has given him such a reverence for the holy office 
 that, in his exaggerated self-depreciation, he thinks 
 himself unworthy of it. Were he to become a 
 clergyman, you would see, Miss Garnock, that it 
 would be impossible for him to dance, or hunt, or 
 attend races and theatres." 
 
 "But you are not going to take Orders at once, 
 Mr. Monro ?" 
 
 " No ; but I shall return to Cambridge next week, 
 and remain there, reading hard, till I go abroad in 
 November. Directlv I come back to England I shall 
 be ordained : so this will be my last party as a lay- 
 man, and, thanks to you, my best." 
 
 " George, you must do some introducing," said 
 Clara, coming up hastily to her brother ; " the gentle- 
 men are all in knots, and there is a most formidable 
 array of ladies all round the room." 
 
 " Shall I take you to your sister, Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, thank you ; any seat will do." She 
 was not sure that her sister's neighbourhood would be 
 very peaceful, considering that Jessie had not been 
 dancing. 
 
 As soon as George had left her, Effie saw that 
 Gerard was approaching, but shyly, in crab-fashion.
 
 124 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 She watched him in the greatest terror, lest she 
 should be carried off to dance before he could reach 
 her. When he had got almost within speaking 
 distance, his course was arrested by a friend, and, at 
 the same moment, George Monro came up to Effie. 
 
 " Miss Garnock, let me introduce Mr. Flamstead." 
 
 " May I have the pleasure — this dance — " muttered 
 Mr. Flamstead, and Effie, honest and unsophisticated, 
 could not say that she did not intend to dance this 
 time, when she had intended to dance with Gerard. 
 In desperation, however, when her partner-elect put 
 out his arm to lead her to the set, she said, " The 
 music has not begun, we need not take our places 
 just yet." 
 
 Mr. Flamstead politely assented, and then set 
 flowing a quiet little rill of common-places, which 
 made very little demand on his companion's attention. 
 Effie was just beginning to entertain the most 
 uncharitable sentiments towards the harmless little 
 man, when Gerard again moved on. She half 
 started forward, and said, " Gerard. I must thank 
 you," holding out her flowers. 
 
 "They ought to have secured me a dance." said 
 Gerard, reproachfully. 
 
 11 1 could not ask you," returned Effie, as she 
 walked away with Mr. Flamstead. 
 
 Gerard followed them : " Will you be my vis-a- 
 vis ? — I will get a partner — " and he disappeared.
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 125 
 
 "I am engaged to a vis-a-vis," remarked Mr. 
 Flamstead, leading Effie to the top of the room, 
 opposite to where George Monro was standing with a 
 tall, fair girl. 
 
 Gerard soon came up with Clara : " Where shall 
 we stand 7' he asked Effie. 
 
 " I — I am afraid we are engaged to stand here — 
 Mr. Monro had arranged " 
 
 " Oh, I see," said Gerard, and he turned abruptly 
 away, and went with his partner to the further end of 
 the room. 
 
 Effie had now no attention left for Mr. Flamstead's 
 small talk, and very little for the few earnest 
 sentences which George managed to speak to her 
 whenever they met in the dance ; and yet she could 
 not but acknowledge the rare perfection of George's 
 voice and manner, even when saying such unwelcome 
 words as, " Are you free for the next dance, Miss 
 Garnock ? — a waltz — will you consider yourself bound 
 to me, then ?" 
 
 Effie was forced to consent, and she was soon 
 whirling round with George, without having ex- 
 changed a word or a look with Gerard. She began 
 to think a great party was no such pleasant experi- 
 ence after all. 
 
 " How well you two waltz together," remarked 
 Harold, as George and Effie rested for a moment near 
 him. "You are the admiration of the whole room."
 
 126 tonic bitte; 
 
 Effie presently saw that they were almost the only 
 dancers, and she begged her partner to stop. 
 
 " Gerard, do go on," cried George ; "we are having 
 such a splendid waltz, and Miss Garnock wishes to 
 give up because there are no other dancers. Keep 
 us in countenance, there's a good fellow !" 
 
 " I have no partner," replied Gerard, coldly. 
 
 " Get one. There is Clara sitting down." 
 
 " I do not care for waltzing," Gerard said, in the 
 same tone as before. "You two appear to enjoy it 
 immensely," he added savagely, and then walked 
 away. 
 
 Effie sat down during the next dance, but Gerard 
 did not come near her, although she could see him 
 all the time talking very gravely to Mr. Monro. The 
 next quadrille she stood up with Harold, who re- 
 marked on Gerard's evident depression, and said that 
 Jessie did not appear to enjoy herself as much as he 
 had hoped she would. Effie could have added that 
 she did not enjoy herself so much as she had hoped 
 she should. As they walked about after the dance, 
 Harold went up to his brother. 
 
 " There is something wrong with you, Gay. What 
 is it?" 
 
 M Nothing. But it is not possible that all should 
 find equal enjoyment in an affair of this sort." 
 
 " Are you not going to dance with me at all, 
 Gerard ?" asked Effie, timidly.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 127 
 
 " I am afraid of boring you," said Gerard, looking 
 away from her whilst he spoke. " It would be dull 
 work for you to dance with me." 
 
 " Have you made a vow to be dull to-night, 
 then ?" 
 
 " I intended to be anything but dull — I meant to 
 have an evening of the most perfect enjoyment." 
 
 " And what has happened ? Are your boots 
 tight ?" 
 
 " I should think you need not ask what has 
 happened, Effie," replied Gerard, tragically. 
 
 " I want to take Jessie to have an ice, Effie," said 
 Harold. " Will you go with me, or stay with 
 Gerard ?" 
 
 " I will stay with Gerard," answered Effie, boldly. 
 Gerard brightened, and stretched out his arm. 
 
 " Do you say so out of charity ?" he inquired. 
 
 "Charity to myself?" asked Effie. 
 
 "No; you have a fancy for victimizing yourself, 
 and so you choose to stay with me. Is not that it ?" 
 He looked at her with one of his own sweet smiles 
 for the first time that evening. Before Effie could 
 answer, George Monro came to her side. 
 
 " Miss Garnock, we are all ready for the ' Lancers,' : 
 he said ; " you know you promised to steer me through 
 their intricacies." 
 
 " There, go and steer him through all the intrica- 
 cies of life," said Gerard, dropping her arm, and
 
 128 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 walking off. Effie had not another word from him 
 that evening. She caught sight of him once or 
 twice, glowering at her from a distance, but he never 
 came near enough for her to attempt making her 
 peace. 
 
 At the supper she and George were placed exactly 
 opposite to Gerard and Clara. The buzz of various 
 sounds prevented any words spoken in an ordinary tone 
 from reaching the other side of the table ; but Gerard, 
 in answer to some observation of his companion, sud- 
 denly raised his voice, and said, " Friendship : that 
 is all a delusion ! A mere dream of fools and poets ! 
 Woman's friendship, too ! Why, the first trifler who 
 whispers soft nothings in her ear can make her false 
 to a life-long friendship !" With these words, he 
 sent such a savage glance across the table that Effie, 
 catching his eye, positively quailed under it. 
 
 " What is the matter with Gerard ?" asked George. 
 "What is he haranguing about? Poor Clara looks 
 like a little girl being scolded for not knowing her 
 lesson properly. What makes you so fierce, Gerard T 
 he inquired in a louder voice. 
 
 " The hollowness and hypocrisy of the world," 
 replied Gerard, looking half ashamed of his own 
 vehemence. 
 
 "What has put you in this moralizing strain?" 
 asked George again. 
 
 " Life is not quite such a smooth course to me as
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 129 
 
 it is to you," replied Gerard, bitterly. " It falls to 
 one man's lot to dig and hoe, and to another's to 
 gather the ripe fruit. Shall we go upstairs, Clara?" 
 And he marched off, rather like a stage noble pro- 
 ceeding to his execution. 
 
 George laughed : " What can be the matter with 
 Gerard ?" he said. " He is so unusually solemn. I 
 must try and find out what is wrong. His crust is 
 sure to melt in five minutes. He is the best- 
 tempered fellow in the world, usually, as I have no 
 doubt you are aware, Miss Garnock, without my 
 telling you." 
 
 As George was taking Effie to the carriage, about 
 an hour later, Gerard was looking for his hat in the 
 hall. 
 
 " Are you going so soon, Gerard ?" asked George. 
 
 " Yes, I am going," replied Gerard, roughly. 
 
 "Is anything the matter?" inquired George. 
 
 " No. Good-night." 
 
 But he was not to escape so easily. Harold, who 
 was already in the Gateshill fly, called out, " Gerard, 
 is that you ? Shall we see you to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I think not, " replied Gerard, doubtfully. "No, 
 certainly not," he added, as George and Effie slowly 
 descended the steps. " Good-night, Jessie." 
 
 " Good-night, Gerard," cried Effie, faintly. 
 
 " Good-night," he replied, without looking back. 
 
 "AVhat has put Gerard out?" asked Harold. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 tonic bitte: 
 
 "Your sister and I have just been speculating 
 what it can be," replied George. " I never saw him 
 cross before." 
 
 " Nor I," said Harold, " nor any of us, I believe." 
 
 "Tli ink you all very much for coming to-night," 
 said George, looking in at the carriage window, when 
 they were all seated. " And now I have another 
 favour to ask. Clara and I are going to the Chiswick 
 flower-show on Saturday. We have some tickets to 
 spare : will you accept of them, and come with us ?" 
 
 " I should like it extremely," said Jessie. 
 
 Effie said nothing. She did not know whether 
 she dared like it. 
 
 " Can you do without me ?" asked Harold. " I 
 have an engagement on Saturday." 
 
 " Yes, if you will let us have your ladies — though, 
 of course, we would rather you should come also." 
 
 " Of course you must say so. "Well, I will send 
 you my womankind." 
 
 "Thank you. Then you and Miss Garnock will 
 come and take luncheon with us, Mrs. Yonge, and 
 we will all go together. The carnage shall fetch you 
 at twelve. Will that do ?" 
 
 " You can send the children to Mrs. Samuel 
 Buttertield V su£<rested Harold. 
 
 " Yes, that will do perfectly," said Jessie. 
 
 " Perhaps I had better stay with the children," put 
 in Erne, timidly.
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 131 
 
 " That you shall not !" cried Harold. 
 
 " It would be a great — a very great disappointment 
 to me if you were to do so," said George, leaning 
 forward, and speaking low. 
 
 "A very pleasant party," observed Jessie, as they 
 drove off. Sufficient attention had been paid her 
 during the latter part of the evening to make amends 
 for any lack of partners at the beginning of the 
 dancing. 
 
 "Very pleasant," replied Harold, yawning. He 
 had been satisfied with everything, as usual ; but he 
 was still better satisfied to be going home. 
 
 " Very pleasant," echoed Effie ; but she thought 
 how much pleasanter most evenings were.
 
 1.32 TONIC BITTEI >. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 When Effie reached her own little room, and had 
 time to think over the events of the evening, she 
 found that, although she had been disappointed in 
 her actual enjoyment of the Monros' party, there was 
 a strange, and almost overpowering delight in recall- 
 ing some incidents which, at the time had pained 
 her. Gerard's unaccountable conduct could, on re- 
 flection, be interpreted but in one way. He had 
 been always kind, brotherly, and affectionate towards 
 her ; for some months — more especially since the dis- 
 covery about the thirty pounds — his manner had 
 been even tender ; but never till this evening had she 
 realized the fact that he regarded her with at all 
 that kind of exclusive affection which she had so 
 long lavished upon him. She now hardly dared to 
 admit the idea, but as she sat at her window in the 
 early dawn, with hia flowers in a glass by her side, 
 the idea would creep in with the sweet morning air. 
 and there was music in her heart which made her
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 133 
 
 deaf to the joyous notes of the birds in the garden. 
 Not deaf to one little voice, however. 
 
 " Auntie, me want to det up." 
 
 "No, Davie, go to sleep again. It is not time to 
 get up yet." 
 
 " Auntie up." 
 
 " Auntie is just coming to bed. Be quiet now, or 
 you'll wake Walter." 
 
 " Me want Walter to wake. Me want to det up." 
 
 " Poor Auntie is so sleepy, Davie. Auntie has not 
 been to bed all night." 
 
 "Poor Auntie! Auntie tome to bed. Davie put 
 Auntie by-by." 
 
 But before the charitable design could be accom- 
 plished, Davie had put himself to " by-by," and was 
 again sleeping peacefully. So Erne was able to 
 remain some time longer at the window, dreaming, 
 though not sleeping. When at last she crept into 
 bed, it was to fall into a disturbed slumber, haunted 
 by visions of George, Gerard, and herself continually 
 whirling about in a wild dance, in which George was 
 always coming between her and Gerard. It was a 
 great relief when Walter's little feeble voice dis- 
 pelled these nightmare shapes, and the dreams of the 
 night were lost in the business of the day. 
 
 It was a trying day. The little household, in their 
 quiet life, had seldom experienced the lassitude of 
 reaction after strong excitement, and now it was all
 
 134 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 the more painful that they hardly understood their 
 own feelings. Jessie was feverish and irritable — 
 angry with Effie about George Monro's devotion, 
 and vexed with Harold for not being able to satisfy 
 her curiosity as to what ailed Gerard. Effie soon 
 lost her happy feelings. The flowers were there 
 certainly, but there was nothing else to give any 
 probability to such very extravagant hopes : it was 
 evident that Harold and Jessie had not seen Gerard's 
 behaviour in the light which her vanity had thrown 
 over it. And what was there in a gift of flowers ? 
 Harold might as well have been the donor — indeed 
 she had, at first, attributed them to his generosity. 
 So, as the weary day dragged on, her happy morning 
 thoughts died out one by one, till when she went to 
 bed that night, she looked spitefully at her own brown 
 face in the glass, and hissed out, " You ugly little 
 self-deceiving fool !" 
 
 " Harold, do you think it will rain ?" asked Jessie, 
 for the third time, on the morning of the Chiswick 
 fete, as she appeared in a pretty light dress and 
 scarf, and a bonnet new for the occasion. 
 
 " It looks threateningly," answered Harold, also 
 for the third time. " You had better take umbrellas, 
 and put on thick boots. "Would it not be prudent to 
 wear a more substantial cloak, Jessie ?" 
 
 u Impossible," said Jessie, hastily. " Effie ! you 
 are not going that figure ! It is not treating the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 135 
 
 Monros with proper respect to wear your every-day 
 dress." 
 
 u My every-day dress !" replied Effie, gaily. " You 
 are not treating my Sunday-best with proper respect, 
 Jessie." 
 
 " But a black scarf — she ought not to wear a black 
 scarf on such an occasion, ought she, Harold ?" 
 
 " I really cannot decide that question," answered 
 Harold ; " I think Effie looks very nice." 
 
 " It seems so likely to rain," said Effie, "and I hate 
 to have a fuss about getting wet. Now no amount of 
 wetting will hurt me ; and my boots would do to 
 walk through a pond." 
 
 " I hope you have stout boots, Jessie," said Harold, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I am not going to make such a sight of myself as 
 to be a disgrace to the whole party," replied Jessie. 
 " I suppose we had better start now. Where are we 
 to take you, Harold ?" 
 
 " I will go with you as far as Portman Square," 
 replied Harold, "and then I shall go on to Holborn 
 and see after Gerard, before I go to Makiss's. I 
 don't like the boy not having made his appearance 
 for these three days, particularly after his strange 
 manner on Tuesday night." 
 
 The Monros also appeared uneasy about Gerard's 
 "strange manner on Tuesday night." 
 
 " Have you seen your brother since Tuesday ?"
 
 13G tonic bitte; 
 
 asked Mrs. Monro of Jessie. " The children tell me 
 he did not seem well then. Young men living alone 
 never manage themselves properly. I dare say his 
 stomach was out of order — and the messes that were 
 on our table that night would not make matters 
 better. Is it not strange, Mrs. Yonge ? — They tell 
 me the duties of hospitality demand that one should 
 poison one's friends with all kinds of trash, and urge 
 them to eat and drink more than they can possibly 
 digest. And the wine ! — What a mixture ! Mr. 
 Monro was cajoled by a wine-merchant into taking 
 some wine — ' suitable for a supper-party,' they called 
 it — and such a nauseous dose you never tasted. I 
 dare say it was made up of chemist's messes and 
 water. 1 will never again have a drop of cheap wine 
 in my house, or a dish made out of my own kitchen. 
 I felt quite hot to think I should be to blame for 
 people destroying their digestions as they did that 
 night. Here is Clara has been looking quite un- 
 wholesome ever since — pale and puffy, with red eyes 
 — and George has been feverish and excited, very 
 unlike himself. I am only glad the boys were out of 
 the way ; and little Charlie — I would not have him in 
 London for a great deal : I should never feel sure he 
 was not in a pastrycook's. His father is charge 
 enough ! I shall be glad when we are all safe in 
 Suffolk once more. Now come to luncheon, Mrs. 
 Yonge. We have only a joint, and a rice-pudding,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 137 
 
 you see. We are obliged to be so careful of Edward's 
 digestion, and he never can resist whatever he sees. 
 George, call your father, please." 
 
 An hour later, Mrs. Monro would have thought the 
 rice-pudding was disagreeing with her son's digestion 
 if she had seen George's flushed face and eager eyes 
 as he walked his horse by Effie's side. A Captain 
 Perry had joined the party at luncheon, and he and 
 George rode to Chiswick, whilst the ladies occupied 
 an open carriage. Neither Jessie nor Effie had ever 
 witnessed such a gay scene as the line of smart heads 
 slowly moving towards the gardens. Jessie was en- 
 chanted, and was very lively and agreeable. This 
 was a great relief to the girls. Clara was pale and 
 silent, in spite of Captain Perry's eager efforts to 
 rouse her ; and Effie felt very little disposed to talk. 
 Directly they were in the gardens, Captain Perry 
 offered his arm to Clara, and George, with no French 
 fear of ridicule, took the other two ladies. They had 
 only walked a few paces when Gerard overtook them. 
 He looked pale and grave. 
 
 " Harold sent me here," he said : " I did not intend 
 coming, though I got your note, George, — thank 
 you for it, and for the ticket." 
 
 "Why did you not intend coming ?" asked George. 
 
 " I did not think it would be any pleasure to me," 
 replied Gerard ; " but Harold was so fidgetty about 
 the weather, when he remembered that Jessie had
 
 138 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 taken no umbrella, that he made me come with one 
 — which behold ! And now, of course, it won't rain." 
 
 " Well, the threatening clouds have, at any rate, 
 had the good effect of sending you here," said Effie, 
 making a desperate effort. 
 
 Gerard looked pleased : " Monro, you must give 
 me up one of your ladies. Which is it to be ?" 
 
 Poor George looked very nervous, and did not 
 answer. Effie could not, and only began to tremble. 
 Jessie cried out gaily, " Oh, it must be Effie — I can- 
 not be condemned for a whole afternoon to the society 
 of my brother-in-law." She little knew what delight 
 this careless speech of hers gave to two of her hearers, 
 or the severe disappointment it caused the third. 
 Nobody, however, opposed her decision. Gerard 
 instantly offered his arm to Effie, and they were soon 
 separated from the other couples. 
 
 " Are you very savage with me, Effie ?" Gerard 
 asked, shyly, when they had walked a short distance 
 in silence. 
 
 Effie knew by his glance that he meant, was she 
 savage with him for separating her from George, but 
 she would not appear to understand him. 
 
 "Savage? No. What for?" she asked. "Oh 
 yes," she added, hastily ; " we are all very angry with 
 you for not having come near us for so many da; 
 
 " I did not think any one would care whether I 
 came or not," said Gerard, gloomily.
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 139 
 
 Effie looked into his face, and laughed. All her 
 doubts seemed to have vanished now, and she felt 
 happy and fearless. 
 
 " Did you "wish to see me, really, Effie ?" 
 
 "Of course I did. I wanted to talk over the 
 party." 
 
 " The party was no fun to me," muttered Gerard. 
 
 "Was it not ? I thought it very pleasant," said 
 Effie, rather maliciously. 
 
 " I have no doubt you did. Do you know the 
 fable of the boys and the frogs ?" 
 
 " I forget. What is it about ? I never remember 
 fables." 
 
 " Shall I tell it you, Effie T 
 
 " Yes, please. Improve my mind in any way you 
 can." 
 
 " Listen then : There were once upon a time some 
 boys playing beside a pond. On the banks of the 
 pond there were some frogs. The boys, in wanton 
 mischief, began throwing stones at the frogs, for the 
 fun of seeing the poor creatures hop about in fear 
 and agony. At last one frog raised his head, and 
 cried, ' How can you be so cruel ? Do you not know 
 that what is sport to you is death to us T " 
 
 " Well ?" asked Effie, as Gerard paused. 
 
 " Can you not apply the moral of my fable ?" 
 
 " No. I am quite in the dark." 
 
 * Must I do it for you ?"
 
 140 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Yes — if you want it done." 
 
 " There was once upon a time a little girl. She 
 was not a bad little girl at heart, but she was proud 
 and careless. There was a boy, who had been her 
 friend as long as they could both remember any- 
 thing. She was always kind to him — too kind, some- 
 times " Gerard's voice faltered, and he paused. 
 
 Effie felt an unpleasant tightening in her throat. 
 
 Gerard continued, standing still, and tracing dia- 
 grams on the ground with his umbrella : " Because 
 the little girl had always been so good to him, the 
 boy got to fancy that he was to have everything his 
 own way, and that nothing could ever come between 
 them. There came an occasion — an occasion to which 
 the boy, or the man, I should say, had been looking 
 forward with delight for weeks, because he hoped 
 that in a crowd of strangers to them both she and he 
 would be all in all to one another. "When the time 
 came he was grievously disappointed. The little girl 
 looked very nice indeed — in her simple white frock, 
 and just a white flower in her smooth brown hair. — 
 and others besides himself thought her worth ail the 
 fine beauties there, and so, instead of having her all 
 to himself, there she was talking, and laughing, and 
 flirting " — this objectional word was hissed out 
 fiercely — "with all sorts of strange men, and hardly 
 deigning to give him one look. Do you not think he 
 must have suffered bitter pain and grief? And,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 141 
 
 when he saw her enjoying herself without a thought 
 of him, and seeming almost to mock at his misery, 
 might he not say with the poor frog, ' What is sport 
 to you is death to me ?' " 
 
 "Are you talking of me the other night at the 
 Monros, Gerard T* asked Effie simply. 
 
 "Have I not drawn a true likeness of you, Effie ?" 
 
 " No !" cried Effie, " quite false ! I was not en- 
 joying myself. I was very much disappointed that 
 you would not dance with me." 
 
 " On your honour, Effie ?" 
 
 "Of course. You were the only person there 
 whom I cared to dance with." 
 
 " Effie ! on your honour ? Are you thinking what 
 you say ?" 
 
 Effie's answer was lost in a sudden down-pour of 
 the long- threatened shower. A few big drops had 
 fallen, unnoticed by them both, but it was no longer 
 possible to be unconscious of the complete sheet of 
 rain which was descending. 
 
 " Oh, poor Jessie !" cried Effie. " They have no 
 umbrella, and she will be wet through ! We must 
 find them." 
 
 "But you want an umbrella as much as Jessie 
 does." 
 
 " No, I don't. I dressed on purpose for the rain, 
 and Jessie has such light things on. Do come to 
 them, Gerard !" She almost dragged him from the
 
 142 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 retired path into which they had wandered, out on to 
 the open space, towards one of the bands, where 
 several groups were assembled. 
 
 " There they are !" cried Effie, presently ; " I am 
 sure that is Mr. Monro's head !" 
 
 Gerard did not resist any longer, and they soon 
 reached the miserable-looking couple, who were 
 standing in a shower-bath on the musicians' deserted 
 platform, Jessie being afraid to cross the already 
 soaked grass in her thin shoes. Directly Gerard and 
 Effie appeared, George cried out, " Gerard ! Bring 
 your umbrella to Mrs. Yonge, she cannot leave 
 these boards. Miss Garnock, I know your boots are 
 thick — come with me to that seat — Clara and 
 Captain Perry have taken refuge there." 
 
 Almost before Effie knew what she was about, she 
 was running with George across the grass, leaving 
 Gerard holding his umbrella over Jessie, and looking 
 blacker than the lowering clouds. The tent was too 
 crowded for any one to attempt seeing the flowers, and 
 the atmosphere was stifling. George and Effie stood 
 in the entrance — he trying to make up for the time 
 lost since their arrival in the gardens, and she thinking 
 over every word and look of Gerard's during the last 
 half-hour. This occupation was so pleasant that Effie 
 hardly wished for the rain to cease — feeling almost 
 that she had had enough happiness for one day. 
 
 The rain did not cease, and the appearance of the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 143 
 
 clouds was so very unpromising, that Clara proposed 
 they should get away as soon as possible. Captain 
 Perry seconded this prudent motion, and George at 
 last started forth to tell Jessie and Gerard of their 
 determination. He returned in a few minutes to say 
 that the others entirely approved, and soon Gerard 
 was seen carrying Jessie across the grass in his strong 
 arms. 
 
 " Bravo !" cried George. " Most men would have 
 shrunk from such a thing as that before this mob of 
 fashionables." 
 
 " I know one other man that would not," remarked 
 Clara. 
 
 "Oh," replied George, "I am a humdrum old 
 parson-elect. It is a much more meritorious thing in 
 a dashing young fellow like Gerard." 
 
 All this passed as they were making their way to 
 the gate. Here they found Jessie comfortably 
 established in a dry corner under the awning, whilst 
 Gerard had gone to get the carriage up. Jessie's 
 clothes were hardly damp, but when Gerard came 
 back he was dripping with wet. 
 
 "Your umbrella was not much use to yourself, 
 Gerard !" cried George. 
 
 " My being drenched was of no consequence," said 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Will it be of no consequence if you get rheumatic 
 fever ?" asked Clara.
 
 144 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Not of the slightest," replied Gerard, in the tone 
 which Effie had heard for the first time on Tuesday 
 evening. " No one will care," he added, bitterly. 
 
 " Is there any chance of the carriage, Mr. Yonge ?" 
 asked Captain Perry. 
 
 "It will be up in about a quarter of an hour," 
 replied Gerard. 
 
 "You must all three pack yourselves under the 
 seats, I think," said George, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, yes," cried Effie. "We shall be able to 
 manage that famously. But what will you poor 
 creatures do on horseback?" 
 
 " Oh, we shall do very well," [answered George. 
 " At any rate, we shall not be so wet as poor Gerard. 
 How shall you get home, Gerard ?" 
 
 " Come with us, Mr. Yonge," said Clara. " There 
 is room for another in the carriage." 
 
 " No, thank you — I think I will go straight 
 home." 
 
 " Had we not better move nearer the entrance ':" 
 suggested Captain Perry. 
 
 In the general move, Gerard and Effie got slightly 
 separated from the others, in the crowd. Gerard did 
 not offer his arm, but in a sudden crush Effie caught 
 hold of his coat-sleeve to steady herself. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Gerard said, coldly, and 
 immediately forced a clear space for her. Another 
 pressure from behind took them both to an opening,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 145 
 
 where they could stand with their backs to the 
 crowd. Gerard placed his hands upon the frame- 
 work of the awning over Effie's head, and so saved 
 her from being pushed into the open air. They 
 stood thus for some minutes without speaking. 
 Being placed in front of Gerard, Effie could not see 
 his face. At last he said, in a hoarse, trembling 
 voice, "You had better marry that man, and have 
 done with it, Effie. I can bear this no longer." 
 
 " He has not asked me to marry him," said Effie, 
 too honest to pretend she did not know what man he 
 meant. 
 
 "If that is the only obstacle, I shall soon have to 
 congratulate you. Is that the only obstacle, Effie ?" 
 There was an accent of pain in his voice, which 
 touched Effie deeply ; but she was angry at his quick 
 relapse into jealousy, and could not resist teasing him 
 a little. 
 
 " I don't see by what right you ask that, Gerard." 
 
 " 1 beg your pardon. You have spoilt me. There 
 used never to be any question of right between us. 
 But of course all that must be different now." 
 
 Effie was fairly melted. " It must not be different 
 now," she cried. " I think it would break my heart if 
 there were any change between us, Gerard !" 
 
 " There must be a change, Effie. Platonic affection 
 is all very well for poets — but show me the husband 
 that will stand it." 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 TONIC BITTEj 
 
 " But I am not going to have a husband." 
 
 "Effie, you are cruel! First you say one thing, 
 and then another ; and you won't let me ask you a 
 simple question." 
 
 " If I am cruel, Gerard, you are unfair ! What do 
 you want me to say ?" 
 
 "I want you to say you won't marry George 
 Monro." 
 
 " I won't marry George Monro. Will that do ?" 
 
 " Not quite — now I want you to say that y. >u will 
 marry me." 
 
 Effie was seized with a sudden doubt, " I rard, if 
 you are joking it is very wicked !" she said. 
 
 " Joking ! I don't feel like joking, Effie ! For the 
 last four davs I have been in torment. "Will vou not 
 see — will you not know that I love you ? Effie ! I 
 love you — I love you — and if you won't love me, 
 
 I'll " he suddenly dropped his outstretched hands 
 
 upon her two shoulders, and looked round into her 
 face : " Effie ! For pity's sake say you love me — or, if 
 you can't now, that you will some day. Remember 
 who told you to take care of me ; and how can you 
 take care of me better than by marrying me ?" 
 
 Effie looked full into his brimming eyes. Her 
 heart seemed as if it must burst with overpowering 
 emotion ; but she only said, quietly and cheerfully, 
 "I will take care of you, Gerard." 
 
 " Will you marry me ?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 147 
 
 " If you like." 
 
 " Do you like ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Miss Garnock, the carriage has come up. I have 
 been looking for you everywhere," said Captain 
 Perry, making his way through the crowd ; and Effie 
 had to take his proffered arm, and hurry off.
 
 148 TONIC BITTEI^. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Seven years' indulgence in feelings of which she 
 would have considered the betrayal a disgrace, and 
 for which she had never even expected a return, had 
 so strengthened Effie's natural pride and reserve, 
 that, when the unexpected return became a certainty, 
 she was unable to open her heart to receive it. She 
 could not believe in the reality of Gerard's love. 
 She could not forget the habit of concealing her own 
 love. Not one of those around her understood her 
 real feelings. Harold thought the engagement a 
 Sfood thing 1 for his brother, and fancied that Effie had 
 entered in to it more for Gerard's sake than for her 
 own. Gerard had much the same belief; but he v. 
 entirely opposed to Jessie's opinion that Effie was 
 too practical and unromantic for it to be of any 
 consequence whom she married. Gerard rightly con- 
 sidered Effie very romantic ; but he held that hei 
 romance was shown in an intense desire to sacrifice 
 herself for others. In only one person did Effie unre- 
 servedly confide. This person was her aunt Eliza- 
 beth, whose ready understanding of her feelings had 
 early won the girl's affection.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 149 
 
 "Dearest Aunt, «« Gateshill, June 13th. 
 
 " Though no one else is to know, I must tell 
 you that I am engaged to marry Gerard. I hardly 
 know how it came to pass. A year ago if any one 
 had told me that Gerard would ever care for me in 
 that way, I should have laughed at them. As soon 
 as he is away from me now, I begin to fancy that it 
 is all a dream, and that I shall wake to the old one- 
 sided, hopeless feeling which I have carried about with 
 me as long as I can remember. I sometimes thought 
 at Gourock that you had found out my secret — was it 
 so ? It amuses me to see that he imagines I do not 
 care for him as much as he does for me. Somehow I 
 could not tell him of my childish folly ; and it seemed 
 all to come about so quietly and naturally, that any 
 sentimental revelations would have been out of place. 
 So he believes that he is a most romantic lover, and 
 that I am a self-sufficient, cold-hearted creature, who 
 just endures him for the sake of his devotion. I see 
 no reason for dispelling this delusion. I know the 
 truth : that he is an affectionate, warm-hearted 
 fellow, who has got so used to me that he cannot do 
 without me, and that I — Aunt, I know you will 
 cry out ' Idolatry !' but as I will not tell Gerard, I 
 must relieve my full heart by telling you, that it 
 positively frightens me to feel how much I love him. 
 It seems to me that, all the time I have been grow- 
 ing up from a little child, this love for him has so
 
 150 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 grown into my very nature that it has become an 
 actual part of myself, and that it could no more be 
 taken from me than my nerves or my muscles could. 
 And yet I do not in the least consider him perfect. I 
 can see that he has faults, but I am afraid that I Jove 
 his faults. Oh, Aunt ! is this a very shocking 
 confession ? I fear you will think so. But then I 
 know you can feel for me. It will not be the least 
 good for you to tell me not to give way to idolatry. 
 If I could not conquer my feelings when they were so 
 utterly uncalled for, and so hopeless of return, it is 
 quite impossible that I should do so now that I 
 seem to have some sort of right to care for him. 
 
 I cannot write about every-day matters after this 
 love-sick damsel's rhapsody, and I must not inflict 
 upon you any more such nonsense, so good-bye, 
 dearest Aunt. Don't think me a very great fool, if 
 you can help it, and don't, please, tell me that I can 
 help being such a fool. 1 hear Gerard's step in the 
 garden. What is it in aunt Euphemia's pretty 
 song ? — ' His very step has music in t, as he comes up 
 the stair.' Don't think from this that he wears 
 creaking boots. 
 
 "Now really good-bye. 
 
 " Ever your loving. 
 
 " KlTIE. 
 
 " Don't mention my engagement, even to aunt 
 Janet or aunt Euphemia."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 151 
 
 " To whom are you scribbling, little woman ? — my 
 little woman," asked Gerard, coming in, and making 
 his greeting with his loving eyes only. 
 " To poor aunt Elizabeth." 
 " Have you told her about it ?" 
 " About what ?" 
 
 " About what has happened to you and me." 
 " Yes. I could not keep it from her." 
 "Why should you? Why should not every one 
 know ?" 
 
 " Please not, Gerard — not yet, at any rate." 
 " I verily believe you want to keep a loophole to 
 escape through," said Gerard, gaily. " But it won't 
 do. However carefully you may keep our engage- 
 ment private, you will be just as great a scoundrel if 
 you are false to it." 
 
 " Greater, I think," returned Effie. " There is some 
 courage in being false before the eyes of all the 
 world ; but to be false to a private engagement would 
 be despicably mean and cowardly." 
 
 "Yes, you are right," said Gerard. "How is it, 
 Effie, that you always manage to hit the right nail 
 on the head with such a bang ?" 
 
 Effie laughed. Gerard continued. " There is one 
 person I think we ought to tell, Effie — George 
 Monro." 
 
 " Very well, if you like," returned Effie, after a 
 little hesitation.
 
 102 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Don't think I say so from jealousy of him, Effie," 
 added Gerard, hastily. "I know I made a great fool 
 of myself about that, but you need not fear it can 
 ever happen again. I am not such a sneak as to 
 doubt you now that I have your word. But I think 
 George ought to be told, because — because — The 
 fact is, Effie, I fancy it was only a race between us 
 which should speak first." 
 
 " I don't believe it, Gerard. Mr. Monro and I 
 happened to have a good many interests in common, 
 and so he liked talking with me, but I am sure that 
 was all." 
 
 u I am sure that was not all, and so I don't want 
 the poor fellow to go on cherishing false hopes. By- 
 the-by, Effie, I have thought since that I was the 
 most selfish and conceited dog that ever existed, 
 to come between you and him. He deserved you 
 ten thousand times better than I do. and he would 
 make you ten million times a better husband. Just 
 think of his advantages! See how splendidly hand- 
 some he is ! Consider his noble character, and his 
 intellectual, highly-cultivated mind ! Then his 
 worldly position. Why, he could buy us all up, 
 and never miss the money ! And he i.^ heart and 
 soul a clergyman! and you were made for a clergy - 
 man'h wife. I declare it is a shame ! I say, Effie, 
 shall I release you ?" 
 
 "What! Are you tired of me already ?" cried Effie.
 
 TONIC BITTEBS. 153 
 
 For all answer, Gerard aimed at her a paper pellet, 
 which he had been twisting up in his fingers whilst 
 he talked. Presently he went on, more seriously : 
 " If you were to throw me over, and to marry George, 
 I don't know to what depths of wickedness I might 
 not sink. You cannot imagine a blacker villain than 
 I felt during those three days after the Monros' 
 party. Effie, don't you despise a man who can be so 
 possessed by the green-eyed monster ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Effie, frankly. 
 
 " Do you despise me ? I tell you what, Effie, 
 if I were ever to feel sure that you thoroughly 
 despised me, I should be utterly desperate. I 
 remember when I was a bit of a boy, and you were 
 a mite about as high as my knee, I used constantly 
 to be kept out of mischief by the fear of one of your 
 cutting reproofs. Do you recollect the day I 
 harnessed the kitten to your water-cart, and you 
 were so angry that you flew at me like a baby- 
 tigress, and then went off into fits of crying, and 
 sobbed out, over and over again, 'I hate a cruel 
 coward !' Oh, how small I felt ! And how utterly 
 , wretched I was till we had made it up ! I say, 
 by-the-by, where are your tyraDts? How is it that, 
 for once in a way, I find poor little slavie free ?" 
 
 " Don't, Gerard, don't talk in that way. I am not 
 a slave. I love to work for the children. Hannah 
 and Cook have taken them out this afternoon."
 
 154 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "Then we can have some quiet talk. Hurrah! 
 First : we have to settle about George. Shall I 
 tell him T 
 
 "Wait till you see him again. He will be at 
 Cambridge now for months, and he will have quite 
 got over any fancy — if any ever existed except in 
 your imagination — before he comes back." 
 
 "Very well. Yes, at any rate the blow will be 
 softened by absence. You are right, small woman — 
 which is only saying that you are yourself. Now, 
 another thing: when are we going to be married r" 
 
 " Going to be married ! ' But what shall we have 
 for to eat, eat, eat ?' 
 
 " You mercenary little monster ! ' The little god 
 of love ' will • turn the spit, spit, spit.' 
 
 " That he will not ; and just think of your 
 appetite." 
 
 "Impertinence! Well, look here! I have got 
 fifty pounds a-year, and you have got the same. 
 Can't we live on a hundred a-year?" 
 
 " If we could manage without clothing, or a house, 
 we might." 
 
 " What a bore it is that I must give up my Fellow- 
 ship! It is an absurd arrangement — the Fellows 
 would be much happier and better with wives. Well, 
 shall I take Orders?" 
 
 u For the sake of a livelihood, Gerard ?"' 
 
 " No ; I was only joking. But really, Effie, I have
 
 TONIC BITTEKS. 155 
 
 been thinking again about it. With you to keep 
 me up. I don't see why I need disgrace the office. 
 If 1 am not exactly lit for a clergyman, you are so 
 fit for a clergyman's wife that you would carry me 
 through with you, and your excellence would cover 
 my deficiencies." 
 
 " No, Gerard," said Effie, rather sadly. " It won't 
 do. We might manage to deceive ourselves, but 
 in fact it would really be from motives of expediency. 
 We have neither of us the right feeling on the 
 subject." 
 
 " You have not, Effie ?" 
 
 " No. It is the externals of a clergyman's life 
 which attract me ; and it is not the externals we 
 ought to think of." 
 
 u No ; true. I suppose we must give it up, then. 
 But I should so like to see you, in a cotton dress 
 and thick boots, with a basket on your arm, visiting 
 about amongst the poor cottages. And how glorious 
 it would be once a-week to have the privilege of 
 mounting up high, and preaching at you for twenty 
 minutes or so, in return for all your sermons to me !" 
 
 "Decidedly you shall not take Orders!" cried 
 Effie. 
 
 " Then I must turn all my attention to drawing. 
 But I am not going to be contented with my present 
 low branch of art. I shall get Harold to give me 
 some lessons in water-colours ; and I mean to go
 
 156 TONIC BITTEB8. 
 
 abroad with George in the autumn, and study in 
 some of the foreign galleries. If we are not to marry 
 at once, and trust to the love that I'm so ' rich in ' to 
 * make a fire in the kitchen ' — it would do it, too, 
 if you were not such an iceberg. If you would meet 
 me, not half, but half a quarter of the way, I am sure 
 we could manage the kitchen-fire between us. But 
 what was I saying when this question of fuel arose ?" 
 
 " You were announcing some desperate resolve." 
 
 " Yes. I cannot stay hanging about here, and 
 seeing you act as under — underer — underest nurse- 
 maid. I don't want to quarrel with Harold — indeed, 
 I know the old fellow is not to blame — and I can't 
 hit a woman ; but I shall pitch into some one if I have 
 to bear it much longer." 
 
 " Nonsense, Gerard ; I like it." 
 
 " That's the worst of it. I wish you would revolt ; 
 what fun it would be to see Jessie's amazement ! 
 I hear her voice now. Depend upon it, she is coming 
 to set you some awful task. Come into the garden, 
 quick !" He caught Efiie's hand, and dragged her 
 to the farther end of the little garden. Here they 
 sat talking in low tones till Jessie's voice was heard 
 at the window, calling. " Etlie ! Effie !" 
 
 Gerard could not induce Eflie not to answer ; and 
 Jessie soon came towards them, looking hot and 
 vexed. 
 
 " Here you are !" she cried ; Cl I have been hunting
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 157 
 
 for you everywhere. It is very pleasant for you to 
 be able to idle away your time with Gerard, whilst 
 we are all toiling away in the heat. I suppose this 
 will be always the case now. And the misfortune 
 is that you have spoilt those children so abominably 
 that nobody can do anything with them." 
 
 " Have the children come in ?" asked Effie. 
 
 " Yes, hours ago. And such a noise there has 
 been ever since ! I have been trying to get a little 
 rest in my room, but it was quite impossible. There 
 is Baby crying incessantly. Hannah says he is not 
 well, but I believe it is nothing but temper ; and 
 Walter keeps fretting and fidgeting, ' I want Auntie ! 
 I want Auntie !' and there is Davie shouting out 
 some of those vulgar Ethiopian songs that you taught 
 him, Gerard. And all the time here are you two 
 enjoying yourselves as if you were all alone in the 
 world. I think you might have some consideration 
 for me, Efjfre, though you are engaged to be married, 
 especially when you know how very unwell I am 
 to-day." 
 
 " I will go to the children," said Iiffie, meekly ; 
 her happiness had made her very meek. 
 
 " You shall not," cried Gerard, laying his hand on 
 her shoulder. " Harold, come here !" he shouted, at 
 the top of his voice, as Harold's head appeared at 
 his studio window. " Stay, Jessie," Gerard added ; 
 " I will have this question set at rest."
 
 158 TONIC BITTEI 
 
 Harold appeared, looking rather surprised. 
 
 "JIarold, is it your wish that Effie should be a 
 slave to your children ?" asked Gerard. 
 
 " Most certainly not/' 
 
 " Do you consider that her position in your house 
 calls upon her to spend all her time and strength in 
 positively menial labours for you and yours ? r 
 
 " Most certainly not. Effie's time should be 
 entirely at her own disposal." 
 
 " Effie — answer me frankly — how much time have 
 you at your own disposal during the day ?" 
 
 " Gerard, do not !" exclaimed Effie, in great dis- 
 tress. " You know I like to spend my time as I do." 
 
 " Do you like that Jessie should speak to you as 
 she did just now ? Harold ! Though Effie, in her 
 generous self-devotion, is willing to bear any amount 
 of oppression, I will not bear it for her. Would to 
 Heaven that I were in a position to remove her from 
 it ! But as that cannot be at present, I think I have 
 a right to demand from my brother that my future 
 wife should not be insulted in his house." 
 
 u Insulted !" cried Harold, with unusual vehemence. 
 "You must know, Gerard, that you cannot be more 
 anxious than I am to shield Effie from the slightest 
 annoyance." 
 
 " I do believe it, Harold ; and therefore 1 cannot 
 think that you know what she is subject to." 
 " From whom ?" asked Harold, faintly.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 159 
 
 "From your wife." 
 
 " Jessie ! What does all this mean ?" asked 
 Harold, with such a harassed expression that Gerard 
 almost repented that he had spoken. 
 
 " It means that you are all in league against me," 
 answered Jessie, beginning to cry. "Gerard always 
 hated me, and now Effie is joined with him, and they 
 are teaching my own children to be my enemies. 
 Whose doing can it be that, when I went into the 
 nursery just now, Davie called out, ' Go away, 
 Mamma, we don't want you — we want Auntie !' and 
 Walter added, ' Nasty, ugly Mamma ! we want pretty 
 Auntie ?' " 
 
 Gerard could hardly help laughing ; but Effie 
 looked terribly distressed, and Harold seemed quite 
 overcome. 
 
 " What a charming family group ! 
 
 " ' Felices ter et amplius 
 
 Quos irrupta tenet copula, nee, malis 
 Divulsus querimoniis, 
 Supremd citius solvet, amordie, 
 
 » » 
 
 cried a voice from the next garden, and Mrs. Mort- 
 lake's head appeared over the paling. " It is fortunate 
 for you that I found you all here ; for, otherwise, I was 
 intending to make a raid this evening into the 
 delightful privacy of your social circle." 
 
 Having said this, she suddenly dipped out of sight. 
 Reappearing in a few minutes, during which the
 
 160 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " charming family group " had looked at each other, 
 in considerable embarrassment, she continued : 
 
 "I really could not stand it. I was positively 
 forced to shelter myself for a few seconds from the 
 full blaze of Mrs. Archer Yonge's loveliness — 
 heightened as it is by that charming colour. I have 
 hardly yet recovered from the dazzling effect of such 
 a sudden flash of light, after the outer darkness in 
 
 which And where are the sweet little-ones? 
 
 Their pretty, innocent faces are all that is needed to 
 
 make You see, Mr. Gerard, I quite class you 
 
 with the family — indeed, I am much mistaken if 
 
 Mr. Archer Yonge ! what a treat you have afforded 
 us! I have just returned from the Water-colour 
 Exhibition. I never saw such freshness, such breadth 
 of colouring, with such minute details ! You know 
 I am no lover of fine speeches, but you must permit 
 
 me to express Oh, pray, Mrs. Archer Yonge, 
 
 do not move ! That attitude is all that the artist's 
 
 eye of'your Tell me, Mr. Yonge, did you ever 
 
 see any colour equal to that which now adorns the 
 cheeks of your lovely bride — wife, I should say— ten 
 thousand pardons ! — I forget the flight of time ! Miss 
 Eilie, I wish you had some of your sister's roses. 
 ' Why so pale and wan,' fair lady ? ' Prythee, why 
 so pale?' Paxdon me, ye shades of the poet, for 
 
 presuming to alter one word of the But I 
 
 must to business — ' Kcupovrj wwLh ' was very wise
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 161 
 
 counsel. I must not waste any of those moments, 
 Mr. Yonge, which might enrich the world with such 
 precious fruits. I heard you say the other day that 
 you should be compelled to move, on account of the 
 increasing need of space for your charming little 
 family. Forbid it, ye heavens ! that an ignoble 
 question of space should rob our firmament of the 
 brightest stars ! Mr. Yonge, my humble abode is 
 entirely at your service. Do with it as you will — 
 only let me be able to revel in the proud thought 
 that my roof has overspread one of the brightest 
 ornaments of our artistic circles, and also the very 
 brightest ornament of social and domestic life ;" a bow, 
 first to Harold, and then to Jessie. "To open an 
 entrance," Mrs. Mortlake continued, " will be the work 
 of a few hours, and you will then have four additional 
 rooms at your disposal. For myself, I only desire to 
 retain the kitchens and the ground-floor ; and my 
 
 gain in the arrangement will be beyond all 
 
 Mrs. Archer Yonge, on my knees I implore you, do not 
 reject my petition ;" another abrupt disappearance. 
 
 " Do I understand aright, Mrs. Mortlake ' 
 
 " You understand aright always, Mr. Yonge, and I 
 am, therefore, convinced that you now understand how 
 inadequate my feeble words are to express the depth 
 and intensity of my admiration for " 
 
 " But, Mrs. Mortlake " 
 
 " True, very true, Mr. Yonge. As you so eloquently 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 TONIC BITTK 
 
 and profoundly observe, admiration is one of those 
 delicate sentiments whose bloom is lost in the en- 
 deavour to express what, in its native purity, is capable 
 only of being felt. Then you grant my prayer?" 
 
 " "Really, Mrs. Mortlake " 
 
 " Thank vou ! I thought vou would not be 
 obdurate. We will dispense with all ceremony. 
 Remember, the obligation is on my side. What have 
 I done, oh, ye propitious fates! that I should be 
 chosen as the means of affording greater accommo- 
 dation to that 3 7 outhful progeny who are destined 
 hereafter to be their country's pride ? Mr. Yonge, 
 my tongue fails to perform its office when I would 
 
 express Here come my young friends. Bright 
 
 as a summer's dav — gay as the lark carolling " 
 
 The sentence was cut short by a violent scream 
 from Walter. The two little boys had come running 
 down the garden as fast as their toddling legs would 
 
 O O o 
 
 carry them, pursued by Hannah, with the baby in her 
 
 arms. Effie heard with alarm that the children were 
 both shouting, u Auntie ! Auntie !" Half way along 
 their course, Walter was caught in Nurse's disengaged 
 hand ; and he forthwith set up a shriek, as unlike the 
 enrolling of a lark as it is possible to imagine. Davie, 
 unchecked, fled on, and threw himself, panting and 
 breathless, upon his aunt's neck. Hardly knowing what 
 it was best to do, Effie took the boy in her arms, and 
 carried him back to his brother, who instantly clung on
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 163 
 
 to her neck behind, as Davie had done in front ; and, 
 thus doubly laden, she slowly made her way in to the 
 house. 
 
 " Davie," said Effie, when she had deposited her 
 burden on the floor of the little play-room, " I am 
 very sorry that you have been a naughty boy." 
 
 " Davie naughty!"' repeated the child, opening his 
 blue eyes wide with astonishment. 
 
 11 Yes ; you were very unkind to poor dear Mamma." 
 
 " Poor dear Auntie !" said Davie, clambering on 
 her knee, and throwing his arms round her neck. 
 
 " No ; Davie, I cannot love a naughty boy." 
 
 " Auntie love Davie," he asserted, in his most 
 insinuating tone. 
 
 " No ; 1 cannot love a little boy who is not good to 
 his mamma." 
 
 " Mamma not good,*' retorted Davie, slyly ; 
 " Mamma cries." 
 
 " Ugly Mamma," added Walter, with childish per- 
 sistency. 
 
 Effie thought it unsafe to pursue the subject any 
 farther, so she changed the conversation. In a few 
 minutes Gerard came in, laughing heartily. 
 
 " That woman will be the death of me," he said. 
 u It is too much when she calls that young vagabond's 
 screeching the ' carolling of a lark,' and talks about 
 our *■ happy family group ' — it was not very happy at 
 that moment, was it, Effie? I was sorry for what I 
 said when I saw how cut up poor Harold was. You
 
 104 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 young rascals, are you not ashamed to make your 
 poor auntie carry you both at once? You will break 
 her back some day — you will make her ill — and then 
 you will be sorry." 
 
 " Me make poor Auntie well," said Davie, again 
 having recourse to the violent caress which he con- 
 sidered a panacea for every ill. 
 
 " Davie is so absurdly like what you were, Gerard." 
 observed Effie. " He thinks that a few insinuating 
 words and looks can make up for anything.'' 
 
 " Used I to think that ?" said Geard, laudiincr. 
 
 7 O O 
 
 " Now, Davie and Walter," he continued, " you are 
 to take great care of poor little Auntie, and not ever 
 let her carry great heavy boys about. You would 
 not like to hurt Auntie, would you T 
 
 " No," cried Davie, stoutly. 
 
 " No," said Walter, looking very much inclined to 
 whimper. 
 
 "You love dear little Auntie, don't you?" 
 
 '■ Me love Auntie so much" said Davie, fervently, 
 stretching out his arms to their farthest extent, and 
 then clasping them round Effie's neck again, at the 
 risk of strangling her. 
 
 "I love Auntie! I love Auntie!" cried Walter, 
 scrambling to his feet, and tottering along till he throw 
 himself, sobbing with emotion, on to his aunt's lap. 
 
 " And I love Auntie! I love Aunti. aoed 
 
 Gerard, imitating the little boys, and throwing his 
 arms round the whole group. Then he suddenly
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 165 
 
 caught hold of Davie, and bore him away in 
 triumph. 
 
 Just then Harold entered. " What a tumult !" he 
 said, good-naturedly. " Halloa, my boys !" He 
 kissed the two children, and then Effie, saying affec- 
 tionately, " Poor little sister ! Have I let her slave 
 for me ? What a great brute of a brother !" 
 
 He held out his hand to Gerard, " Thank you for 
 telling me, Gay. It will be all right now. We will 
 take Mrs. Mortlake's four rooms, and have another 
 servant ; and Jessie says that Effie shall never do 
 anything but play-work. Poor Jessie is so much 
 occupied, and is so often unwell, that she cannot 
 think of everything — she would be the last person 
 wilfully to oppress any one." Harold sighed heavily 
 as he finished speaking. 
 
 " I am sorry I made a row," said Gerard, penitently ; 
 " only it was for Effie's sake." 
 
 " You have got a treasure, Gay — make the most of 
 her !" 
 
 " I know I have — I wish I were more worthy of her ! 
 — and, Hay, dear old boy, you are the best old fellow 
 in the world I" Gerald threw his arm caressingly round 
 his brother's neck as he spoke. Harold looked kindly 
 at him, and then left the room without speaking. 
 
 "Poor dear old fellow!" said Gerard. 
 
 " Poor dear old fellow !" echoed Walter, with a 
 comical look of intelligence.
 
 166 TONIC BUTE U.S. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Effie, come here !" cried Gerard, standing in the 
 doorway of the little play-room, as Effie was coming 
 downstairs, on an autumn evening. " He has not 
 come yet," he added, almost in a whisper, as he drew 
 her into the room, and shut the door. " I am in such 
 a fright !" 
 
 " What about ?" asked Effie. 
 
 " If he should look at you as he used — with those 
 live coals of eyes — I shall feel so awfully guilty." 
 
 " I am sure it is all your fancy, Gerard." 
 
 " I wish it were. I feel as if I must Iia/e < > 
 treacherous towards him ; and yet I was not La d to 
 know what he never told me." 
 
 " Certainly not," said Effie. 
 
 " But I did know. I wish ] had confessed to him 
 at once." 
 
 " You will see that agitation is quite uncalled 
 
 for." 
 
 "No. George Monro is the last man who would
 
 to:; ic bitters. 167 
 
 be inconstant. There he is !" and Gerard jumped 
 about the room as though the boards were red-hot 
 plates. Effie stood laughing. 
 
 " You little heartless imp !" cried Gerard ; " you 
 don't care what misery you inflict ! I can't tell him. 
 I can't tell him !" 
 
 " Do not tell him, then." 
 
 "He must know. How I should have hated him 
 if our cases had been reversed ! I don't suppose 
 George can hate — but I am sure he can suffer. I 
 wish I hadn't done it !" 
 
 " Done what ?" 
 
 " Got myself into this scrape." 
 
 " You can easily get out of it," said Effie, slipping 
 her engagement-ring off her finger, and holding it 
 towards him. 
 
 " Do you want George to give you one in its place ?" 
 asked Gerard. " Put it on, quick !" he cried, suddenly. 
 " It is a bad omen to take off a wedding or engage- 
 ment-ring. By-the-by, that may give him a hint. 
 Effie, you must not mind my being more lover-like 
 than you usually allow me to be before people — that 
 will show him." 
 
 " Do you propose to sit with your arm round my 
 waist, like a valet with a lady's maid, or that we 
 should walk about hand in hand, like Swiss peasants 
 on the stage ?" 
 
 " I don't know," replied Gerard, looking puzzled.
 
 168 TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 " At any rate we can go into the room together — 
 that may do something." 
 
 tl Do you want to hide your face in my dress, as 
 Davie and Walter do ?" 
 
 " I wish I could. But it would look so awkward ; 
 you are such an inconveniently small woman." 
 
 " You mean that you are such an inconveniently 
 large man. Now we must go — dinner will be ready, 
 and we shall be scolded/' 
 
 As Effie entered the room, George gave a quick, 
 eager glance at her, which made Gerard groan within 
 himself. The state of things during dinner was 
 extremely awkward, and the evening was still more 
 trying. George at once renewed his former marked 
 attention to Effie, hardly taking his eyes from her, 
 and making her the object of all his conversation. 
 This offended Jessie, and she would not volunteer a 
 word, and only gave short answers when addressed. 
 Harold was always silent, and now he was worried 
 by Jessie's manner. Gerard was nearly tongue-tied 
 also, and, instead of being demonstrative towards 
 Effie, as he had threatened, he seemed afraid to 
 speak to, or even to look at her, and did nothing but 
 cast nervous glances at George. It was a great relief 
 to all but the guest when the party separated for the 
 night. As Effie was going upstairs Gerard called 
 after her, " Effie, come and get me that book I" Effie 
 knew that he wanted some private talk ; and she
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 169 
 
 followed him into the little room usually set apart for 
 that purpose. 
 
 "There! You see I am right!" said Gerard, as 
 soon as they were out of hearing of the others. 
 
 "He has always that eager manner," returned 
 Effie. 
 
 " Always with you. But you should see him with 
 other girls ! Harold himself could not be more in- 
 different." 
 
 " I think you are determined to make me vain, 
 Gerard." 
 
 " Well, it is the most extraordinary thing that a 
 small, insignificant, brown woman should have been 
 able to bewitch two " 
 
 " Fine, handsome young men like you and Mr. 
 Monro," said Effie, laughingly finishing the sentence 
 for him. 
 
 " Exactly," assented Gerard. " What is the secret 
 of your power, little one ?" 
 
 " Simply the power of your imagination," returned 
 Effie. "First, you fancied that you cared for me 
 yourself, and then that Mr. Monro did the same." 
 
 " You incorrigible sceptic ! What makes you always 
 doubt my love, Effie ?" 
 
 " I don't doubt its existence — only its strength." 
 
 " Shall I show you its strength as Davie does ?" 
 
 " No, no," cried Effie, retreating to the farthest 
 corner of the room.
 
 170 TOXIC BITTE] 
 
 " I wish I were not going away for so long," said 
 Gerard, in a sentimental tone. 
 
 " Only for six months," remarked Effie, cheerfully. 
 
 "' Only for six months ' ! What shall I do for six 
 months without my little ' guide, philosopher, and 
 friend' ?" 
 
 "You will have Mr. Monro to keep you out of 
 mischief." 
 
 •' You don't care a bit about my going. I beli< 
 you are glad to get rid of me. Are you, EtnV 
 
 "No." 
 
 u Are you sorry ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Very sorry ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Very, very sorry ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 " Utterly in despair ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You wicked, cold-hearted, insufferable little fiend !" 
 He made a dash at her; Effie eluded it. and darted 
 from the room. She met George in the hall, 
 held out his hand for another " good-night." 
 
 " You cannot imagine. Miss Garnock, what a plea- 
 sure it is to me to see you again." he said, in low, tender 
 tones ; "I have lived on this hope ever since June." 
 
 Effie fled up to her room, rather inclined to join in 
 Gerard's wonder at her powers of attraction.
 
 TONIC BITTEH8. 171 
 
 If Gerard could have seen into Effie's heart after 
 he and his companion had departed the next morning, 
 he would not- have had to complain that she did not 
 care about his going. It seemed to her that a sudden 
 chill and darkness had fallen on her daily life, and 
 that the six months which she had called " only six 
 months " would be a kind of Dead Sea, of which, at 
 present, she could not see the farther shore. A letter 
 from Gerard was the first ray of light. 
 
 " Paris, November 23rd. 
 
 "My dearest little Woman, 
 
 " I have done it ! When I had lost sight of your 
 face at the gate, — I think, just at last, there was a 
 little feeling in that stony countenance ; but perhaps 
 it was only sympathy with my grief, for you have a 
 kind heart, cold as it is — Well, when the ruthless 
 Hansom had torn us apart, and was bowling along 
 towards London, George broke out on the subject of 
 your charms — t What dignity !' — dignity in four feet 
 eleven inches ! — ' What grace !' — grace in a graceless 
 imp that won't even j)retend to be sorry when her 
 betrothed is parted from her ' it may be for years ; it 
 may be for ever !' ' What sensibility !' — sensibility ! 
 about as much as in the stones our wheels were 
 grinding ! He went on raving in this manner for 
 some time, till at last he got to : ' I cannot imagine 
 how you can consider her plain ' (Mind, 1 am not 
 responsible for this — he said it, and it was a most
 
 172 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 unwarranted accusation — I never said you were plain ; 
 I may have said you were ugly). He went on : 'I 
 cannot imagine how any man with taste and feeling 
 can have been so much in her society, and not be 
 over head and ears in love with her.' I saw there 
 was no escape now. Now for it, I thought — now or 
 never ! So I looked resolutely out at the wheel on 
 my side, and said, ' But, my dear fellow, I am.' I 
 heard a kind of gurgling sound, and thought he had 
 gone off in a fit, but I dared not look round. At 
 last he said, ' You are what ?' ' Over head and ears in 
 love with her.' ' And she ?' Poor fellow ! His voice 
 sounded as if he were under the wheels. ' We are 
 engaged,' I said, as calmly as I could, and then 
 pretended to think the linch-pin was coming out. I 
 never once looked round till we were crossing London 
 Bridge — where there was a tremendous block — and I 
 never heard a sound from him, so I rather expected 
 to find him dead when we should arrive at the station. 
 However, in the midst of the confusion, I heard his 
 voice — forced and slow, but quite calm — ' I wish you 
 joy.' He held out his hand, and I clutched it, ' Heaven 
 grant you may both be very happy !' Effie ! I declare 
 to you, if it would have been any good, I should have 
 liked to transfer you to him on the spot, rather than 
 see his dear old face so white, and drawn, and hear 
 him speak in that heartrending tone. To think 
 that of us two sitting in that cab, he, who deserves the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 173 
 
 best of everything, should have lost all he cares for 
 in the world, and that I, who deserve nothing, should 
 be the one to have robbed him ! I think he must 
 have seen how awfully cut up I was — I know the 
 tears were in my eyes, for nothing would keep them 
 back. He held my hand for a minute, and said, 
 ' Thank you for telling me ;' and then I managed 
 somehow to make him understand that we did not 
 wish any one else to know ; and then we were at the 
 station, and nothing more passed between us. 
 
 " Oh, Effie ! what a man you have lost, for a weak 
 fool of a fellow who is not worthy to hold a night- 
 light to him ! 
 
 " We had a very good passage across the Channel. 
 I kept my eyes on George all the time ; for, though 
 I knew lie would never be guilty of such an act, I 
 could not help thinking that in his place I should be 
 immensely tempted to jump overboard. It was twelve 
 o'clock when we arrived here, and now it is half-past 
 two. I shall despatch this the first thing in the 
 morning. Of course I will write again when we have 
 seen something of the place. Of course I shall write 
 again and again, till you are sick of my letters. 
 And do you write to me very often. Don't let Jessie 
 or the children impose upon you. If I get short 
 letters, or few, I shall know you have been put into 
 the mill again, and I shall come home instantly to 
 rescue you. I have only been away twenty hours,
 
 174 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 and I am already beginning to weary for a word from 
 my darling little Guardian Angel. AYrite — write — 
 write ! If you don't want me home at once — write ! 
 If you do want me home at all — write ! I think you 
 do want me a little. Say something kind and pretty 
 to me, to throw a light over all I see here. Let me 
 have a good, dutiful letter on Saturday. 
 
 " Love to the slave-driver, and much love to the 
 man-slave, and more than you can think of to the 
 poor little slave-girl, — my dearest and best. 
 
 " Ever your own, 
 
 " Gay/' 
 
 Gerard's appeal for tenderness in word, was of 
 little avail. What can avail against Nature? Some 
 characters are as unalterably fixed at twenty as others 
 at forty, and E (lie's character was of the former 
 class. It was impossible for her to be demonstrative. 
 There was not an hour in her life — not a thought 
 in her heart — which was not more or les^ devoted to 
 Gerard. Hut nothing of this was shown in her 
 letters when he was away, or in her words when he 
 was with her. The surface-current only of her daily 
 life was presented to his view. The hidden springs 
 flowing from the depths of her love for him w< 
 known to herself alone. So poor Gerard got no 
 "pretty" speeches, but only "dutiful' letters, in 
 answer to the outpourings of his affectionate, trai
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 175 
 
 parent heart. And all the time he was living in the 
 present with the utmost relish, and Effie was living 
 only on the future which should bring him back to 
 her. Certainly, poor girl, there was not much 
 enjoyment to be got out of her present — excepting 
 the enjoyment of doing and suffering — both of 
 which verbs have their charm for some persons. 
 Gerard's anticipations of Effie's being imposed upon 
 in his absence were only too well founded, as he began 
 to suspect before he had been three months away. 
 His suspicions were communicated to his brother in 
 the following letter : — 
 
 "Florence, February 14th. 
 
 "Dear Hay, 
 
 " As soon as you receive this — which will be a 
 about three o'clock in the afternoon, I suppose — lay 
 down your pencil, or your brush, and, shaking your- 
 self out of the high regions of art down to the low 
 level of common life, go at once to the nursery, the 
 play-room, or the drawing-room. You will find that 
 Jessie is lying down, that Hannah is attending upon 
 her, that the Cook is cleaning the scullery, and 
 Martha is cleaning the plate ; and you will find Effie 
 with Baby in her arms, Davie on her back, and 
 Walter clinging to her dress. Or you will find her 
 being Davie's horse, or putting Baby to sleep, or 
 struggling with Walter in one of his passions. Or 
 you will find her ironing Jessie's ' line things,' as they
 
 176 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 call them, or mending your socks, or stitching away 
 at the children's clothes, with an aching back, and 
 aching fingers, and aching eyes. I know something 
 of the sort is going on, because I have not had my 
 usual letter from her ; and it is not in her nature to 
 neglect any one, unless some one else is taking more 
 than their share of work out of her. Put a stop to 
 this, there's a good fellow ! Hire another servant, 
 and I will pay her wages. Or send the brats to a 
 boarding-school — or, if they are too young for that, 
 drop them at the Foundling — the children there have 
 every comfort, and the best of training and instruc- 
 tion. If, when I come back, I find Effie thin and 
 wan, I'll smiffligate the whole lot of them, and you 
 and Jessie also. 
 
 rt I enclose a few sketches of costume, etc. If you 
 think them worth anything, see if you can find a 
 purchaser, and I will undertake to transfer them to 
 wood as soon as I come home. I have done about 
 two dozen in the same style. George likes them, 
 and so does an artist friend of his to whom I showed 
 them. We go on to Rome next Monday, having 
 worked Florence well. 
 
 " Love to Jessie and the small fry. Kiss my own 
 little fry for me. George begs to. be very kindly 
 remembered to you all. 
 
 " Your affectionate brother, 
 
 "G.A.Yonge. w
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 177 
 
 Harold received his brother's letter about an hour 
 later than Gerard had anticipated. He could not lay 
 down his brush, or his pencil, for the day was so dark 
 that he had not been able to use either, and was now 
 writing by lamp-light. He obeyed the other injunc- 
 tions, and went at once to the drawing-room. No 
 one there. The play-room — also untenanted. In 
 the room in Mrs. Mortlake's house, which was used 
 as the day -nursery, he found Hannah, sitting quietly 
 at work. The baby was kicking on the floor, crow- 
 ing gently to himself, and the two elder children were 
 perched up, one at each side of the window, peering 
 intently out through the fast-falling snow. All this 
 looked most satisfactory. Harold thought he would 
 write at once to Gerard, and let him know how 
 mistaken he had been. He had a romp with his 
 youngest child, and then turned to the two little 
 boys, who had never stirred from the window. 
 
 " Why, my rascals ! Are you looking fur diamonds 
 in the snow ?" 
 
 " Me looking for Auntie," answered Davie. 
 
 " Poor Auntie so cold," added Walter, piteously. 
 
 " Auntie ! Surely Auntie is not out to-day ! 
 What do they mean, Hannah ?" 
 
 u Well, sir, Missus didn't think as Jones made up 
 her drops right last time, so Miss Garnock has gone 
 to the chemist in Oxford Street." 
 
 " Where is your mistress ?" 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "Lying down, as far as I know, sir." 
 
 " Papa," cried Davie, " when will Auntie come 
 back T 
 
 " Papa, go fetch Auntie," said Walter, in a peremp- 
 tory tone. 
 
 "Papa" was too disturbed in mind to answer them. 
 He went at once to Jessie's room — not without some 
 inward trembling. 
 
 " Harold ! How could you come in so suddenly ? 
 You have startled me so !" cried Jessie, from her bed. 
 
 " Why has Effie gone out in the snow, Jessie 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know. I w T as asleep — how could 
 you disturb me in that violent manner ?" 
 
 " Then Effie has not gone for you ?" 
 
 "For me? Oh dear, how bad you have made my 
 head ! Yes, by-the-by, she has gone for me to 
 Bell's to get those drops made up — you know I 
 thought Jones must have made some mistake — the 
 mixture he sent was so very nauseous." 
 
 " Could no one but Effie go ?" 
 
 "Would you have wished me to go ?** 
 
 " One of the servants might have gone." 
 " Martha is doing some work for me : and you and 
 Gerard object to Effie having charge of the children. 
 so Hannah could not leave them ; and of course Cook 
 could not be spared in the afternoon. " 
 
 "Better to have spared all the servants than let 
 Effie go out on such a day as this I"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 179 
 
 " What a fuss you make about Effie now ! Ever 
 since she has been engaged you have seemed to think 
 her too precious to be exposed to the slightest hard- 
 ship or exertion. I believe you would not be so 
 agitated if 1 were out in the snow." 
 
 " I am responsible to Gerard for Effie. If I were 
 to suffer you to run any risk, it would be at my own 
 expense." 
 
 " You mean that my death would be a trifle com- 
 pared with Effie's." 
 
 '* To lose either of you would be such a trifle as 
 would break my heart," returned Harold. 
 
 "You put Effie with me !" cried Jessie, violently. 
 " You would mourn for her as much as for me !" 
 
 " I have said, Jessie, that during Gerard's absence 
 his treasure is in my charge ; and if it were to suffer 
 through my neglect I could never hold up my head 
 again." 
 
 " What grand language to be wasted on a girl 
 having: srone out in a little snow !" 
 
 " The snow is more than a foot deep in our garden, 
 Jessie — you may imagine what it is where it has 
 drifted." 
 
 " Well, she is not going over a mountain pass : 
 a snow-drift in London is not likely to hurt any 
 one." 
 
 "Harold! Is there anything the matter?" cried 
 Effie, turning very pale as she entered the room, and
 
 180 TONIC BITTE] 
 
 saw Harold standing by his wife's bed, with a grave, 
 sad face. 
 
 "No, nothing, now," replied Harold; "only I was 
 greatly vexed to find you were out this bitterly cold day." 
 
 " I did not know the weather was so bad," said 
 Jessie, half apologetically. " How wet you are !" 
 
 " Go to the nursery, and take your outer coverings 
 off," said Harold, following Eflie from the room. " I 
 will tell Martha to light a fire in your room, and you 
 must go to bed at once." 
 
 "Nonsense, Harold !" cried Effie ; "I shall be quite 
 comfortable as soon as I have got rid of these drip- 
 ping petticoats." 
 
 " Effie dear, to please me. will you do as I say ?' 
 
 " I will do anything to please you, Harold. I will 
 lie in bed for a week if you wish it — but I cannot 
 see the necessity." 
 
 " There, don't stay here any longer ! Run up to 
 Hannah — the boys are looking eagerly for Auntie. 
 And then mind you go to bed. What will Gerard 
 say if we let you take cold ? Stop a moment ! I 
 have something for you from Gerard ;" he caught hold 
 of her wet shoulders, and kissed her. 
 
 "Gerard did not send thit /" cried Effie, flushing 
 crimson. 
 
 " Yes, he did. Are you very angry :" 
 
 Eflie laughed, and ran away. Harold sat down 
 and wrote to his brother :
 
 tonic bitters. 181 
 
 "Dear Gay, 
 
 "When your letter arrived Effie was doing none 
 of the things you mentioned. She was toiling along 
 Oxford Street with a heavy medicine-bottle in her 
 hand, up to her knees in slush, and covered with 
 thickly-falling snow. She came home wet through 
 This is how I fulfil my trust, and guard the treasure 
 which you have left in my hands. I can only say it 
 shall never happen again — and I do not think it will 
 happen again, after what I have said on the subject. 
 You have given me no sinecure in the charge of one 
 who will sacrifice herself, and, unfortunately, others 
 are only too ready to accept of the sacrifice. 
 
 " I think the sketches will do, and 1 hope Mr. 
 Finn will .think the same. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 " Harold A. Yonge." 
 
 It was another three months before Gerard relieved 
 Harold of his charge. The six months of his absence 
 had seemed like six years to Effie ; but so little of this 
 longing for his return appeared in her welcome, that 
 Gerard declared, half in earnest, that he did not 
 believe she was even pleased to see him. He was 
 greatly improved by his foreign tour. He had grown 
 more manly and more self-reliant, and immediately 
 on his return put in practice a most meritorious re- 
 solve to work in good earnest at his profession. He
 
 182 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 had not been idle during his stay in the land of art, 
 and he now set to work to carry forward the progress 
 he had made. When he had enrolled himself as a 
 student at the Royal Academy, and made some 
 successful attempts at portrait-painting, to which 
 branch of the art his talent seemed most to point, 
 it appeared to all interested in him that his once 
 wavering steps were at last steadily advancing on the 
 straight road.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 When Gerard had laboured diligently at his pro- 
 fession for more than six months longer, he became 
 very impatient to marry. " Harold, look here!" he 
 said, one day ; " I have paid all my debts, and have 
 thirty pounds in hand ; don't you think I should be 
 quite justified in taking upon me the burden of this 
 little woman ?" 
 
 u What does ' this little woman ' think ?" asked 
 Harold. 
 
 u That she would rather continue to be a burden to 
 you" replied Effie. 
 
 " Why, Effie ?" inquired Gerald, in a dissatisfied 
 tone. fc< Why won't you trust yourself to me ? Do 
 you think I shall starve or beat you ?" 
 
 " No. But I think you don't know how heavy 
 a burden I should be to vou." 
 
 " I know — six stone six." 
 
 " How great an encumbrance, then."
 
 4 
 
 184 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " I think an encumbrance is very much the same 
 thing as a burden, is not it, Harold T 
 
 " Don't tease her, Gerard," said Harold, kindly. 
 "I know what she means. She means: Are you 
 prepared to give up your bachelor habits — your 
 cigars — your gay friends — your Opera-going, and to 
 become a steady domestic character, on a very small 
 income? Is not that it, Effie?" 
 
 "Yes, partly," answered Effie, timidly. 
 
 " Of course* I am," asserted Gerard. " I smoke 
 very little now, and I have not been to the Opera for 
 a month. But if I indulged in such things to the 
 greatest extent, I would give them up in a moment 
 to have a little home of my own, and my own little 
 wife in it. Don't you believe me, Effie?" 
 
 " Yes, Gerard," Effie answered, with some hesita- 
 tion ; " I believe you feel so now, but " 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 " Suppose you should repent afterwards — when it 
 will be too late ?" 
 
 11 Well, there would be Bluebeard's remedy. You 
 seem to consider me much the same sort of character 
 as Bluebeard. Harold, is not she too hard upon me ? 
 Am 1 such a bad fellow T* 
 
 "If you two are going to have a lovers' quarrel, I 
 had better get out of the way," returned Harold. 
 
 " Are we to have a quarrel, Effie ?" asked Gerard, 
 when his brother had left the room.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 185 
 
 u Certainly not." 
 
 " Then are you going to be reasonable ?" 
 
 " Yes — reasonable and prudent," replied Effie. 
 
 " And prudence means shilly-shallying — to promise 
 to marry me, and then to shirk keeping your word. 
 That is not like you, Effie." 
 
 " And it is not true of me, Gerard." 
 
 " Then why do you talk of prudence, as if my wife 
 would be exposed to some fearful risk? Why will 
 you not have faith in me ?" 
 
 " I have faith in you — a little." 
 
 "I know I am not a model man, like George 
 Monro, or Harold," said Gerard, humbly; "but 
 I am better than I was — more worthy of con- 
 fidence." 
 
 "I always thought you worthy of confidence," 
 returned Effie. 
 
 " Then prove it by confiding yourself to me." 
 
 " I think I proved it nearly two years ago." 
 
 " What ! just by allowing me to come and walk 
 with you occasionally. I believe you have a servant's 
 idea of an engagement — that it consists in having a 
 young man to walk with, without any intention of ever 
 marrying him." 
 
 Effie laughed. " What do you wish me to do ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " To marry me at once — in a few weeks." 
 
 " Without any of the usual preparations ? ' Do you
 
 186 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 wish to have a bride without a trousseau ?' as Jessie 
 said to Harold." 
 
 "Yes. What does it signify? I like your old 
 frocks much better than I should new ones. I should 
 like you to be married in the grey silk you wore at 
 Chiswick that day." 
 
 " That poor old grey silk !" 
 
 " That dear old grey silk ! much dearer to me than 
 any of those new gowns which you are now projecting, 
 and on which Miss Cricket will operate at a charge of 
 eighteen-pence a day." 
 
 " There's the harm of having ' a young man to walk 
 with ;' he learns all the secrets of the domestic 
 economy." 
 
 "There is no harm in that; it only convinces me 
 how well you will manage in the little house in 
 Steadham Lane, on which I have got my eye." 
 
 " Are your views so grand as to extend to a 
 house f 
 
 "Not all to ourselves. My house belongs to a 
 widow, who lets three rooms — such jolly little bright, 
 cosy rooms ! I tell you what — you shall come and 
 see them this afternoon ! AVe shall be soon back 
 from Harley Street." 
 
 " I dare say Jessie is getting ready now." 
 
 " Run along then. Clara will be out if we are not 
 there early, and it would be a great bore to miss 
 her."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 187 
 
 " If I were an orthodox young lady, I should be 
 jealous of your eagerness to see Miss Monro." 
 
 " I wish you would be — it would show some sort of 
 feeling about me." 
 
 "About myself, you mean ; jealousy is nothing but 
 selfishness." 
 
 "I must be horribly selfish then. How jealous I 
 was once of George Monro ! Poor old fellow ! I 
 suppose I must not ask him to be my ' best man ?' I 
 say, Effie, I should like that you and I should walk 
 quietly up the hill some morning, and get ourselves 
 married ; and then come back, and spend the day in 
 the garden, or the fields, and in the evening go to 
 our little home at the widow's. Do you agree ?" 
 
 " Yes. I should like that plan much better than 
 any state affair." 
 
 " And when shall we do it ?" 
 
 " Some day in the summer." 
 
 " No, no ; some day in the spring — the very begin- 
 ning of spring." 
 
 " The first of April ?" asked Effie, laughing. 
 
 " No ; the first of March," returned Gerard. 
 
 " No ; the eleventh of June," said Effie. 
 
 "Why then?" 
 
 " Because then we shall have been engaged two 
 years." 
 
 " That is not for four months !" 
 
 " Four months are soon gone."
 
 188 TONIC BITTEKS. 
 
 " You promise to keep to that day — not to put me 
 off again V 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Then in the meantime I shall console myself 
 with Clara Monro." 
 
 " Very well ; that will keep you out of Miss 
 Cricket's way." 
 
 "I suppose you will be always shopping and 
 sewing." 
 
 " Yes, always. Ready, Jessie !" Effie cried, as her 
 sister entered the room, in her bonnet and cloak. 
 "I must make haste." 
 
 "Stop, Effie. I find Hannah had been promised 
 that she should go out this afternoon ; so you must 
 stay with the children, if I am to go to Miss Monro." 
 
 " Very well," said Effie, resignedly. 
 
 "She cannot stay, Jessie," cried Gerard. "It will 
 be of no use for any one to call on Clara if Effie does 
 not. Hear what George says: 'I shall esteem it a 
 great kindness if Mrs. Yonge will visit my sister 
 whilst she is staying with the Welfords. I wish of 
 all things that Clara should cultivate Miss Garnoe 
 friendship.' ' 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Jessie, indignantly ; " I need 
 not trouble myself, then." 
 
 " The Monros were very kind and attentive to you 
 when they were in town," remarked Etfie. 
 
 " Yes ; I like the Monros," Jessie replied, more
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 189 
 
 amiably. " But what is to be done ? The children 
 cannot be left alone." 
 
 " It does not at all signify about my going to-day, 
 Gerard," said Effie. " A first call is always a stiff 
 affair ; and Miss Monro is sure to come here soon." 
 
 " Very well. Then I shall come back to take you 
 to Steadham Lane. Let me see, we shall not be more 
 than an hour and a half." 
 
 They were more than two hours gone ; but when 
 they returned Gerard declared that there was still 
 time for the intended walk. 
 
 " Did you see Clara ?" asked Effie, as soon as they 
 had started. 
 
 " Yes. She was very sorry you had not come. I 
 am going to bring her and Kate here to a tea-fight 
 on Thursday." 
 
 " Is she as beautiful as ever ?" 
 
 " Yes. Oh yes, quite," replied Gerard, in an embar- 
 rassed tone ; and he continued very much preoccupied, 
 and very unlike himself till they reached the widow's 
 house. Everything strange in his manner disap- 
 peared then. The neat, pretty little rooms were all 
 that could be desired, and Gerard was wild with 
 delight at the idea of seeing Effie as the mistress of 
 them. 
 
 Effie, in her undemonstrative fashion, was very 
 happy also. Though Gerard might with justice com- 
 plain that her manner showed a want of confidence
 
 190 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 in him, she had, in reality, no such want of confi- 
 dence. She never for a moment imagined that his 
 affection was equal in intensity to her own ; but 
 neither did she for a moment doubt his truth. It 
 never occurred to her that her own reserve might act 
 as a check upon Gerard's feelings. But so it was, as 
 he had never felt more forcibly than he did to-day. 
 Gerard was no judge of character. With him there 
 were no hidden depths, no intricacies of feeling. 
 And as it was with himself, he believed it to be with 
 others. What he saw he believed ; what he could 
 not see he never suspected. Once convinced that 
 his jealousy of George Monro was quite unfounded, 
 he had been, on the whole, tolerably well satisfied 
 with the portion of love which Effie chose to show 
 him. He supposed that girls never did feel as 
 much as men in such cases. Jessie was always cool 
 towards Harold, and yet there was no doubt that she 
 )oved him as much as she was capable of loving 
 any one. Harold had long given up expecting any 
 tenderness from Jessie ; and he supposed he must do 
 the same with regard to Eilie. He had nothing else 
 to complain of; she was all that could be wished in 
 every other respect. Thus Gerard had reasoned 
 with himself, and thus he had stifled his occasional 
 yearning for some demonstration of affection on 
 EfhVs part. To-day a fresh impulse had been given 
 to his lurking dissatisfaction. Still smarting under
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 191 
 
 Effie's reluctance to fix an early day for their mar- 
 riage, he had again seen Clara Monro, after nearly 
 two years' separation. At the time Clara had been 
 in London before, he had been too much engrossed 
 by his jealousy of George to see, as others did, of how 
 much importance he was to George's sister. Con- 
 sequently, he had never given a thought to the 
 possible effect of the attention which, in his vexation 
 with Effie, he had paid to Clara. George also, at 
 that period, had been too much engrossed with his 
 own feelings to notice the danger into which his 
 sister was running. Quite unaware that the engage- 
 ment between Gerard and Effie would affect Clara's 
 happiness as well as his own, he never saw the neces- 
 sity of breaking, as far as she was concerned, the 
 promise of secrecy which he had given to Gerard. 
 Thus it happened that Clara for two years had been 
 fostering the most fallacious hopes ; and thus it 
 happened that when Gerard had again met Clara 
 he had been startled to see in her a manifestation of 
 such feeling as he had never seen in Effie. To do 
 him justice, this at first caused him more embarrass- 
 ment than pleasure. It made hira feel guilty towards 
 Clara, not towards Effie. But it also brought forcibly 
 to his mind the extent of Effie's shortcomings. It 
 was in this state of feeling that he took his promised 
 wife to see their future home. Happily for him and 
 for Effie, his elastic nature soon threw off any cause
 
 192 TONIC BITTE 
 
 of discomfort ; and before they left the cottage, he 
 had forgotten all about Clara, and was feeling nothing 
 but the sense of safety which Eifie's strength of 
 character always afforded him. 
 
 The little tea-party on the following Thursday 
 served to revive all Gerard's trouble, and to con- 
 firm the suspicions which Effie had long entertained 
 as to the state of Clara's affections. Clara was almost 
 the counterpart of her brother George. Her feelings, 
 like his, were unchecked by any respect for con- 
 ventionalities ; and, as with him, even 7 emotion shone 
 out through her glowing dark eyes. Gerard's respon- 
 sive nature could never withstand any flattery to his 
 self-love ; and he appeared, certainly, on this occasion, 
 more gratified by Clara's preference than was alto- 
 gether becoming in an engaged man. 
 
 Miss Monro had a beautiful voice, and sang with 
 great taste and feeling. Immediately that the early tea 
 was over, Gerard, who was passionately fond of music, 
 opened the piano, and begged for his treat to begin. 
 
 "You will not find it a treat if you make Clara 
 sin"" so soon after tea," observed Kate Monro. 
 
 " You are forgetting your manners, Gerard." said 
 Jessie, jokingly ; " our guest ought not to be asked to 
 open the entertainment." 
 
 u Who will do it, then ?" inquired Gerard. " You 
 do nothing in that way, and Effie only plays for 
 dancing."
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 193 
 
 " You will waive etiquette, and play us something, 
 will you not ?" said Effie to Kate Monro. 
 
 Kate immediately sat down, and rattled off her last 
 school " piece," and then, without any pause, broke 
 into a merry polka. Gerard was on his feet in a 
 moment, and, catching Effie, whirled her about the 
 room till she was breathless and giddy. 
 
 " I am not going to ask you to dance," he said to 
 Clara, as he deposited his exhausted partner on the 
 sofa beside her. "You must keep your breath for 
 better things." 
 
 When Kate stopped, Gerard would wait no longer. 
 " May not I ask you now ?" he said to Clara. 
 
 " You may ask me whenever you like," answered 
 Clara. 
 
 " May I ask you whatever I like ?" 
 
 The quick blush that overspread Clara's face showed 
 that she had given too deep a meaning to the careless 
 question. Gerard, as well as Effie, saw how she had 
 taken his words, and Effie knew that Gerard saw it — 
 knew by his conscious, gratified face, and by his 
 softened tone. " Will you promise to grant what- 
 ever I ask ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," answered Clara, raising her glorious eyes to 
 his for a moment, and then dropping them in 
 confusion. 
 
 "Then sing ' Kathleen 0'More," ; said Gerard, in 
 an entirely altered voice. Clara rose directly, and 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 went to the piano. Gerard, when he had placed the 
 song for her, and arranged the lights, left Clara's side, 
 and sat down beside Effie. 
 
 11 This is my Kathleen," he whispered. 
 
 When the song was finished, he was up again, 
 begging for another, and this time he stood by the 
 singer. Another and another song followed, till 
 Clara declared she could sing no more, and Gerard 
 sought Effie out in her solitary corner, and begged 
 her to play a waltz. 
 
 " One of your own old slow waltzes," he said. 
 " Nobody can play waltzes like you can, little 
 woman." 
 
 Effie's powers in this respect were tested by waltz 
 after waltz, in which Gerard and Clara were the 
 only performers, Kate having gone to see the children 
 put to bed. At last Clara owned to being tired, and 
 then it struck Gerard that the musician might not be 
 quite proof against fatigue. 
 
 " Do your poor little fingers ache, Efne ? We 
 have had such capital waltzes ! Clara is such a 
 splendid dancer. I wish you could have seen her. 
 Was it not a pretty sight to see us waltzing. 
 Harold?" he asked, aloud. 
 
 " I did not look," replied Harold, coldly. u I know 
 of old that Miss Monro dances well." 
 
 " And have you nothing to say of me ?" 
 
 "I have seen you get on very well with Effie,"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 195 
 
 replied Harold, in so pointed a manner that Gerard 
 coloured deeply, and Effie felt very uncomfortable. 
 
 " I think we ought to be going home," said Clara. 
 " I wonder what Kate is about." 
 
 Effie was glad to escape in search of her, and 
 Clara soon followed to put on her bonnet and cloak. 
 
 " I hope I was not hard upon your fingers, Effie," 
 said Gerard, running up the garden for a last word, 
 after they had all taken leave. " I was a selfish 
 brute to let you go on so long. I had no idea how 
 the time went — it was so very pleasant," and he 
 sighed. 
 
 " Then my fingers are pleased to have worked in 
 the service," said Effie, cheerfully. 
 
 " Kind little fingers !" cried Gerard, pressing them 
 to his lips, as he hurried away. 
 
 Effie resolutely drove away any dissatisfied feelings 
 which arose at the recollection of that evening. She 
 attributed whatever discomfort she had felt to the 
 fact of not being able to satisfy Gerard's love of 
 music, and she did most deeply regret that she had 
 never learnt to sing. She regretted this still more 
 when, on subsequent evenings, Gerard went to the 
 Welfords' instead of coming to Gateshill, and Harold 
 and Jessie began to notice his frequent absence. 
 
 When Gerard was making his excuses after one 
 such occasion, Harold remarked, " Effie is very good 
 to allow vou so much freedom."
 
 
 10G TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 " Freedom !" cried Gerard, rather fiercely. "What 
 do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean freedom. Your chain must be a very 
 long one to allow of your behaving as you do to Miss 
 Monro," answered Harold, only half in joke. 
 
 Gerard looked alarmed : " Do you think so, Effie ? 
 Do you see anything wrong in my behaviour '.'" 
 
 " Nothing at all," answered Effie, cordially. " And 
 I cannot think what Harold means. Surely you are 
 not bound to spend all your evenings here. I would 
 not have you think so. Did Clara sing to you ?'' 
 
 " Yes, most exquisitely," answered Gerard. 
 
 Effie did wish that she could sing. 
 
 The next week Gerard had been to the Opera with 
 the Welfords and Clara. Harold did not apj)rove of 
 this, and said, more sternly than he had ever before 
 spoken to his brother, " I hope you are not making 
 false pretences all this time, Gerard. I hope Miss 
 Monro is aware of your true position." 
 
 "False pretences!" echoed Gerard, flushing crim- 
 son all over his face. " What do you mean ? What 
 is my true position ?" 
 
 "That of a man engaged to be married," replied 
 Harold, fixing his eyes on Gerard. 
 
 " I don't think Clara does know of my engage- 
 ment," replied Gerard, with a nervous laugh. 
 
 " Your behaviour when she was here was not 
 calculated to enlighten her," remarked Harold.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 197 
 
 "Effie would not have our enslavement made 
 public," pleaded Gerard. 
 
 "You ought to make it public now, however, as 
 two months ago you were talking of being married 
 this summer. At any rate, Miss Monro should be 
 told," said Harold, still severe. 
 
 " Shall I tell her, Effie ?" asked Gerard. 
 
 " Do as you like, Gerard . I do not fear your 
 making i false pretences,' : and Effie gave an indig- 
 nant glance at Harold. 
 
 "Thank you, Effie," said Gerard, gratefully. "I 
 am sorry Harold thinks so badly of me. Are you 
 afraid for Clara's heart, Hay?" he asked, with some- 
 what forced unconcern. 
 
 " I am more afraid for your honour," replied Harold, 
 as he left the room. 
 
 " What is the matter with Harold ?" said Gerard. 
 " I never knew him take up anything in this way 
 before. Effie, tell me honestly — would you rather I 
 should not go to the Welfords', or go about with 
 them ?" 
 
 " No — honestly, Gerard — I would much rather not 
 have you tied to me with so tight a chain — to use 
 Harold's metaphor." 
 
 " In fact, you would rather get rid of me occasion- 
 
 ally?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Effie, gaily. 
 
 But from that time she did begin to feel rather
 
 108 TONIC B1TTEBS. 
 
 uiieasyat Gerard's frequent absence from her in those 
 hours which he formerly always spent with her, and 
 at the evident increase of his intimacy with Clara 
 Monro. 
 
 " Would you ladies like a little dissipation this 
 evening ?' asked Harold, coming into the play-room 
 one morning, with an open letter in his hand. 
 " Maddox has sent me orders for a box at the 
 Haymarket. I don't think there is to be anything 
 very special ; but to us quiet folks a play is a play. 
 Shall we go, Jessie ?" 
 
 " Of course. How can you ask T* 
 
 " The box holds six, so I shall send one of the 
 tickets to Gay — each ticket admits three. He can 
 join us there with his two friends — whomsoever he 
 may choose to take." 
 
 Effie had so seldom been in a theatre that she 
 looked forward to the evening with almost as much 
 pleasure as Jessie, who was in a state of childish 
 excitement. But when they reached their box just 
 as the curtain drew up, and found all the seats 
 vacant, and when the first scene came to an end 
 without Gerard having appeared, Effie's pleasurable 
 anticipations gave place to disappointment and alarm. 
 
 "Why, there is Gerard opposite!" exclaimed 
 Harold, as the second scene was just commencing. 
 
 Effie looked. Yes, there was Gerard, between 
 Mrs. Welford and Miss Monro — not paying any
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 199 
 
 attention to the actors, but talking eagerly to Clara, 
 whose face beamed with happiness. 
 
 " There must be some mistake," said Harold, in a 
 very dissatisfied tone. " What can have made him 
 go to that side of the house ? Who is with him, 
 Effie T 
 
 « Mrs. Welford and Clara Monro," replied Effie. 
 " I thought they were going to Richmond to-day," 
 she added. 
 
 Harold was shortsighted, and Jessie was too 
 absorbed in the acting to look off the stage. But 
 Effie had no longer any eyes for the performance, and 
 her sight was unfortunately long — unfortunately, for 
 it showed her what turned her former faint doubts 
 into strong certainty. She, who from her earliest 
 childhood had studied every change in Gerard's 
 changeful face, could not misinterpret the looks 
 which he now cast on Clara. Effie had sometimes 
 met such looks herself — not often, for Gerard's 
 feeling for her had always had in it more of calm 
 affection than of passion. Lately, his affection had 
 seemed to grow more and more calm ; but Effie, in 
 her innocence, had attributed this to the confidence 
 produced by their two years' engagement. Now that 
 she saw what his eyes could express, she felt how little 
 they had ever expressed towards her — how less than 
 ever latterly. 
 
 " I shall go round to Gerard, and see what this
 
 200 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 means," said Harold, when the curtain fell after the 
 first act. He went, and presently Effie saw Gerard 
 start up, and colour violently. Then she saw Harold 
 speaking gravely to him, and courteously to Miss 
 3Ionro; and then Gerard disappeared from the 
 opposite box. 
 
 u What a stupid blunder !" he said, as he entered 
 behind Jessie's seat. " The boxkeeper must have 
 mistaken our number. It is very vexatious. It 
 would have been much pleasanter to be all together. 
 Will you come to the other side ? I do not like to 
 ask Mrs. Welford to move." 
 
 " Should we see as well from that side ?" asked 
 Jessie. 
 
 " Not quite," replied Gerard, who kept his eyes 
 studiously averted from Effie. 
 
 " I think we had better stay here, Jessie," Effie 
 said, with an effort, her voice sounding strange to 
 herself. " It will make so much confusion for us to 
 move. We shall meet Clara Monro as we go out. 
 See, the curtain is drawing up ! You had better go 
 back, Gerard." 
 
 "Had I not better stay here?" asked Gerard, still 
 not looking at her. 
 
 " No ; it would be rude towards Mrs. Welford," 
 replied Effie, very decidedly. 
 
 " But I cannot leave you till Harold comes." 
 
 '• Oh yes. Go, and send Harold to us. Good-bye."
 
 TONIC BITTEKS. 201 
 
 " Very well," said Gerard, in a hesitating tone ; 
 and he walked off slowly, not having once looked 
 Effie in the face. 
 
 Harold took his seat without a word, and never 
 turned his eyes from the stage during the next act. 
 Effie could see that Gerard's manner was very dif- 
 ferent from what it had been before he was aware of 
 her presence. He now seemed awkward and em- 
 barrassed ; and every moment he cast furtive glances 
 towards her side of the house. 
 
 On the staircase they all met. There was a good 
 deal of confused talking, and then Erne's hand was 
 on Gerard's arm, and he was leading her to the 
 carriage, following Harold and Jessie. 
 
 " You had better not leave your friends, Gerard," 
 Effie said, when they had walked in perfect silence 
 for a few minutes. 
 
 " Their carriage cannot come up yet, — I shall be 
 back in time. You will have to walk to Suffolk 
 Street before you will get your fly." 
 
 " Give me to Harold," implored Effie. "Why 
 should you go all that way with us ?" 
 
 " Because I like it," replied Gerard, very gravely. 
 " Are you well wrapped up ?" he asked, as they 
 turned into the street. 
 
 " Yes, quite," replied Effie, but her teeth chattered* 
 
 '* You are cold ! Take my coat \" he threw his 
 overcoat across her shoulders, and folded it carefully
 
 202 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 round her. Effie could not resist. Nothing more 
 was said till they reached the fly, in which Harold 
 and Jessie were already seated. 
 
 " Good-night, Jessie. Good-night, Hay. Good- 
 night, Effie." Gerard gave a lingering, remorseful 
 kind of pressure to Effie's hand, and turned away. 
 
 " Good- night," said Harold, very coldly. Jessie 
 only yawned. Effie could hardly keep back a sob.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XII. ' 
 
 " Although I should have liked to see the ladies, 
 I am not sorry to find you alone, Mr. Yonge," said 
 Mrs. Welford, entering Harold's studio the afternoon 
 after the meeting at the Haymarket. 
 
 " I don't think my ladies will be very long away. 
 My wife had some visits to pay in the village, and 
 she has taken Erne with her. I hope Miss Monro is 
 very well." 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. To tell you the truth, 
 Mr. Yonge, it is about Clara that I wish to speak to 
 you. 1 ' 
 
 Harold's heart sank. He merely bowed. 
 
 u I have no doubt you are aware that your brother 
 has been paying great attention to Miss Monro ever 
 since she has been at my house." 
 
 " I was aware last evening that he appeared to be 
 paying her great attention," answered Harold, stiffly. 
 
 "I am naturally anxious about Clara," continued 
 Mrs. Welford, "as I feel in a manner responsible to
 
 204 TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 her parents for her safety whilst she is with me. 
 Your brother is rather a dangerous young man, you 
 know, Mr. Yonge." 
 
 Harold groaned. Mrs. "Welford looked surprised, 
 but went on : " Of course I have no right to inquire 
 whether Mr. Gerard Y r onge is in a position to marry — 
 that is the province of Clara's parents — but what I 
 hope you will pardon me for asking is, whether you 
 imagine that your brother has any intention of pro- 
 posing marriage, or whether, as is so often the case 
 amongst young men, he is merely amusing himself 
 with poor Clara?" 
 
 " Ma}^ I ask in return whether you have any 
 reason to fear that Miss Monro — in short, that Miss 
 Monro's feelings are involved ?" 
 
 "To be frank with you, Mr. Yonge, it was just 
 that fear which drove me here to-day. I have no 
 doubt that Clara is deeply attached to your brother — 
 of course it is understood that this is entirelv between 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Of course. I cannot interfere in this matter, 31 ra 
 \Yelford. You had better ask my brother the 
 questions you have asked me. I can only say " 
 
 " I am so glad I did not miss you, Mrs. Welford," 
 cried Jessie, entering the room, followed by Effie and 
 by Gerard. 
 
 It was very embarrassing. Harold was no actor, 
 and he could not greet his brother with any show of
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 205 
 
 cordiality, nor could he avoid throwing glances of 
 commiseration on Effie. 
 
 Fortunately, Mrs. Welford was a woman of the 
 world, and was always mistress of the occasion. She 
 at once entered into an animated discussion with 
 Jessie on the subject of the previous uight's entertain- 
 ment ; and the rest of the party w r ere left almost 
 entirely to their own uneasy reflections. Painful as 
 this position was, they all experienced a dread of what 
 would follow when the visitor rose to leave, having, 
 as the ostensible motive of her visit, invited all the 
 Yonges and Effie to dine at her house on the follow- 
 ing Thursday. Gerard was glad to escape his 
 brother's severe looks for a few minutes by going 
 with Mrs. Welford to her carriage ; and Effie was 
 about to take advantage of the general move to fly 
 to her own room, when, as the other three were 
 descending the stairs, Harold called her back. He 
 drew her tenderly towards him, and holding her so 
 that he might support her without seeing her face, 
 said, in a hoarse voice, " Effie, Gerard is a villain!" 
 
 Effie wrenched herself away, and stood defiantly 
 in the middle of the room. " He is not, Harold ! I 
 know what you would say," she added, hastily, as 
 Harold was about to speak. " 1 know it all. I know 
 what Mrs. Welford came about. I know that he 
 loves Clara Monro. I have known it ever since — " 
 she paused, thinking what years it seemed — "ever
 
 20G TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 since last night. Don't come near me, Harold," she 
 cried, as Harold made a movement towards her. 
 " Don't touch me ! Don't pity me ! And don't — if you 
 have any love for me, Harold, don't say he is a villain. 
 I can bear anything but that. But if you blame him, 
 I — " she paused hearing Jessie's voice upon the stairs. 
 " Let me speak to him, Harold. Don't you — oh 
 pray don't !" 
 
 " I must, Effie," said Harold. 
 
 "Then — oh, be kind to him, Harold! And don't 
 let him go without — let me see him once more." 
 She darted from the room just as Gerard came in. 
 
 Gerard had been making up his mind to take the 
 bull by the horns ; so he said, boldly, u There is some- 
 thing wrong, Harold." 
 
 Harold was standing at the window, with his back 
 to his brother, and did not immediately answer. At 
 last he turned round suddenly, and confronted Gerard. 
 "There is a great deal wrong, and you know it, 
 Gerard." 
 
 " I don't know — at least — that is — well, I won't 
 tell a lie — I do know that I have been behaving like 
 a fool about Clara Monro, and that Effie has a right 
 to be angry with me. But I do not see that any one 
 else has that right." 
 
 " I have, as Effie's brother. Poor child ! She used 
 to say she had two brothers. She has but one now. 
 and I have none. He is no brother of mine who
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 207 
 
 tampers with the affections of one girl when he is 
 engaged to another." 
 
 "Harold! it is not so bad as that," pleaded Gerard. 
 
 " What is it then ? Are you engaged to Erne ?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly." 
 
 " Have you not been tampering with Clara Monro's 
 affections ?" 
 
 " No — at least — no, I don't think I have." 
 
 " There should be no doubt in such cases. Have 
 you won her affections ?" 
 
 " I— I don't know." 
 
 "You do know, Gerard. Do not add lying to 
 treachery." 
 
 " Harold !" 
 
 " Answer my question." 
 
 " I cannot. We have no right to discuss Miss 
 Monro's feelings." 
 
 " Miss Monro's friend has asked me the meaning 
 of your behaviour. I might have told her that it was 
 the behaviour of a scoundrel." 
 
 " I will not stand that, Harold, even from you." 
 
 " You cannot say it is not true." 
 
 " It is not true — as you would acknowledge if you 
 would listen to me." 
 
 " 1 will not listen to you. You can say nothing 
 to excuse your conduct. The more you attempt to 
 palliate it, the more evident it will be that you are 
 lost to all sense of honour."
 
 208 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " I will not attempt to palliate it. I own that I 
 have been very wrong. But if Effie will forgive me 
 I do not think you need condemn me." 
 
 "Effie will speak for herself. For myself I say 
 that I utterly break all the ties between us — from 
 henceforth you will be to me as a stranger. I have 
 loved you far beyond the common love of a brother — 
 but that is over. I hate the cold-blooded villain who 
 thinks nothing of breaking a woman's heart." 
 
 " You are too hard upon me, Harold." 
 
 "I am just. That I may not be tempted to be 
 otherwise, I desire never to see you again. And I 
 desire that my boys should forget their love for one 
 who has forgotten the honour of a gentleman. You 
 will never again be welcome in my house. You 
 understand me ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Gerard, almost inaudibly. There was 
 silence for a few minutes, and then Gerard walked 
 towards the door. He was pale, but as calm as 
 Harold. 
 
 " You are unmerciful, Harold, and, whatever you 
 may think, unjust. I do not desire ever to enter your 
 house again. But you cannot break the ties between 
 us. You may teach your boys to hate me. but I 
 shall never cease to love them and their father. Now. 
 may I see Effie ?" 
 
 " You will find her waiting for you. Good-bye." 
 
 Thus dismissed, Gerard, after one earnest look at
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 209 
 
 his brother, left the room. Martha, whom he met in 
 the hall, told him Effie was in the day-nursery, the 
 children being out. Effie had gone straight to the 
 nursery from Harold's studio. Mechanically she had 
 laid aside her bonnet and cloak, and then she had 
 seated herself on one of the children's straight-backed 
 chairs. She sat very still, with her arms folded 
 tightly, as though she were holding herself together. 
 She was holding her composure together — not daring 
 to move, or even to think, for fear it should fall to 
 pieces. Thus Gerard found her. As he entered the 
 room Effie tried to force a smile to her lips, but the 
 feeble attempt died away when she saw his ghastly, 
 drawn face. He came up quickly, and took one of her 
 cold hands. It lay like a stone in his. " Harold has 
 nearly broken my heart, Effie. Won't you give me 
 some comfort ?" he said. 
 
 Effie moved her lips, but no words came. 
 
 " He forbids me ever to enter this house again," 
 Gerard continued. 
 
 " I am very sorry," said Effie at last. She spoke 
 slowly and distinctly, though in so low a tone that 
 Gerard was forced to lean forward to catch her words. 
 Neither to him nor to herself did the voice sound 
 like her own. 
 
 " You do not think so very badly of me, do you, 
 Effie r 
 
 Effie could not get any words out. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " You do not think I am so very much to blame ?" 
 " I do not think you are to blame. You could not 
 help it." 
 
 " No. I really could not. I confess, Eme, that I 
 deserve a scolding from you. But I do not think 
 Harold need be so angry with me." 
 
 "I shall not scold you," Effie said, so mournfully 
 that Gerard was startled. 
 
 14 But you are angry with me too, Effie !" he cried. 
 
 " No. I am not angry." 
 
 " You despise me ! You think me a * cold-blooded 
 villain,' as Harold called me !" 
 
 "No, oh, no !" cried Effie, roused into life again 
 by this. u Don't think of anything Harold said. He 
 judges too harshly of such things." 
 
 "Yes, does he not? But you understand how it 
 all happened, Effie. You will not let it make any 
 difference between us?" 
 
 " Any difference ?" repeated Effie, in a puzzled 
 tone. 
 
 " You will not cast me off?" 
 
 " I will never cast you off. I shall never cease to 
 care for — to care about all that concerns you, more 
 than for anything else in the world." 
 
 " But you speak as if we were to be — as if things 
 would be altered between us," said Gerard, becoming 
 alarmed again. "You don't say that you will 'care 
 for me.' You don't surely mean that you will not
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 211 
 
 care for me any longer — that you will not marry 
 me ?" He looked eagerly into Effie's pale face. She 
 could not answer him at once. She could not look 
 at him. 
 
 "I will not have you marry me," she said at length, 
 almost in a whisper. 
 
 " Why not ?" asked Gerard, fiercely. 
 
 " You love — Clara Monro." 
 
 " I — I — " Gerard tried in vain to speak coherently, 
 and then got up, and strode hastily up and down the 
 room. After a few turns he grew calmer, and came 
 back to Effie's side. 
 
 " Effie — on my honour, I do not love her as well 
 as I love you." 
 
 "That is not true," said Effie, not angrily, but very 
 sadly. 
 
 " It is. I believe it is." He was silent for some 
 minutes, and then he said, " I do not understand it. 
 I think she has bewitched me. When I am with her 
 — and particularly when she sings — I forget everything 
 else ; but Effie, I cannot give you up." 
 
 " Let me be your sister again, as in the old " she 
 
 could not finish the sentence. 
 
 " That was all the mischief. You have been too 
 much like a sister to me, Effie. Clara is so different 
 — she — she — it seemed to me that she " 
 
 "That she felt more than a sister's affection for 
 you ?" asked Effie, rather bitterly.
 
 212 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Yes. Don't think me vain, Erne. But one can't 
 help seeing that sort of thing." 
 
 " No. I believe you are right." 
 
 " Do you ?" And Gerard, even now, looked gratified. 
 
 " Yes. You will have a wife that any man might 
 be proud of." 
 
 Gerard coloured violently. u I will have no wife 
 but you, Effie," he said. 
 
 " You will never have me for a wife." 
 
 "Never?" echoed Gerard, in a sad, reproachful 
 tone. " Are you jealous, Effie ?" he added, ha>tily. 
 
 " No. I am not jealous." 
 
 "You see it is so different with you. You have 
 always been very kind to me, and very — But some- 
 how — I don't think you have that sort of feeling for 
 me — you care for me just as you do for Harold. I 
 am not complaining, mind. Heaven knows I have 
 nothing to complain of, but very much to be grateful 
 for — But you must feel yourself that your — your — 
 your feeling for me is rather — rather cold." 
 
 All who knew Effie knew that her nature v. 
 passionate — that under great acquired calm there 
 slept a tornado, which would sometimes burst forth, 
 and with vehemence more deep than loud sweep 
 away all the barriers that had been erected to 
 restrain it. Such a storm came now. 
 
 "Cold!" she exclaimed, starting to her fe< t. and 
 standing before Gerard, with her arms folded again,
 
 TONIC BITTEBS. 213 
 
 her fists clenched, and her eyes flashing. " Cold ! 
 From the time I was almost a baby — before I knew 
 what to call my own feelings — I cared for you more 
 than for anything in the world. Your presence 
 was my only happiness — your good my only desire 
 — your love my ooly ambition. Those feelings 
 have never changed since — excepting that they 
 have grown with my growth. They have been 
 my support, my life, my religion. And you call 
 them cold!" 
 
 " Why did you not tell me this before, Effie ?* 
 asked Gerard, who was now white and trembling. 
 
 "I did not think it necessary," replied Effie, 
 sinking rapidly from her exalted mood, and beginning 
 to feel terribly inclined to cry. 
 
 There was a long silence. Gerard seemed com- 
 pletely struck down. He sat quite still, with his 
 eyes fixed on the opposite wall. At last he moved 
 uneasily in his chair, and covering his face with his 
 hand, said in a low, uncertain voice, "I have been a 
 villain. Harold is right." 
 
 "No, you have not!" cried Effie; "you must not 
 think so — no one must think so. I could not bear 
 it. I should feel that I had brought it upon you 
 You could not help fancying that you cared for me — 
 we were thrown so much together — and — and — you 
 pitied me. It is only fortunate that you found out it 
 was fancy before it was too late." There was a
 
 214 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 shade of bitterness in these last words. Gerard's 
 quick ear caught the tone. 
 
 " You do despise me, Effie ?" 
 
 Elh'e looked at him long and earnestly. ' ; I can- 
 not," was all she said. 
 
 " You love me still, in spite of all ! Oh, Effie, you 
 will let things be as they were r" 
 
 " How is that possible ?" 
 
 " It is possible. We could all be happy if you would 
 marry me. If you ever felt for me as you say " 
 
 " What have you to give me in exchange for such 
 feelings ?" asked Effie, interrupting him, sternly. 
 
 Gerard's reviving spirit sank in a moment. " Very 
 little," he answered, humbly, hanging his head. 
 
 " Then do not say again that everything between 
 us is not over for ever," said Effie, decidedly, but no 
 longer sternly. 
 
 " Effie, it kills me to hear you speak in that tone," 
 cried Gerard, writhing as though in pain. 
 
 " I am sorry. Then let us never speak of all this 
 again. Will you promise ?" 
 
 " I must do whatever you ask." He buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 Effie slipped her engagement-ring off her finger. 
 When Gerard at length looked up she held it 
 towards him. 
 
 " What is that ?" he asked, with a bewildered air. 
 Effie did not speak, but dropped the ring into the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 215 
 
 hand which he had mechanically stretched out for it. 
 He looked at her fixedly, and then down at the 
 trinket lying on his open palm. His face worked with 
 emotion. At last he raised his eyes again, brimming 
 over with tears, and said, <; Effie, don't give it back 
 to me. Think of that evening when I gave it to 
 you." 
 
 Effie almost jumped from her chair, and the blood 
 rushed into her face. " Are you a man to torture me 
 so ?" she cried. 
 
 u I beg your pardon ! I hardly know what I say ; 
 I am so wretched. Must I take it, then ?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 Gerard slipped the ring into his waistcoat-pocket, 
 and again buried his face in his hands. 
 
 " Another thing I ask is, that no one shall know 
 what has occurred between us," Effie said, after a 
 long silence. "Very few people knew of our — of 
 the relation in which we stood to each other, and no 
 one need know what has happened now." 
 
 " They must," answered Gerard ; " every one must 
 know that I have been forbidden this house." 
 
 "I hope Harold will think better of that." 
 
 " He never will. Harold never changes, and his 
 anger against me is fearful. His scorn was worse to 
 bear. Effie ! he said he hated the cold-blooded 
 villain who could break a woman's heart ! I have 
 not done that ? I have not broken your heart ?"
 
 216 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 "No," said Effie, quietly; "I shall not hurt. I 
 was very happy before we were— before you thought 
 you cared for me ; and I shall not be unhappy now 
 that I know it was all a mistake." 
 
 " It was not a mistake, Effie." 
 
 " Yes, it was. I would much rather think it was 
 a mistake than think that you had been fickle." 
 
 "You will think that. Every one will think that."' 
 
 Effie drew a long breath. Her strength was nearly 
 gone. She felt she must go on speaking, or she 
 should utterly break down. 
 
 " I can bear anything, if people will let me alone. 
 If only all this could be forgotten — if everything 
 could be between us as it was before " 
 
 11 It cannot be ; you all think so badly of me now." 
 He paused, struggling with his emotion. Then he 
 got up ; " I must see Harold again." 
 
 " Oh, do not ! It will be of no use. What more 
 can you say to him ? Surely, too much has been 
 said already." 
 
 " I must tell him that he is risfht. "What you 
 have said alters everything. I must tell him that T 
 know now I am the villain that he thinks me." 
 
 u Do not say that. He must not think that of 
 you." 
 
 (i He must, Effie, and so must you. It is almost 
 more than I can bear!" he staggered, and leant over a 
 chair for support.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 217 
 
 " You will find comfort," said Effie. 
 
 " No, I shall not, Effie. Nothing can ever make 
 up for what my own folly has lost, me." He turned 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " Do be friends with Harold." 
 
 " T am friends with him, but I know he will never 
 forgive me. And if he did, it would be no good — I 
 could not come here — I could never hold up my head 
 amongst you again." 
 
 " One thing," said Effie, as he was about to leave 
 the room ; " we have both got a part to act. You 
 will be at the Welfords' on Thursday ?" 
 
 "I cannot!" cried Gerard. 
 
 " I can." 
 
 " Very well, I will," said Gerard, setting his teeth. 
 And then he moved away again. When he had gone 
 through the door, he turned, came back quickly 
 towards Effie, and took her hand. 
 
 " Not for my own sake, Effie ; but for the sake of 
 him who loved us both — forgive me." 
 
 " I do forgive you — I do not think I have anything 
 to forgive." 
 
 "You are avenged," muttered Gerard, as he 
 dropped her hand, and, giving one great sob, walked 
 slowly from the room. 
 
 He went at once to Harold's studio, where he 
 found his brother standing just as he had left him. 
 Harold looked at him coldly, without speaking.
 
 218 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Gerard began, in the sharp, unmodulated tones 
 of great suffering, "I wish to say one word before 
 I relieve you of my presence for ever. I know now 
 that you are right. I am a villain. It is all over 
 between Effie and me. She forgives me ; but I 
 cannot ask you to forgive me. I can never forgive 
 myself. You cannot despise and hate me more than 
 I despise and hate myself." 
 
 Before Harold could draw back Gerard had seized 
 his hand, and grasping it tightly, muttered, " God 
 bless you, dear old fellow !" Without looking again 
 at his brother he left the room, and Harold heard 
 the dull, heavy tread go down the stairs, and out of 
 the house. 
 
 Effie heard it also. But her work was not done yet. 
 She could not yet allow herself to think. Harold 
 was still standing when she entered his room. " Did 
 you speak kindly to him, Harold ?" 
 
 " I did not speak to him at all, darling," he 
 answered, tenderly. 
 
 " Not one word ?" cried Effie. 
 
 "No. What could I say? I am glad that he 
 acknowledges his sin." 
 
 " Oh, Harold ! You have no right to be so hard 
 upon him." 
 
 " I cannot be a hypocrite, Effie." 
 
 " He is not to blame, Harold. He liked me only 
 as a sister ; but he fancied it was something more,
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 219 
 
 and — I — I was cold ; and then he was thrown with 
 Clara, and she is so gloriously beautiful, and — 
 Harold ! how could he help seeing that she loves 
 him ? And so — what could he do ? What could 
 any one expect of him ?" 
 
 "I expected of him to behave like a man of honour. 
 But I cannot speak of this to you, my poor darling !" 
 
 " Let us never speak of it again, Harold. But 
 don't call me ' poor ;' I shall do very well. I can bear 
 it. You must help me, will you ?" 
 
 " With my life, Effie." 
 
 " Never pity me. Never blame him* And don't 
 think me mad, whatever I may do. Let me alone. Don't 
 try ever to help or comfort me. Will you promise this ?" 
 
 " Yes. It will be a hard promise to keep." 
 
 " You will keep it. And you will make Jessie do 
 the same." 
 
 " I will do what I can." 
 
 " I shall go to the Welfords' on Thursday, Harold." 
 
 " My darling !" 
 
 " I hope you will go also. Gerard will be there — 
 he has promised me." 
 
 u I cannot meet him, Effie. It will be better not. 
 Anything else I will do, but that I cannot." 
 
 " You will tell Jessie that I am going, then ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 And then Effie walked up to her own room. Still
 
 220 TOXIC BITTEl 
 
 not to think. From the top shelf of a closet she took 
 down a small, old, papered deal box ; out of one of 
 her drawers she took a key. Then she carried the 
 box up to the nursery, locked the door, sat down 
 near the fire, and lifting the lid, poured out the 
 contents on the floor beside her. A strange medley ! 
 There were all Gerard's letters, tied up in various 
 packets, from the child's scrawl to his u deer efe," to 
 the last week's note to " My own little woman," from 
 her u ever-loving Gay." There were scraps of drawing, 
 from rough childish attempts, to finished artistic 
 sketches. There were bits of twine, balls, tops, 
 lollypops — the offerings of the baby lover; and there 
 were trifling articles of jewellery, gloves, handker- 
 chiefs, ribbons i — the presents of the betrothed hus- 
 band. Then there were other secret relics — pencils he 
 had drawn with, knives he had worn out, neckties he 
 had thrown away. For eight years everything that 
 Gerard's hand had touched or his eyes rested upon — 
 if it were attainable, and not too large — had been 
 treasured in this box. One by one, Etlie looked at 
 every article in her hoard, recalling when and why 
 it had been laid by. When only the letters remained, 
 she separated the trinkets from the other things, and 
 wrapped them up in paper. The rest she gathered 
 in her hands, and threw on to the fire, watching the 
 flame till all was consumed. After that, she returned 
 to the letters, read through each one, and then put
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 221 
 
 it on the fire. When the last was burnt, she took 
 up the empty box and the paper packet, and left 
 the room with them. At the door she met the 
 children, returning from spending the day at Mrs. 
 Butterfield's. 
 
 " Here, Davie," said Effie. " Here is a nice box 
 for your playthings." 
 
 The little fellow ran gleefully into the nursery 
 with his acquisition. Effie thought of the day when 
 she had hunted out the old box in the lumber-room 
 at Pixycombe, and had appropriated it for her stores. 
 She went on to her own room, hastily put on her 
 bonnet and cloak, and went out into the fast-gather- 
 ing darkness. 
 
 She walked rapidly up the lane beside the house, 
 and crossed the stile into the Steadham fields. As 
 she walked along the margin of one pond, looking 
 earnestly into its depths, and then started off again, 
 and almost ran over the brow of the hill to the 
 margin of another pond, any looker-on might natu- 
 rally have suspected her of suicidal intentions. But 
 there was no looker-on, and Effie was not bent on 
 self-destruction — though she was bent upon the 
 destruction of every relic of her former self. She 
 could never tell why the first pond did not suit her 
 purpose — perhaps it was that she wanted to put off 
 the moment of parting with her treasures. However 
 that may have been, when she reached the second
 
 222 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 pond she no longer delayed, but threw the packet 
 with all her force into the water. There was a little 
 splash, and then she turned and ran home, faster 
 than she had ever run before. In the hall she met 
 Jessie. 
 
 " I am so glad you have come in," Jessie exclaimed. 
 " I could not think what kept you out so late. And 
 you have had nothing to eat since breakfast." 
 
 " I suppose it is nearly dinner-time now ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Jessie, in a tone of such un- 
 wonted tenderness that Effie winced. She must 
 show Jessie and Harold that she need not be treated 
 as an object of pity. 
 
 " I must be quick," she cried, and bounded gaily 
 upstairs. 
 
 She was quick, appearing, in a few minutes, in her 
 most becoming costume, and with her most lively air. 
 She kept up her part bravely all the evening — failing 
 only by overdoing it. Jessie, whose idea of grief 
 consisted in sobs and wailing, and a withdrawal from 
 the ordinary affairs of life, was completely bewildered. 
 Harold, who noticed what Jessie did not — the food 
 sent away un tasted, and the frequent nervous start — 
 trembled for the energies which were being so hardly 
 taxed. He was verv glad when bed-time came — a 
 time which Eflie had tried to delay by every means 
 in her power. When she shut her bedroom door 
 she felt that the dreaded moment of thinking had
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 223 
 
 now come. No, she could put it off a little longer. 
 Vigorously she brushed her hair, put her drawers in 
 order, arranged her clothes for the next day. But at 
 last she could find no more to do, and she was lying 
 still, in the dark. And so she lay till morning — 
 reviewing, over and over again, the events of the day 
 and of the last few weeks. Again she went through 
 the parting scene with Gerard ; saw his miserable, 
 remorseful face ; heard his low, heartbroken tones. 
 Again the strange sound of her own voice rang in 
 her ears, and her words sounded hard and bitter. 
 She remembered with surprise and regret how calmly 
 and coldly she had spoken, and how unfriendly it 
 must have seemed to him that she had not once 
 called him by his name. In the stillness of the 
 night she said that dear name to herself again and 
 again, as though to make amends for having shunned 
 the use of it before. Then there came to her mind, 
 unbidden, scenes of her childhood, in which Gerard 
 had played the chief part — scenes of her opening 
 womanhood, in which some careless word of his had 
 filled her heart with joy — scenes of the last two years 
 in which he had claimed, and she had given him, a 
 proud proprietorship in all belonging to her. She 
 rose the next morning wan and weary, but with 
 unabated spirit, fighting off the slightest attempt at 
 consolation, and tacitly demanding to be looked upon 
 as perfectly happy.
 
 224 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 So the days went on till Thursday came. Harold 
 had hoped that Effie would give in before that ; but 
 Effie had no thought of giving in. She had prepared 
 her dress for that occasion with unusual care, and for 
 the first time in her life she begged for Hannah's 
 assistance at her toilette. Jessie gave up her maid 
 with perfect good-nature, and only laughed at 
 Harold's awkwardness in supplying her place. Erne's 
 face was quite pale and her hand burning when 
 Harold put her into the carriage ; but before they 
 reached Mr. Welford's house in Harlev Street she had 
 talked a bright flush into her cheeks. The flush 
 became brighter still as, in going upstairs, the thought 
 came into her mind how she could bear it if Clara 
 had a very triumphant air, and Gerard were evidently 
 her acknowledged lover. 
 
 Clara looked anything but triumphant, however. 
 She was pale and thoughtful — giving a languid 
 attentiou to the conversation of a fair young man 
 who bent over her. She became a little more 
 animated as she greeted Effie, and reintroduced to 
 her a bright, handsome young fellow, who then came 
 up, as " my brother Harry." Gerard was not in the 
 room, and Effie soon began partly to fear, and partly 
 to hope, that he had broken his promise to h« 
 When a stout " Mr. Swann " had made his entrance 
 with ostentatious hurry, Mr. Welibrd observed, " My 
 dear, I think we must not wait any longer for Yonge
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 225 
 
 — most likely some mistake ;" and the order to "serve 
 up" was given. "With the announcement of the 
 dinner came Gerard, making humble apologies for 
 his unpunctuality, but not at all with his usual gay 
 volubility. Effie saw at once that he looked pale 
 and grave. Without any more delay, the master of 
 the house dispossessed the fair man — Mr. Lamb — 
 and Gerard took his place — producing an immediate 
 change in Clara's countenance. Poor Mr. Lamb was 
 degraded to the younger sister, Kate. Harry offered 
 his arm to Effie, and the party proceeded to the 
 dining-room. 
 
 At table Effie was placed exactly opposite Clara, 
 who had Gerard on her right hand. The painful 
 nature of her position developed a hitherto untried 
 power. She flirted with Harry Monro till he began 
 rapidly to follow in his brother George's footsteps ; 
 and she drew out Mr. Lamb with such success that 
 he ceased to regret the beauty who had been so 
 ruthlessly snatched from him. Gerard was astounded. 
 He could hardly recognise the quiet, shy girl — with 
 talents that were never done justice to by her words 
 or her manner — in this animated, bright-eyed little 
 woman, who never ceased talking and laughing, and. 
 who seemed bent upon winning the hearts of the 
 two men beside her. Erne's end of the table mono- 
 polised the conversation. Mr. Swann was quite 
 engrossed with the entertainment of his hostess, the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 TONIC BITTEI 
 
 duties of carving, and the necessity of providing for 
 his own support. Clara, therefore, was free to i_ r ive 
 her whole attention to Gerard ; but Gerard did not 
 seem disposed to claim any attention from her. Poor 
 Kate, also, who sat on Gerard's other side, made 
 vain demands upon him, whom she had usually 
 found so ready to laugh and talk with her. The 
 unfortunate young man seemed completely crush- 
 by the miserable awkwardness of his positioD. Effie 
 saw it all, and her heart ached for him. Once she 
 caught hi3 eye — fixed on her with a sad, almost 
 gloomy expression — and then she smiled and bowed > 
 in friendly recognition. He did not attempt to smile 
 in return, but inclined his head gravely, and then 
 bent his face lower and lower, until Effie feared that 
 he was about to bury it in his plate. She felt almost 
 angry with him for his childish want of self-command. 
 That dinner seemed drawn out far beyond the 
 usual weary length of dinners; but at last Mrs. 
 Welford looked at Jessie and smiled, and Jessie 
 bowed and beamed, and the M order of release " had 
 come. There was half an hour of comparative nonce 
 in talking to Kate and the young Welfords, and 
 • then the gentlemen came. Gerard was the last, and 
 before he appeared Harry had found out Effie 
 amongst her young companions, and 31 r. Lamb had 
 fastened upon Clara. Gerard looked at the various 
 grouj)S, but. instead of joining either, took a book of
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 227 
 
 engravings from the table, and pretended to be 
 absorbed in its contents. Clara sang, but still he did 
 not move, nor even appear to listen. Then Harry 
 sang, Kate playing the accompaniment, and the 
 young Welfords having gone to bed, Effie was left 
 alone. She was just making up her mind to move 
 to Mrs. Welford's side, when Gerard laid down his 
 book and came towards her. 
 
 M I heard you say Harold was not well," he said, 
 abruptly, standing by her side. "He is not really 
 unwell, is he ?" 
 
 " No — only he — he has been a good deal worried — 
 
 at least " she wished that word " worried ' : had 
 
 not slipped out. 
 
 " I understand," said Gerard, sadly. 
 
 Neither spoke again, but he did not move away. 
 When Harry had finished his song he returned to 
 his seat by Erne, and then he and Gerard entered 
 into conversation about old Eton friends and pranks 
 in Norfolk. 
 
 At last Jessie moved to leave. Mr. Welford 
 escorted her to the carriage, and Effie followed with 
 Harry. They had taken leave of Gerard in the 
 drawing-room with the others, but he came down the 
 stairs after them. As Harry put on Erne's cloak she 
 could see Gerard's tall form in the background. 
 When the carriage drove off, he was on the doorsteps, 
 and when Mr. Welford and Harry had made their
 
 228 TOXIC BITTEB& 
 
 parting salutation, a hoarse voice, which Effie recog- 
 nised, though Jessie did not, cried out, " Good- 
 night." 
 
 It was over ; and now there was nothing but her 
 pride to keep Effie from utterly breaking down.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Pride will serve tolerably well for a support so long 
 as it is bolstered up by the excitement of feeling 
 which always follows any severe shock, and which, for 
 a time, prevents the sufferer from realising the full 
 force of the blow which has been received. This 
 Effie experienced. But when the excitement had 
 passed away, her sustaining pride was gone too. She 
 then felt the need of some external excitement. Had 
 she been of a frivolous nature, she would have sought 
 the distraction of so-called " gaiety," — but such 
 distraction had no charms for her. She required 
 more of a mental stimulus, and this she sought in 
 hard study. Greek with Mrs. Mortlake — German 
 with Miss Sarah Butterfield — Perspective lessons with 
 Harold. These were the employments with which 
 she endeavoured so to fill up her time that no room 
 might be left for thought. Thus she passed her 
 days, and thus she laboured on — long after others 
 were asleep — striving to tire herself out that she
 
 230 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 might escape those nights of miserable wakefulness, 
 and more miserable dreams, which were the worst 
 part of her trouble. 
 
 But this ill-advised mode of meeting sorrow could 
 not be persisted in for long. One day little Davie 
 ran away from his lessons, in open-eyed amazement, 
 to tell his papa that Auntie was crying. 
 
 Harold followed the child back, and found Effie 
 sobbing convulsively. 
 
 "How stupid I am!" she gasped out. "Davie's 
 sum puzzled me, and so I — I began to cry, like a 
 great baby. You should not — have to — old of me — 
 Da — vie." 
 
 Harold sat down beside her, and took her hand 
 tenderly. 
 
 " You have overworked yourself, darling," he said. 
 " I — I don't think I am very well," returned Effie. 
 " My head aches. Per — haps I had better lie down 
 a little." 
 
 She got up and left the room ; and Harold took 
 the opportunity of inculcating on his little son 
 extreme tenderness to " poor Auntie." 
 
 His exertions in Effie's favour did not stop here. 
 He immediately walked up the hill to Mr. Rogers' ; 
 and that evening Effie was surprised by a visit from 
 the doctor, who pronounced that she was in a very 
 critical state ; that the nerves had evidently received 
 some severe strain ; and that she must have imme-
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 231 
 
 diate and complete change of scene. Again Harold 
 took his hat, and walked up the hill, but this time 
 only as far as Mr. Samuel Butterfield's. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Butterfield, sitting over their dessert, were almost 
 as much surprised to see their usually unsociable 
 neighbour enter as Jessie had been to see her hus- 
 band go out without saying where he was going. 
 
 " And when do you start for Switzerland ?" asked 
 Harold, coming to the object of his visit, after a few 
 preliminary civilities. 
 
 "Xext Tuesday, if Samuel can get away then," 
 returned his hostess. 
 
 " You do not intend to take any of the young 
 people with you, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Oh dear no. Samuel cannot endure being 
 troubled with the children, and I have enough to do 
 to look after him. Emily Butterfield is going with 
 us. And I wish we could find some young man to be 
 a beau for her. You don't know any one, do you, 
 Mr. Yonge ? Your brother is not thinking of taking 
 a holiday, I suppose ? I believe he is away some- 
 where now, is he not ? I have not seen him with 
 you lately." 
 
 " No, he is not away," replied Harold, absently. 
 "Would a lady companion be of any use to Miss 
 Butterfield ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, if you know of any nice girl who would 
 like to go with us. We should be very glad of
 
 232 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 another young lady, should we not, Samuel ? Emily 
 is rather dull company." 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, Mrs. Butterfield, I 
 came to ask you a great favour. My sister Etlie is 
 not well — she has been overworking herself with all 
 sorts of abstruse studies, and Rogers says she wants a 
 complete change." 
 
 " And you will let her go with us," cried Mrs. 
 Butterfield. u Nothing could be pleasanter ! We 
 shall be delighted to have Miss Garnock, shall we 
 not, Samuel ? It will be such a nice thing for 
 Emily. I always think it is a great drawback to the 
 pleasure of travelling for a girl, the having to sleep 
 alone at inns — I am sure I should not like it at all. 
 I dare say Miss Garnock won't mind sleeping with 
 Emily. In fact, I have no doubt she would rather — 
 for I suppose she is as little used to travelling as 
 Emily is." 
 
 " She has never travelled at all. So everything 
 will be quite new to her — and that is just what she 
 wants." 
 
 " I am so sorry to hear she is not well. I have 
 thought her looking ill for some weeks. No little 
 heart affair, eh, Mr. Yonge ? Young ladies will fall 
 into such troubles sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, Efrle is too busy for anything of that sort," 
 said Harold, turning very red, for he was little used 
 to indulge in untruths.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 233 
 
 " We will take every possible care of her," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Butterfield, seeing at once from Harold's 
 manner that her surmise was right. " We shall soon 
 effect a cure. That was just my case when I first 
 met Samuel ; and we were married in less than six 
 months. I shall be delighted with the charge, Mr. 
 Yonge." 
 
 So it was settled that Erne should go to Switzer- 
 land with the Bntterfields. She made no opposition 
 to the plan, being most anxious to shake off an illness 
 for which Gerard was certain to be blamed. Harold 
 made all the necessary arrangements for her journey, 
 and Hannah packed up her clothes ; and then, at five 
 o'clock one bright June morning, she walked wearily 
 down the garden, leaning on Harold's arm, and took 
 the vacant seat in the Bntterfields' carriage. As they 
 drove off, Effie could hardly have told what their 
 destination was, and she did not care to know. Mrs. 
 Butterfield talked for all the party. Mr. Butterfield 
 was taciturn, as usual, and his sister was sleepy. In 
 the narrow part of Holborn the carriage was stopped 
 by some heavy waggons ; and as Effie looked listlessly 
 from the window her eyes fell on Gerard, standing on 
 the pavement, just parting from another young man. 
 As his friend walked off, he raised his head and 
 looked straight at Effie, whose eyes were still fixed 
 upon him. He started forward, but suddenly checked 
 himself, and stood motionless, looking very pale in
 
 234 tonic bitte; 
 
 the morning light. Erne seemed fascinated — she 
 could neither turn away her face, nor make any sign 
 of recognition. When the carriage at last moved 
 on, Gerard was still standing in the same spot. 
 
 The impression of him remained on Effie's mind, 
 older, thinner, graver, and more careworn than he 
 used to look, and with a disorderly, rakish air, very 
 new in him — which it was to be hoped might have 
 been caused by the unsuitableness of his evening 
 dress to the daylight hours. 
 
 Effie's state of mind after this meeting was very 
 peculiar. Ever since she parted from Gerard she 
 had been dreading such a meeting ; and yet now she 
 experienced nothing but a kind of dull curiosity as to 
 his feelings. It seemed as though her mind had 
 become incapable of emotions. And so it continued 
 throughout the journey. She had childish sensations 
 of amusement and pleasure at all the novel sights and 
 sounds of a foreign land — but that was all — nothing 
 had power to rouse her mind, or to make her heart 
 beat faster. 
 
 A week after leaving home, the party was com- 
 fortably established in the Schweizerhof at Lucerne, 
 which was to be their head-quarters for some time. 
 The second day after their arrival, Mr. Butterfield, 
 who had strolled out after breakfast, returned to say 
 that he was told it would be a beautiful day for the 
 ascent of the Rigi, and that he had been persuaded
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 235 
 
 to engage horses. Mrs. Butterfield declined attempt- 
 ing the expedition, but the two girls were quite ready ; 
 and they were soon steaming along the lake, with a 
 cold wind blowing in their faces, and heavy clouds 
 closing them in on every side. 
 
 "These people are all swindlers, I believe," said 
 Mr. Butterfield, as he gloomily paced the deck, 
 wrapped in all the overcoats he could muster. " The 
 idea of calling this a beautiful day ! However, I am 
 not to pay for the horses unless it is fine. You 
 understand that ?" turning to the proprietor of the 
 horses, who bowed and grinned, in utter ignorance of 
 what was said. 
 
 " Vous comprendre je ne payer pour les chevals, si 
 
 vous ne — ne ■ Tell him, Emily, that' I will not pay 
 
 for the horses if it is not fine." 
 
 "Nous ne voulons pas payer les chevaux s'il ne 
 sera pas beau " 
 
 " S'il ne fera pas beau temps ! Tres bien, madame 
 — ganz wohl — ver goot. You not pay when it 
 makes bad time — Das versteht sich — dat untershtant 
 itself." 
 
 Mr. Butterfield received some satisfaction from this 
 medley of language ; and when they reached the 
 landing-place, where the ascent was to commence, he 
 quietly submitted to disembark, and to mount on 
 horseback, in spite of the threatening clouds. In 
 half an hour they were in these clouds, and in
 
 236 TONIC BITTEl . 
 
 another half-hour they emerged into the most lovely 
 summer's day, with the clouds lying like a snowdrift 
 below them. Even Mr. Butterfield broke out into 
 enthusiasm, and Effie had a sensation as though the 
 weight which had lain so long upon her heart and 
 her brain were being lifted from them. She could 
 not speak, but when they reached the halting-place 
 at the summit she wandered away from the others, 
 and seated herself in a solitary nook, where she could 
 gaze undisturbed on the wonderful sight. As she 
 feasted her eyes on the line of pure glistening 
 summits which rose so majestically out of the soft 
 white bed below, the idea of Eternity seemed for 
 the first time to enter into her mind, and all earthly 
 cares and griefs melted away before it, as the patches 
 of snow at her feet were melting in the mid-day sun. 
 She thought nothing could ever again disturb the 
 deep peace which had fallen upon her ; but the sound 
 of footsteps made her anticipate with sudden irritation 
 Mr. Butterfield's cold patronage of Nature, and 
 Emily's commonplace rhapsodies. The footsteps ap- 
 proached, and suddenly a young man appeared, 
 climbing the hill just beneath where Effie sat. At 
 the first glance she recognized George Monro. Ho 
 recognized her also, and sprang to her side, with the 
 joyful exclamation, " Effie !" It was the first time 
 he had ever called her by her Christian name, but it 
 sounded very natural and home-like, and his evident
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 237 
 
 delight at seeing her was a welcome flattery to her so 
 lately wounded self-love. 
 
 "I am so very glad to see you, Mr. Monro,'' she 
 said, warmly ; and George looked intensely gratified. 
 
 " Are Mr. and Mrs. Yonsje here ?" he asked. " And 
 — and — Gerard ?" he added, hastily, punishing him- 
 self for a momentary forgetfulness of Gerard's 
 existence. 
 
 " Xo ; I am travelling with Mr. and Mrs. Samuel 
 Butterfield. You know them, I think ?'' 
 
 u Slightly. How little I thought, as I toiled up 
 that hill, what a pleasure awaited me at the top !" 
 
 " If it is the first time you have been up, you could 
 hardly have known the pleasure in store for you in 
 this magnificent view. At least I could never have 
 imagined anything so beautiful — but you have seen 
 so much, and these are my first snow mountains." 
 
 " It is wonderful," said George ; " but at present I 
 have no eyes even for the Alps." 
 
 He certainly had no eyes for anything but Effie. 
 Two months ago she would have been embarrassed 
 by his earnest gaze, but now she was only excited, 
 and began to talk fluently of all they had seen and 
 done since they left England. When she and 
 George had joined the Butterfield s, and they were all 
 descending the mountain, she could hardly believe 
 that she was the same person who had ascended into 
 the clouds three hours before. It seemed as though
 
 238 TONIC BITTER8. 
 
 in mounting to the Rigi Kulm she had got above all 
 the mists which had so long darkened her mind, y 
 as she had got above the actual mists which lay near 
 the base of the mountain. Passing again through 
 these clouds, Effie half dreaded the return of her 
 mental clouds ; but she found that in George's earnest 
 tenderness she had brought down the sunshine with 
 her. 
 
 " Well, Samuel, I hope it is all right," said 
 Mrs. Butterfield to her husband, in their bedroom 
 that night ; a but we have certainlv run against 
 Effie's swain. Did you ever see a girl so changed ? 
 Why, she went away this morning pale and dull, 
 and this evening she is as rosy and almost as hand- 
 some as her sister, and so witty and full of talk." 
 
 Effie, in her room, was hardly less struck with the 
 change in herself. Instead of the listless apathy, or 
 the studied avoidance of thought, with which she 
 usually began and ended the day, she was now 
 dwelling on scenes which George had described, or 
 working out ideas which he had suggested. 
 
 When this had continued for some days she began 
 to ask herself, was it possible that she could be 
 faithless to the love of her whole life ? She might 
 have found an answer to the question in the fact that 
 what most impelled her to this unusual animation 
 was the idea, " What will he think of Gerard if I let 
 him suspect that I am unhappy ?"
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 239 
 
 At first George, for his own safety, asked frequent 
 questions about Gerard — questions which implied, 
 though they did not actually express, his knowledge 
 of EfnVs engagement. EfBe parried these painful 
 thrusts for some time ; but at last she summoned 
 courage, and said, " Mr. Monro, I know that Gerard 
 told you that we — how we stood towards each other 
 — that is not the case now. We found it better — we 
 thought — that is, we found we were not suited to 
 each other." 
 
 She was sitting opposite to George in a little boat 
 when she said this. He was rowing her to catch the 
 steamboat, for a distance which the others preferred 
 to walk. He had been resting on his oars, cooling 
 his hot face, but her words made his face turn from 
 red to ghastly pale. He fixed his eyes on her for a 
 few minutes, and then bowed his head between his 
 knees. When he raised it again his eyes were 
 glowing with ill-concealed rapture. 
 
 "God forgive me !" he murmured. Then to EfBe, 
 " Is Gerard very unhappy ?" 
 
 Poor Erne ! " No," she stammered. " Oh no ; I 
 think not. We were — it was — our engagement was 
 broken off — because we thought he would — that we 
 should be — happier — apart." 
 
 George asked no more questions. But the glow 
 died out of his eyes. There was that in Efrie's face 
 which told him that there was no hope for him in the
 
 240 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 rupture with Gerard. From that moment he ha«l 
 the clue to Erne's high spirits ; and "whilst even' 
 lively sally of hers touched him to the heart, he did 
 all in his power to draw out her newly-awakened 
 talents, and to supply food for her now voracious 
 mind. George Monro had that rare quality, an 
 almost intuitive knowledge of character ; and the little 
 light he had gained sufficed to show him that what 
 the Butterfields mistook for feeling in Effie was 
 nothing but mental excitement, and that this ex- 
 citement was caused by her feelings having sustained 
 a paralysing shock. Had George been less acute, 
 Effie would have had much to answer for. As it 
 was, she was laying herself justly open to the charge 
 of flirting. That ugly word never crossed her mind ; 
 but had she formerly seen any other girl acting as 
 she was acting now, she would undoubtedly have 
 applied it to her. But in the uprooting of her own 
 affections all the natural girlish ideas of love and 
 flirting had gone too. These words were henceforth 
 to have no place in her vocabulary. There was an 
 indescribable charm in the reawakening of her mind 
 after its protracted sleep ; and in the first flush of 
 delight at finding any pleasure, when she had only 
 looked for a life of dull endurance, she began to 
 think that intellectual pleasures were, after all, the 
 only pleasures worth living for. So George's society 
 became her all in all, because his society kept her
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 241 
 
 mind in full work ; and she never feared to show her 
 enjoyment of his conversation, because she could not 
 conceive the possibility of any tender feeling towards 
 himself. 
 
 If she had ever doubted her own constancy, she 
 must have been undeceived one morning, when, as 
 she passed through the hall to the salle-a-manger, a 
 waiter placed in her hand a letter addressed in the 
 well-known characters which she had never seen 
 without emotion. " Voici, Mademoiselle, 'ere is une 
 lettre for the Monsieur," said the man. It was for 
 George, and Effie had to give it to him with what 
 composure she could muster, before she took the seat 
 left for her by his side. George could not summon 
 courage to open this letter in this position, so he 
 put it in his pocket to read under more favourable 
 circumstances. Gerard wrote : 
 
 « Berners Street, July 12th. 
 
 " My dear George, 
 
 " I was very glad to have news of you at last, 
 though some things in your letter made it a bitter 
 pill to swallow. What a villain I felt when I read 
 your account of meeting Effie, and your kind thought 
 that I should like to hear all about her ! Well — so 
 far you were right. I do like to hear all about her, 
 and you are the only person from whom I have a 
 chance of hearing anything, now. What will you 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 • 
 
 242 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 think of me when I tell you that all is over between 
 us, and that it is my fault that it is over? I know 
 that if you should hear anything of this from Effie, 
 you will not hear the truth — which she is much too 
 generous to tell. She has behaved nobly throughout. 
 Harold would tell you — and I tell you myself — that I 
 have behaved like a scoundrel. Harold disowns me 
 for his brother, and I am never to see him, or his 
 wife, or Effie again. I must tell you the whole truth, 
 which is, that I made a fool of myself about your 
 sister when she was staying with the Welfords, and 
 Harold found it out, and he and Effie cast me off. 
 Effie did it as kindly as possible, but Harold's scorn 
 was so terrible that I still shudder when I think of 
 it. I suppose it is not more than all good men would 
 feel. My only excuse is in Clara's magnificent 
 beauty, and irresistible charm of manner. However, 
 that is no excuse for broken faith. I am inexcusable, 
 I know, and I quite expect you to tell me so ; but 
 whatever hard words you may write to me in answer 
 to this, I shall remain ever 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "G. A. Yonge." 
 
 George was very glad that he had not read this 
 letter before Effie. It was a great blow to him. He 
 had suspected that Gerard had in some measure 
 proved unworthy of Effie, but to learn that his sister
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 243 
 
 had been, however innocently, the cause of that un- 
 worthiness was a most painful surprise. Clara had 
 frequently mentioned Gerard in her letters to her 
 brother ; but George, knowing Gerard to be engaged, 
 never imagined that his sister had not the same 
 knowledge. He now referred to these letters, and he 
 found, now his eyes were opened, that there was 
 much in them to awaken suspicion, both as to 
 Gerard's conduct towards Clara, and to Clara's feel- 
 ings towards Gerard. 
 
 When George appeared at luncheon, after a morn- 
 ing spent in wandering about, vainly seeking to calm 
 his agitated feelings, Effie read at once in his face 
 that Gerard's letter had contained something more 
 than friendly gossip ; and she immediately concluded 
 that it was a declaration of his love for Clara. That 
 afternoon she contrived to separate herself, with 
 George, from the rest of the party, in the hope that 
 he might tell her what he had heard. But George 
 could not trust himself to speak on this subject, nor 
 could he force himself to speak much on any other. 
 Effie felt angry with him for not telling her what she 
 dreaded to know, but dreaded still more to be spared 
 the knowledge of. When their walk together was 
 nearly over, and nothing had been said, she could 
 bear the suspense no longer, but asked, desperately, 
 " Did Gerard tell you any news ? I saw you had a 
 letter from him this morning."
 
 244 TONIC BTTTEES. 
 
 "No — no news." There was a pause. Then an 
 irresistible impulse came over George. The love and 
 indignation which had been smouldering all the 
 morning burst into a sudden flame. He caught 
 Effie's hand, and in a deep, passionate tone, ex- 
 claimed, " Yes, Effie, he did tell me news — news that 
 I would not have believed from any one but himself — 
 that he is not worthy of friendship or esteem." 
 
 Poor George ! That one outburst had undone the 
 work of weeks — even of years. 
 
 "And what right have you to believe even himself 
 in this matter ?" cried Effie, vehemently. 
 
 " What right ?" repeated George, astounded. 
 
 " Yes, what right ? What right has any one to say 
 he is not worthy of esteem and of love ? Mr. Monro, 
 how dare you call yourself his friend, and speak in 
 that way ? A friend is a friend for ever, and does not 
 change for every little error or weakness. When a 
 man has committed a fault he has all the more need 
 of a true friend to comfort him. Gerard's was not a 
 fault — only a mistake ; but if every one is so hard 
 upon him they will drive him to something worse. 
 No true friend would do that. If vou are hard 
 upon him now, your friendship was never worth the 
 name. I should scorn such friendship. I will be his 
 friend always — his friends shall be my friends, and 
 his enemies my enemies." After this speech Effie 
 walked rapidly into the hotel, which they had just
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 245 
 
 reached, and flew to her own room, where she sank 
 sobbing on the bed. When she saw George again 
 she said, humbly, " Mr. Monro, I am afraid I was 
 very rude and violent just now. Forgive me. But," 
 she added, " I mean what I said." 
 
 She lay awake all that night, pleading Gerard's 
 cause before the whole world, and vowing again and 
 again that the more he was disgraced with others, 
 the more she would exalt him, even if she should 
 never see him again. 
 
 So George's words had had the double effect of 
 upsetting his own growing power with Effie, and of 
 setting Gerard more firmly on his throne.
 
 246 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 All George's pleasure at Lucerne was now at an 
 end. Effie no longer seemed to enjoy his society. 
 Her manner towards him was constrained, and all 
 her animation was gone. He was uneasy also about 
 his sister, and puzzled how to act with regard to 
 Gerard. With Effie's words, "His enemies are my 
 enemies," ringing in his ears, he could not answer 
 Gerard's letter as his indignation prompted him ; but 
 it was impossible for him to write in a friendly tone, 
 feeling as he did. Gerard's success with Effie had 
 never damped George's love for him, but now that 
 love seemed turned to hatred. The idea of his sister 
 marrying his former friend was utterly repugnant to 
 him ; and his fears on this head grew so importunate 
 that he determined to go at once to Euglaud. Not a 
 word more was said about Gerard ; but Effie felt sure 
 that this sudden return to England had some re- 
 ference to him and Clara. 
 
 The Monros were staying at Richmond ; but
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 247 
 
 George on his arrival in London drove at once to 
 Berners Street. Gerard was in his studio. 
 
 " George ! Old boy, how glad I am — " he stopped, 
 and his face fell, as George looked gravely at him. 
 " Ah ! You are against me, too. I thought it would 
 be so. But shake hands, at any rate," he added, 
 after a pause. u We have not met for such a long 
 time." They shook hands warmly, and then Gerard 
 went on, "Now, tell me where you have sprung 
 from." 
 
 " From the London Bridge Station just now, and 
 before that, from Paris." 
 
 " Then you are ready for food — what will you 
 have ?" 
 
 " Nothing here." 
 
 " That means that you will not be my guest," said 
 Gerard, reproachfully. 
 
 " It means that I had luncheon at Folkestone, and 
 hope to dine at Richmond/ 5 
 
 " Have you come home for good ?" 
 
 " I don't know — I am not sure," answered George, 
 abstractedly. " Are you ever going to sit down, 
 Gerard?" he asked after a pause, during which 
 Gerard had been nervously fidgeting about. 
 
 Gerard sat down without speaking, and waited 
 with a most uneasy air for George's next words. 
 
 George continued. " I do not wish to interfere in 
 your private affairs, or to enter upon anything that is
 
 248 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 past. But I have come now from Switzerland to 
 know what course you are pursuing, or intend to 
 pursue, towards Clara." 
 
 Gerard remained silent for some time, with his 
 eyes fixed on a pencil with which he was playing. 
 At last he looked George boldly in the face : u I 
 intend to marry her, if she will have me." 
 
 " You have not yet asked her, then ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Does she know of your former engagement ?" 
 
 Gerard cast his eyes down again, and said, falter- 
 ingly, " I don't know.'' 
 
 " You would tell her, I presume, before engaging 
 yourself to her ?" 
 
 " Yes, I should," cried Gerard, with renewed confi- 
 dence. " I see you think me a villainous fellow, 
 George ; but I am not so bad as all that. AVhen I 
 ask Clara to be my wife I shall tell her how much 
 she will have to overlook." 
 
 " And you think she will overlook it ?" 
 
 Gerard jumped up, and walked across the room. 
 M You think not?" he asked, returning, and standing 
 in front of George. 
 
 "J could not. I could not love any man or 
 woman who had forfeited my respect. And I believe 
 that Clara and I are very much alike." 
 
 "Well, then, that will be the last drop." said 
 Gerard, bitterly. u And then there will be nothing
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 249 
 
 left for me but to hang or drown myself." After a 
 long silence, he went on, in a low, sad voice, " I must 
 try, at any rate ; it is my only hope. I will tell you 
 frankly, George, when first Effie cast me off I had 
 no thought of turning to Clara. But since that I 
 have been so miserable — have felt such an utter 
 Pariah — that I was driven to look for comfort some- 
 where ; and it is a comfort to be with any one who 
 does not tell me that I have ' forfeited her respect,' 
 or call me by such pleasant names as ' cold-blooded 
 villain,' and ' scoundrel.' " 
 
 " I should not think there could be much comfort 
 in ' respect' which is founded on ignorance," remarked 
 George, coldly. 
 
 " You are bitterly severe, George," said Gerard, 
 flushing up, and then growing paler than before. 
 
 George grew agitated now. He also got up, and 
 began to pace the room. 
 
 " Gerard," he said, earnestly, stopping after two or 
 three turns, and standing by the table, where the other 
 was now sitting — "when we first became friends at 
 Eton, and had, by mutual consent, cast off the school- 
 boy shyness of talking of home, you used to tell, me 
 of your adopted father and sisters. You taught me to 
 love the reverend old man, and, later, you taught me to 
 love his youngest daughter. When I became personally 
 acquainted with Effie Garnock that love was changed 
 from a boyish fancy into a reality, to last my lifetime.
 
 250 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 I never feared that our interests would clash, for you 
 had always told me that you loved Effie only as a sister. 
 Even when I learnt from your own lips that you were 
 engaged to her. I did not feel that our friendship was 
 necessarily at an end. For nearly two years I have 
 stayed away from all that I care for, tutoring myself to 
 meet Effie as your wife — to love you enough, and not 
 to love her too much. I thought I had succeeded in 
 this ; and was on my way home, prepared if necessary 
 to be ' best man ' at your wedding, when I met Miss 
 Garnock on the Righi. I had not been with her 
 half an hour before I saw that something had 
 changed her. Not that she was dull or melancholy," 
 he cried, with sudden fierceness — " on the contrary, 
 she was more animated, and seemed happier than I 
 had ever seen her. She told me that all was over 
 between you — but your own letter first told me how 
 it was over. What should you feel towards a man 
 who stole from you the thing you valued most in 
 the world, and then threw it aside with contempt ?" 
 
 " Contempt !" echoed Gerard. " I ! Contempt 
 towards Effie !" 
 
 " It appears like it," said George, coldly. " I ask 
 again, what should you feel ?" 
 
 "Hatred, I suppose— as you do," replied Gerard. 
 u You had better say it out frankly, as Harold did." 
 
 There was a long silence, and then Gerard said, 
 bitterly, " And you think Clara will hate me also?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 251 
 
 u I hope she may not love you," answered George, 
 with terrible directness. " I will tell you frankly, 
 Gerard, few things would be a greater grief to me 
 than for Clara to marry you." 
 
 " If Clara should happen to be more merciful to 
 me than you are, I shall have to cause you that grief." 
 
 " And you have reason to think Clara will be more 
 merciful ?" 
 
 "No — no — I don't know," said Gerard, doubtfully. 
 " I never knew I was such a bad fellow as you and 
 Harold think me ; and perhaps I am also a coxcomb, 
 without knowing it." 
 
 There was a long silence, during which Gerard 
 leant his head upon his hand, and fixed his eyes on 
 the floor. He looked up at last, and said, " I cannot 
 give up Clara to please you, George. You do not 
 know how hard it is to be cast off by all the people one 
 cares for. I am like a drowning wretch clinging to 
 a spar, and Clara is the spar. If you take her from 
 me I must sink." 
 
 " I cannot take her from you, if it is her own will 
 to hold to you." 
 
 " But you will try to influence her will ?" 
 
 "I will not mention you to her, if you will promise 
 to tell her yourself of your engagement to — to Miss 
 Garnock." 
 
 " Very well," said Gerard, in a low tone, after 
 another long pause.
 
 252 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Then that is all ; and it is time for me to be off. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 " Good-bye. I shall come to Richmond to-morrow, 
 and speak to Clara." 
 
 " Would it not be pleasanter to write ?" 
 
 " No. Clara would consult you in that case, and 
 you have declared yourself my enemy." 
 
 " An enemy to your errors — a friend to yourself." 
 
 "Save me from such friends!" cried Gerard, half 
 in joke, and half in earnest, as he shook George's 
 hand. 
 
 Gerard had had every encouragement to believe 
 that he was sure to be accepted if he should propose 
 to Clara; nevertheless he went to Richmond with 
 anything but the feelings or the manner of a con- 
 fident lover. George was alone in the drawing- 
 room, writing letters. " You will find Clara in the 
 garden," he said, shortly, after the first cool greetings 
 were over. "I suppose what you have to do had 
 better be done at once. My father and mother are 
 out, and you will not be disturbed by any of the 
 children. Clara has promised to go for a row with 
 Ned and me at five o'clock. She has gone to the 
 stables to see Charlie star,t for a ride. If Ned is with 
 her, you can tell him it is time to go for the boat." 
 
 Thus dismissed, Gerard went in search of Clara. 
 He found her, as George had said, in the stable-yard 
 with Ned, playing with two young dogs. It was not
 
 TONIC BITTEBS. 253 
 
 necessary to send Ned away, for he soon got tired 
 of staying, when he found that Clara had lost all 
 interest in the gambols of the puppies, and had no 
 attention to spare for them, or for him. 
 
 " Shall we go in ?" asked Clara, when Ned had 
 walked away. " George is at home, though Papa and 
 Mamma are out." 
 
 "I have seen George," said Gerard, hurriedly. "I 
 want to speak to you alone, Clara. Where can we go ?" 
 
 His voice was very unsteady, and everything danced 
 before his eyes ; but his agitation was nothing to that 
 of Clara, who could hardly speak. 
 
 " Anywhere," she murmured, almost inaudibly. 
 
 So Gerard, hardly knowing what he did, sat 
 down on an empty trough in the yard, and Clara 
 stood trembling and blushing in front of him. Her 
 looks told so plainly what reception his suit would 
 meet with, that it was very hard to have to preface it 
 with anything which might alter those looks; and 
 Gerard, coward as he was, put off the bitter task as 
 long as possible. 
 
 " I think you must know what I am going to 
 say, Clara — and I think you would not let me say it 
 if it were very presumptuous — " He hesitated. Clara 
 raised her glowing eyes for a moment, and looked that 
 it was not presumptuous. There shot through Gerard's 
 mind, almost simultaneously with the thrill caused by 
 the glance of those glorious eyes, a regretful thought or
 
 254 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 how coyly Effie had first responded to his wooing. He 
 had a dissatisfied feeling that Clara was rather too 
 easily won. 
 
 " You do know that I love you, Clara. Will you 
 not let me know that it is not in vain ?" 
 
 " I think you do know that, Gerard," Clara almost 
 whispered, with another eloquent look. 
 
 "Do I?" cried Gerard, rapturously. "May I know 
 that you — that I am anything to you ?" 
 
 Clara kept her eyes veiled by their long lashes, and 
 said nothing. 
 
 " May I know that you care for me, Clara ?" 
 
 Still she only blushed. But the blush said as much 
 as the eyes had said before. 
 
 " May I know that you love me, Clara ?" Gerard 
 repeated, still more eagerly. 
 
 Clara raised her head, and her eyes and her moving 
 lips said, " Yes," but her voice said nothing. It was 
 enough for Gerard, however. 
 
 "Yes!" he cried. " You said * yes !' Y'ou love me, 
 Clara !" 
 
 The eyes and the lips did their work again, and 
 then Gerard remembered his work. 
 
 " God bless you for your love, Clara ! I wish I 
 were worthy of it !" 
 
 That was too vague. Clara evidently only re- 
 garded it as becoming modesty in a lover. He had 
 to try again.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 255 
 
 u I am not worthy of the great treasure of your 
 love, Clara." 
 
 " Are you not ?" she said, archly. 
 
 This was still worse. Should he say no more, and 
 defy George ? The temptation was very great. 
 
 " I am serious, Clara," he said, his better self 
 triumphing, after a short struggle. " This is no mock 
 modesty. It is sober earnest. I am not worthy of 
 you, or of any woman. I am fickle, and false, and 
 dishonourable. My own brother calls me a ' cold- 
 blooded villain,' and George says I have forfeited 
 his respect. Can you love me in spite of all this, 
 Clara?" 
 
 tc Of all what ?" asked Clara, with a frightened look. 
 "I do not understand what you mean. George 
 thinks so highly of you, and I am sure your brother 
 quite idolizes you." 
 
 Gerard winced. Even at this moment, when he 
 had become assured of Clara's love, the loss of 
 Harold's affection came across him with a sharp 
 pang. 
 
 " He did once," he said, sadly. " But that is all 
 over now. I have no friend left but you — if you will 
 still be my friend." 
 
 " Surely, Miss Garnock " 
 
 " Don't speak of her," interrupted Gerard, in great 
 agitation. He felt as if it were treason to Effie for 
 Clara to mention her at this moment.
 
 256 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Clara was silent — looking startled and hurt. 
 Gerard went on, vehemently : 
 
 " Clara ! I loved Elh'e once. I was engaged to 
 her for two years. I was as happy as a man could 
 be till you came to London in February. I saw you 
 two or three times, and then I grew faithless to Effie 
 — faithless to my own word — careless of my own 
 honour. Harold found out my weakness. He — I 
 cannot tell 3 t ou how he spoke to me. Effie put an 
 end to everything between us — she was most generous, 
 and most merciful. George was the only person who 
 knew of our engagement — he knows how it ended. 
 He despises me. Do you, Clara, now you know all 7* 
 
 "I — I cannot — tell. I cannot — say — anything — 
 just now," replied Clara, in a broken voice. 
 
 " You do !" cried Gerard, despairingly. 
 
 " I — I — Let me go — in. I — must — think. All 
 this — is — such — a — dreadful — sho — ock." She began 
 to sob violently, and walked towards the house. 
 Gerard followed in silence, involuntarily comparing 
 Clara's uncontrolled violence with Effie's calm 
 fortitude. At the hall-door she turned. " I — will 
 write," she sobbed out, and then ran upstairs. Gerard 
 remained where she had left him, standing as though 
 stupefied, till George came out of the drawing-room. 
 
 "Did you find Clara?" 
 
 "Yes. She thinks as you do," said Gerard, 
 moodily.
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 257 
 
 " Then it is all over between you ?" cried George, in 
 a joyful tone. 
 
 " No ; it is not," replied Gerard, fiercely. "She 
 has not decided yet. She will write. Good-bye," 
 he added, abruptly. " There is no use in my staying 
 any longer." 
 
 Neither of the former friends offered to shake 
 hands. At the door Gerard turned, and said, "I 
 must have Clara's unbiassed decision." 
 
 " I will do nothing to bias her," replied George. 
 
 Gerard knew in his heart that it would make 
 little difference. He felt sure that he had no chance 
 with Clara. He told himself so all the next day ; 
 but yet when the promised letter came, on the 
 following morning, it seemed an unexpected blow to 
 him. Clara wrote : 
 
 " Richmond, Friday. 
 
 " Dear Gerard, 
 
 " I have come to the conclusion that what 
 passed between us yesterday must be forgotten. I 
 will not attempt to deny that I have loved you ; but 
 I feel certain, that as, by your own confession, you 
 are ' fickle and faithless,' it would not be for the 
 happiness of either of us to become engaged. Having 
 changed once you may change again, and I could 
 never feel sure of your affection. I do not say this 
 as a reproach, although I think it would have been 
 vol. i. s
 
 258 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 more generous to have told me at first, yesterday, 
 what you told me at last. I will try to forgive you 
 the great misery you have caused me, and shall 
 always remain 
 
 " Your sincere Friend, 
 
 " Clara E. Monro." 
 
 Gerard crumpled this note in his hand as soon as 
 he had glanced through it, and stamped with indig- 
 nation. " This is not her own," he muttered. " It 
 has been dictated to her." 
 
 In ten minutes he was on his way to Richmond. 
 He met George in the garden. 
 
 " I must see Clara," he said, abruptly. 
 
 u You cannot. She is in her own room," answered 
 George, as coldly and shortly as the other had spoken. 
 
 w I shall not leave here until I have seen her. I 
 must hear her own lips repeat what she has written." 
 
 George's eyes flashed angrily. " You think I have 
 broken my word ?" he said. 
 
 "I know that Clara's own heart did not dictate 
 that cold and cruel note." 
 
 "If you doubt my word, there is no more to be 
 said," was George's answer, in a tone of extreme 
 indignation. As he spoke he left the room. 
 
 After a few minutes, Gerard rang the bell. 
 
 " Will you tell Miss Monro that I wish to see her, 
 if you please ?" he said to the servant who came.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 259 
 
 This summons brought Clara, after some delay 
 She was very pale, and her eyes were swollen and 
 heavy. 
 
 " I am sorry to intrude upon you, Clara," said 
 Gerard, calmly and slowly ; " but I must know whether 
 the letter I received from you contained the ex- 
 pression of your own feelings, uninfluenced by any 
 one. 
 
 " Yes ; it did," replied Clara, rapidly, looking him 
 1 full in the face, without the slightest touch of tender- 
 ness or pity in her voice and manner. 
 
 "Then I have nothing more to say," said Gerard, 
 in the same calm tone with which he had spoken 
 before. 
 
 " You have said too much," said Clara, angrily. 
 "I do not know what right you have to come here, 
 and gloat over the misery you have caused. Yes, I 
 am not ashamed to own that it is misery. The world 
 may call it shame for a woman to love an unworthy 
 object ; but I think the shame is to him who seeks 
 a love of which he is not worthy. You have nothing 
 to be proud of in having won my love — it was not 
 to you as you are that my love was given — it was to 
 you as my imagination made you. That you no 
 longer exists. My love no longer exists. I could 
 never love where I cannot respect." All this Clara 
 had poured out with vehement rapidity. She stopped 
 speaking at last from sheer want of breath, and
 
 260 tonic bitte; 
 
 stood panting, with flashing eyes and glowing cheeks. 
 Gerard said nothing. 
 
 " May I go ?" asked Clara, after a short pause. 
 
 " J do not wish to detain you," replied Gerard, coldly, 
 and Clara left the room. Gerard walked through the 
 open window into the garden, and so away. 
 
 He walked home ; and thought all the way — not 
 of Clara, but of Effie. His love to Clara — originally 
 founded upon the gratification which his vanity 
 received from her undisguised preference for him — 
 had become utterly extinct as soon as that foundation 
 was destroyed, by the mortifying change in her 
 feelings towards him. In striking contrast to this 
 change, his memory presented him with the unshaken 
 fidelity evident in Effie's every word and look during 
 his parting interview with her. Effie had tried to 
 screen his faults towards her even from himself. Clara's 
 conduct brought out those faults in more glaring 
 colours than they had ever before appeared to him, 
 and overwhelmed him with the sense of his own 
 unworthiness and of Effie's excellence — his unworthi- 
 ness as far as Effie was concerned ; but he refused 
 to acknowledge the justice of the Monros' condem- 
 nation of him ; and whilst he felt deep remorse with 
 regard to Eflie, and entire forgiveness of Harold, he 
 nourished towards Clara and her brother as much 
 resentment as was possible to his open and forgiving 
 temper.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 2G1 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 When Effie returned to Gateshill, after three months' 
 absence, Harold saw no further cause for uneasiness 
 about her. The trip to Switzerland had not only 
 dissipated all the bad effects of her sorrow, but she 
 now appeared in much better health and higher 
 sjoirits than she had ever done before that sorrow 
 came upon her. She was also much changed in other 
 respects. All girlish timidity and diffidence had 
 vanished. She was now resolute, self-confident, and 
 slightly inclined to be dictatorial. Having formerly 
 lived quite abstracted from the world around her 
 — in a world of her own, of which Gerard was the 
 centre — she now for the first time became fully alive 
 to all the interests of her home. With this awaken- 
 ing came the consciousness that many things in that 
 home were not as they should be ; and, like all young 
 reformers, she began to attack time-honoured abuses 
 with more ardour than discretion. All the energies 
 which had been chained up in her love were now let
 
 262 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 loose, to find what work they could, and finding a 
 large field ready for their labour, they began vigo- 
 rously to plough it up, and plant it afresh. Jessie's 
 shortcomings provided this field. There were the 
 children to train and educate, in good earnest ; 
 Harold to comfort and encourage ; the disorderly 
 household to remodel and to regulate. Effle never 
 stopped to consider whether all this was really her 
 work, or whether in this case, as in many others, 
 forbearance might not be a higher duty than zeal. 
 She merely saw that duties were left undone ; she 
 felt in herself powers which wanted exercise ; and she 
 set these powers to work upon those duties, gradually 
 more and more widening their scope, till insensibly 
 she usurped a position to which she had no right. 
 
 Jessie, who during Effie's absence had constantly 
 felt the want of her help, was glad enough to I 
 relieved of the extra work which had devolved upon 
 her ever since her sister's illness. When she found 
 that Effie was daily taking more and more upon her- 
 self, she was at first quite willing that it should be so. 
 But when Harold — finding in Effie the intelligent 
 listener and sympathetic friend whom he had hoped 
 for, but never found, in Jessie — fell into the habit of 
 ilivimr his sister-iu-law the attention and the confi- 
 dence which should have been given to his wife ; 
 when the servants began to pass by their mist it - 
 and look to her sister for their orders ; when the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 263 
 
 children gave unequivocal expression to their belief 
 that their mother was only a subject in their aunt's 
 kingdom — then Jessie grew jealous of the power and 
 the affection which she had lost, and her sister had 
 won. 
 
 Harold did not now, as formerly, find excuses for 
 his wife's outbursts of temper, at least not when Effie 
 was the sufferer from them. Ever since Gerard's 
 defection his brother had been actuated by a desire 
 to make every possible atonement to Erne, and he 
 therefore treated her with the most chivalrous ten- 
 derness — exerting himself to spare her in every way, 
 and taking her part at all times, even against his 
 wife. 
 
 Erne was little affected by her sister's jealousy. 
 She had grown callous to Jessie's outbreaks ; and the 
 only result of the discomfort they caused her was that 
 she took refuge in the studio, or, dislodged from there, 
 fled to some of the friends who were always ready to 
 receive her. Erne had become a general favourite in 
 Gateshill, and Jessie had become as generally un- 
 popular. This was another cause of complaint, which 
 gave Jessie a strong distaste for the Gateshill visiting, 
 and a much greater relish for society where her 
 beauty had a fuller sway than amongst those who 
 were beginning to suspect that her character did not 
 correspond with her appearance. So poor Harold 
 was dragged to all the great London parties for
 
 20*4 TONIC BITTE1 
 
 which he liad invitations, and Effie was left to repre- 
 sent the family at the quiet little Gateshill festivities. 
 Very quiet and monotonous these festivities were ; 
 slow, decorous dinner-parties at Samuel Butter- 
 field's and at the Martyns' ; an annual dance given 
 by Mr. Butterfleld's mother ; an occasional tea- 
 and-talk gathering at Mr. Rogers' ; and, once every 
 spring, the great event of a Subscription Ball at the 
 Falcon — these were the wildest gaieties to which 
 Gateshill ever aspired. To all these Effie was a 
 patient victim. She fell a prey to the youngest and 
 shyest man in company at Mr. Martyn's or his son- 
 in-law's dinners ; played quadrilles, or guided un- 
 skilled feet through their mazes, at Mrs. Butterfleld's 
 dances ; humoured gouty old gentlemen, and condoled 
 with asthmatic old ladies, at the doctor's soire'es ; and 
 knocked herself up for a w r eek by dancing with all 
 the Gateshill young men in the small, hot Assembly 
 Room at the Falcon. Harold was delighted to see 
 her apparently enjoying these dissipations — Jessie 
 wondered how she could endure them. They neither 
 of them understood Effie. There had been no 
 enjoyment in her life since Gerard had ceased to be a 
 part of it ; and endurance was as easy in company as 
 in solitude, since the time when endurance had 
 taken the place from which hope and joy had been 
 driven. Harold trusted that she was forgetting 
 Gerard ; Jessie prophesied that she would soon be
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 265 
 
 consoled. The consolation proposed was almost too 
 much for Effie's fortitude. 
 
 " Mrs. Martyn has been talking of you, Effie," said 
 Jessie, as she and Harold came in from paying visits 
 one Sunday afternoon, and found Effie telling stories 
 to the children, by the drawing-room fire. 
 
 " Has she ? I hope she has said something good 
 of me." 
 
 "That is of course," observed Harold, kindly; 
 "who is there that does not speak good of you, 
 little woman?" Effie winced, as she always did 
 when Harold unthinkingly used Gerard's name for 
 her. 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Jessie, in rather an injured 
 tone. " But she did not say so much of her own 
 admiration as of another person's." 
 
 " Who is that ?" asked Effie, almost eagerly. 
 
 " She likes to hear of her conquests, little vanity !" 
 cried Harold, who was in a lively mood. 
 
 " Is it Miss Keene ? I do so want to make a 
 conquest of her." 
 
 "That old maid!" cried Jessie. 
 
 " Dear old lady ! She reminds me of Aunt 
 Elizabeth. Is it not she, then T 
 
 " Jessie is speaking of a young man, instead of an 
 old maid, are you not, Jessie ?" 
 
 " Of course I am. Effie need not pretend to be 
 
 so unconscious."
 
 266 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Oh," said Effie, in a disappointed tone, and she 
 began to play with little Freddie. 
 
 "Mrs. Martyn says that all Gateshill is talking 
 of Nathaniel Butterfi eld's attention to you. What 
 attention has he paid you, Effie ?" 
 
 " Attention !" cried Effie, with rather a bitter 
 little laugh. " I believe he danced twice with me 
 the other night, and, I am not sure, but I think he 
 asked me to take wine at supper. And he bowed to 
 me from the top of the omnibus yesterday ; and 
 — yes I actually have an indistinct remembrance 
 that, not very long ago, he shook hands with me 
 going into church, and asked after ' Mrs. Yonge and 
 the little folks.' ' Effie was here wicked enough to 
 mimic the rather peculiar voice of her supposed lover. 
 
 " For shame, Effie !" exclaimed Jessie. "Nathaniel 
 Butterfield is a most excellent young man." 
 
 " I am not saying anything against his excellence — 
 all that I deny is his attention to me." 
 
 " Mrs. Martyn says that everybody remarks it ; 
 and I thought she rather implied that his family 
 were not very well pleased — did not you, Harold r" 
 
 " I should think not," Effie broke in with, before 
 Harold could answer. " Fancy old Mr. Butterneld's 
 horror ! I can imagine his reproof to his son, if he 
 had any such intentions as you impute to him, 
 * Nathaniel, I hope no son of mine will ever be so 
 wanting to himself and his family as to throw himself
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 267 
 
 away upon a penniless girl like that. Take example 
 by your brother Samuel. Since he has married a 
 clear five hundred a year, with expectations, I may 
 reasonably require that you, and your other brothers, 
 should do no less.' " 
 
 " For shame !" cried Jessie again, though she had 
 been unable to help laughing at Effie's imitation of 
 the pompous, mercenary old attorney. " Harold, is it 
 not wrong of her to laugh at such estimable people 
 as the Butterflelds ?" 
 
 Harold abhorred sarcasm ; but he would not find 
 any fault with Effie, however much she indulged in 
 it, as she had very frequently done of late. 
 
 " Well, I only know you must have given Nathaniel 
 great encouragement," observed Jessie, irritated by 
 her sister's indifference to the news she was full of. 
 
 Effie was no longer indifferent now. She turned 
 very pale, but asked quite calmly, " What do you 
 mean by encouragement, Jessie ?" 
 
 " Mean ? Why, that you must have tried to gain 
 his affections." 
 
 " What should I want of ' his affections ?' " asked 
 Effie, contemptuously. 
 
 " I suppose you must want the triumph of a lover," 
 answered Jessie. 
 
 " Triumph !" repeated Effie, with a bitterness that 
 made Harold shudder. 
 
 " My poor child !" he cried, suddenly drawing
 
 2G8 TONIC BITTERS 
 
 Effie to him. " No wonder you speak with contempt 
 of any man's affection." 
 
 "I have no reason to speak with contempt," as- 
 serted Effie, firing up at the implied censure on 
 Gerard. " I have a great respect for all affection — 
 except Mr. Butterfield's — or what Jessie supposes Mr. 
 Butterfleld to entertain towards me." 
 
 " Mrs. Martyn told us a piece of news which I 
 know will interest you, Effie," said Harold, anxious 
 to change the subject of conversation. 
 
 u What is that ?" asked Effie, who made a point of 
 alwavs being interested in what Harold had to tell. 
 
 " George Monro is coming to be curate here." 
 
 " George Monro !" cried Effie, w r ith no longer 
 assumed interest. 
 
 "Not to be curate, Harold," said Jessie; "Mr. 
 Weekes is the curate — but, what do they call it ? — he 
 is not to be paid anything." 
 
 " No, I know," said Effie. " I think it is called 
 getting a Title, when a young man first takes Orders. 
 But are you sure it is true that he is coming here ?" 
 
 " Quite sure," returned Jessie, who had recovered 
 her good-temper when she found her sister was not 
 indifferent to all the news she could tell. " He 
 wrote to Mr. Crashawe to ask to come here about a 
 month ago, but, you know, that was before Mr. Mason 
 was taken ill, and so Mr. Crashawe answered that he 
 had one under curate, or whatever it is, and did not
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 269 
 
 want another. But he said at the time that he was 
 sorry to refuse Mr. Monro, as he had heard a good 
 deal of him from some friend ; and so, when Mr. 
 Mason had to leave, he wrote to George again, and 
 said he could have him now, and George accepted 
 directly. That was only yesterday, and he is coming 
 to see Mr. Crashawe early in the week. He is to be 
 settled here very soon — in the little cottage covered 
 with ivy facing the green." 
 
 " I fancy Mrs. Martyn was flying to premature 
 conclusions there, Jessie," observed Harold. " I can- 
 not think that Monro has settled on his house when 
 he has not yet seen the place at all." 
 
 " Well, he will see it very soon ; and I dare say he 
 will fix on that house — it would just suit him." 
 
 Jessie was right ; George did fix on the cottage 
 facing the green. But, in this case, the prediction 
 was the cause of its own fulfilment. George came to 
 Prior's Mount early on the Monday morning, directly 
 after his interview with his Yicar. Jessie very soon 
 broached the question of his dwelling, and expressed 
 her opinion of the merits of Ivy Cottage. George 
 had hardly given a thought to the subject; and he 
 was now thinking much more earnestly where Effie 
 could be, and whether he should have to leave with- 
 out seeing her, so he gave his entire approval of the 
 abode proposed for him, and readily agreed that 
 Jessie should take him to see it after luncheon. The
 
 270 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 children's lessons were never interrupted for any 
 visitor ; so, though Effie knew that George was in the 
 drawing-room, his suspense was not relieved till it 
 was time for the little boys to go for their morning 
 walk. Then Effie ran in for a moment to shake 
 hands with him before dressing to take her charges 
 out. They had not met since they parted at Lucerne. 
 George's feeling for Effie had not cooled in the 
 interval, as was sufficiently evident in his manner 
 when he saw her. When he found she was going to 
 walk with the children, he could not resist accompany- 
 ing them, at the risk of appearing rude to Jessie. 
 
 " I am so glad you are coming to live here, Mr. 
 Monro," said Effie, as they began their walk, the 
 three little boys bowling their hoops on in front. 
 
 " Thank you, Effie," said George, in such a tone 
 that Effie felt rather doubtful whether she ought to 
 be glad. There was a pause, and then George began 
 again, in the same alarming tone, " My conscience 
 is not easy on that score, Effie. I ought not to be 
 actuated by any motives but the highest in choosing 
 the ground on which to begin my work. But I am 
 afraid that I have allowed other motives to creep in. 
 To be near you was an irresistible temptation." 
 
 " And you are now really beginning the work 
 which you have had at heart for so long," remarked 
 Effie, conveniently deaf to the latter part of his 
 speech.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 271 
 
 " Yes. I only hope Mr. Crash awe will give me 
 plenty of parish work." 
 
 " I think there is no doubt of that. He does not 
 like visiting himself, and Mr. Weekes is not popular 
 amongst the poor people." 
 
 " Do you know many of the poor people ?" 
 
 " No, very few. I have always plenty of occupa- 
 tion at home — and then Harold does not much 
 approve of what he calls 'pauperizing our neigh- 
 bours.' " 
 
 "But surely friendly intercourse is not pauper- 
 lzing r 
 
 " Not friendly intercourse. But here all* the inter- 
 course between the poor people and their richer 
 neighbours consists in begging on the one hand, and 
 giving a mixture of alms and admonitions on the 
 other. Is that your idea of friendly intercourse ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. My idea is that those who are 
 higher on the social ladder should extend a helping 
 hand to those who are lower — a hand, not a purse — 
 a hand to support, to guide, to comfort. Manual 
 labourers have neither time nor opportunity to en- 
 large their minds, and a familiar friend amongst those 
 whose views are more extended is an invaluable 
 acquisition to them. That is the kind of intercourse 
 which I shall endeavour to establish amongst the 
 various classes in Gateshill. Do you approve ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," cried Effie, eagerly.
 
 272 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 11 And will you help me ?" 
 
 " Yes, if I can — in any way that I can," answered 
 Effie, carried away, as she always was, by George's 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 " And will you come and listen to my first sermon 7* 
 asked George, timidly. 
 
 " I should have thought you would beg all your 
 friends to stay away on that occasion." 
 
 "AH others I might. Not you— your presence 
 would excite, but not alarm me. I know you would 
 not be an unkind critic." 
 
 "I am accused of being a very harsh critic. I 
 think I am of Mr. Crashawe's sermons — they do not 
 please me at all. But, Mr. Monro, you must not 
 expect to find us good, church-going people. We are 
 terrible reprobates. Mr. Crashawe would give you a 
 sad character of us." 
 
 " Then I may find as much to do here as if I had 
 set to work amongst the Bohemians in one of the 
 overcrowded London parishes ?" said George. 
 
 " Yes, if you propose to yourself our conversion." 
 George had spoken lightly himself; but when Efne 
 answered in the same tone it jarred upon him, and 
 his voice was almost solemn as he asked — 
 
 " Do you remember my telling you how I was first 
 seriously impressed by the truths which had before 
 fallen only upon my ear, without penetrating to my 
 heart ?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 273 
 
 "Yes," whispered Effie, moved, not so much by 
 the thought of what as of when he had told her. 
 
 "And with that remembrance— with the remem- 
 brance of many such words — such looks — as those 
 which aroused me, can you speak of still needing con- 
 version ?" 
 
 " Ah," said Effie, sadly, "those impressions have 
 all died out now." 
 
 " Effie ! if I thought that of you I should be very 
 wretched." 
 
 " I would not make you wretched — but it is the 
 fact. Walter, give Freddie back his hoop-stick." 
 
 " I have broken mine, Auntie." 
 
 " Then come and walk with me. You must not 
 take Freddie's." 
 
 " If I walk with you will you tell me a story ?" 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Monro will ?" 
 
 George began at once ; but his story was more for 
 the aunt than for the nephew, to whom it afforded 
 little amusement, although he liked listening to the 
 deep musical tones of the narrator's voice. 
 
 " Once upon a time," said George, in true story- 
 book style, " there was a boy — a careless, thought- 
 less, selfish schoolboy. One lovely spring day he 
 came to a little village, nestling against the side of a 
 hill. A beautiful old church looked down upon 
 the village — like a father looking down upon his 
 children. All around the church were graves 
 
 VOL. T. T
 
 274 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 covered with soft green grass, and decorated with 
 beautiful flowers, lying beneath the shade of tall 
 lime-trees. From the churchyard a gate opened 
 on to a smooth green lawn, spreading before the 
 windows of a fine old-fashioned parsonage house. 
 Through the garden — rich with bright flowers and 
 luxuriant trees — there gurgled and danced a merrv 
 little stream ; and it danced, and leaped, and frolicked 
 all down the hill, in and out amongst the cottages^ 
 till it plunged into the river in the valley below. The 
 cottages were all covered with laburnum, and clematis, 
 and honeysuckle, and the gardens were gay with pink?. 
 and stocks, and wallflowers. And all round about 
 the cottages there were orchards of apple and pear 
 trees in fullest blossom, children playing on the 
 shady grass beneath them. When the boy first saw 
 all this, he thought he was in a perfect paradise, but 
 the next day he was sure of it. He slept soundly 
 after his journey, in a little inn near the river — the 
 lowest down the hill of all the village. He was 
 awakened by a merry peal of bells, which seemed to 
 be sounding from the clear blue sky overhead. He 
 had to look up at the church and the parsonage-house 
 to convince himself that they were earthly chimes. 
 Later in the morning he w T alked up the hill, amongst 
 groups of neat, bright-faced cottagers. With them 
 he went into the little church, and seated himself 
 near the open door, where he could look down the
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 275 
 
 village to the glittering river, and across to the soft 
 green hills beyond. But soon he had no eyes for the 
 view outside. An old clergyman, with snow-white 
 hair, and a bright, loving face, came into the reading- 
 desk, and then all the people rose up and sang a 
 simple, touching hymn. Then the clergyman began 
 to read in a clear, pathetic voice, and all the people 
 said the responses heartily and as one man. For the 
 first time in his life, the boy understood the true 
 meaning of our church's morning service. But soon 
 he began to understand more than that. When the 
 venerable old man mounted the pulpit-stairs, and 
 began his simple, earnest sermon, the boy's heart 
 stirred as it had never stirred before. It seemed to 
 him that he was listening to the voice of a good 
 shepherd, going before his sheep, and enticing them 
 after him by his gentle, loving words — not driving 
 them before him with threats and violence, as so 
 many Oh dear!" cried George, suddenly inter- 
 rupting himself. " I am getting quite out of my 
 
 listener's depth, and Effie ! I beg your pardon ! 
 
 How thoughtless I have been !" For the tears were 
 raining down Erne's cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, no ; I like it so much. I think your story is 
 beautiful, is not it, Walter ?" 
 
 " No ; it will not do," said George . " I was forget- 
 ing myself — and here we are home again — and I 
 have been wasting all our walk !"
 
 276 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Effie did go to hear George's first sermon ; arid she 
 then experienced something of what he described 
 himself as feeling when he heard her father preach. 
 There were many who were deeply impressed by the 
 young deacon's words that afternoon. His manner 
 was calm, and his style quite without any graces of 
 oratory ; but there was a fervour in his eyes, and an 
 earnestness in his voice, which at once impressed his 
 hearers with his sincerity ; and his original mode of 
 treating familiar subjects took entire hold of their 
 attention. El'tie sat entranced during the whole 
 twenty minutes that he was speaking ; and when she 
 left the church she carried in her mind entire 
 passages of his sermon. Of his text, " God is love." 
 he had said that he chose those words for the subject 
 of his first sermon because he considered that they 
 must be the beginning and the end, the motive and 
 the object, of all true religious teaching. Only he 
 who had some faint conception, however imperfect, 
 of the love of God, could be truly religious, because 
 he only could love God. Again, without some love 
 it was impossible to understand love. "To the man 
 who loves only himself," he said, " all manifestations 
 of love are folly. Show him a mother with her child, 
 tell him that to her its unformed features are perfect 
 beautv, its inarticulate murmurs the divinest music, 
 he will regard her as a maniac. Show him a husband 
 who lives only for his wife's smile, who counts no
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 277 
 
 labour too heavy, no sacrifice too entire for her sake, 
 this devotion will appear to him like imbecility. But 
 to him who has learnt to love, the mother is no 
 maniac, but simply a loving woman, the husband is 
 no dotard, but a true man." This explained why 
 strong human love was not only permitted, but 
 sanctioned. Human love was the means by which 
 to attain some knowledge of divine love. " The love 
 of the mother for her child — of the husband for his 
 wife — is the germ of that love which w r e should all 
 feel for Him Who is Love — which we must all fee} 
 for Him if we could once thoroughly understand that 
 He is Love. Even amongst men, he is looked upon 
 as cold-hearted and ungrateful who repays love — even 
 unaccompanied by benefits — with dislike or indiffer- 
 ence — what must he be who repays with dislike or 
 indifference that love which has been manifested in 
 Creation, Redemption, Sanctification ?" The danger 
 was that human love, instead of the means, should be 
 regarded as the end. " If the object which was given 
 to teach us how to love God is made an obstacle to 
 hide God from our eyes, then we have set up an idol, 
 and we draw down the penalty for idolatry, not only 
 upon ourselves, but upon our idol. On the other 
 hand, he who makes his earthly love the stepping- 
 stone to heavenly love, benefits not himself only, but 
 the object of that earthly love." Then came the 
 preacher's exhortation. " You from whom God in
 
 278 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 His infinite mercy has taken away the idol which hid 
 Him from your eyes, you who have learnt, with 
 bitter pain, that the perfection you believed in is not 
 to be found on earth, you who have proved, after many 
 trials, that human love can never satisfy an immortal 
 soul — turn all of you to that Love which never dies, 
 that Perfection which is infinite, that Satisfaction 
 which is eternal." From all this the practical consi- 
 deration was deduced : " All who have loved — and who 
 would except himself from that number ? — know that 
 love is no inactive sentiment. The first stirring of 
 love in the heart is shown in the desire to please, to 
 serve the beloved. Every boy can testify of ungenial 
 tasks done cheerfully to gain the approval of a parent. 
 Every man can remember distasteful labours under- 
 taken to oblige a friend. Every woman could tell 
 of secret deeds of kindness to a husband or a child* 
 If uncalled-for, undeserved love must manifest itself 
 in outward acts, what can be too much to expect 
 from even the feeblest love to Him, Who first loved 
 us ? What, short of the entire offering of ourselves — 
 of our hearts, our lives, our every thought and work 
 — can £ive evidence that we have mastered the first 
 rudiments of the lesson that 'God is Love ?' 
 
 " He who sets up an idol draws down the penalty 
 for idolatry, not upon himself only, but upon his 
 idol." These words rang in Efiie's ears for many 
 days. She would have borne anything to spare
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 279 
 
 Gerard, and yet what had she brought upon him ? 
 It was for her that he who so valued approbation was 
 contemned by all his friends ; it was for her that he 
 who so clung to old associations was a stranger to all 
 his former haunts. And why was this ? For the 
 first time her conscience answered, " Because he was 
 set up as an idol." " But that was my fault ; why 
 should he be punished ?" In the light of the words 
 she had just heard, she had the answer, st Love 
 punishes in mercy — sorrow is not necessarily evil." 
 Then came the question, darting through her mind 
 like a flash of light, " Then could I benefit him if I 
 were to make my love for him the stepping-stone to 
 heavenly love ?" Something seemed to answer? 
 "Yes ;"and the first step was taken. From that day 
 Effie set herself diligently to work to learn the 
 lesson X)f which George had spoken. At the very 
 outset she remembered that she had never been 
 confirmed ; and the first evidence she gave of more 
 serious thoughts was by joining the confirmation- 
 classes which Mr. Crashawe began to hold at the 
 beginning of Lent. Then came the moving Rite 
 itself; and after that George induced her to enrol 
 herself amongst his newly-established district visitors, 
 and also amongst 3Tr. Crashawe's pet Sunday-school 
 teachers. So, within six months of George's first 
 sermon, Effie found that she was committed to a 
 profession of religion much higher than the standard
 
 280 TONIC BITTEBS. 
 
 of her home ; and that, almost without her own 
 consciousness, she had adopted the character — then 
 comparatively rare, and frequently regarded with 
 ridicule — of a " serious young lady." 
 
 This was all, or nearly all, external. Effie could 
 do nothing by halves, and when she was once forcibly 
 struck with any idea she could not rest till she had 
 put it in practice. George's sermon had furnished 
 such an idea, and she had at once flown to the most 
 practical way of carrying it out. Once entered on 
 this road, she was allowed no halt — George's enthu- 
 siasm drove her onward. And yet, all the time, the 
 idolatry of which her conscience had been convinced 
 was rampant within her. The religious duties she 
 had undertaken were, in fact, a superstitious offering 
 to avert the evils which she accused herself of having 
 brought upon Gerard. 
 
 These duties gave her a good deal of wholesome 
 occupation, and a good deal of equally wholesome 
 annoyance. In spite of her natural self-deception as 
 to her own motives, she began her work in an 
 exalted state of mind, and with a full expectation of 
 finding all her fellow-workers refined and elevated 
 by the purity of their motives. Her first experience 
 of a District Visitors' Meeting would have been a 
 bitter disappointment had not her sense of humour 
 neutralized her sense of pain. 
 
 Eight ladies, between the ages of twenty and in
 
 TOXIC BITTERS. 281 
 
 were assembled in Mr. Crashawe's study, about an 
 equal number having sent excuses for their absence- 
 The Hector and his second Curate were in their places ; 
 and after Mr. Crashawe had opened the proceedings 
 by a short prayer, he asked the lady on his right 
 hand, " Have you anything to report, Mrs. West ?" 
 
 Mrs. West, a stout, heavy-faced elderly woman, 
 began in a slow, monotonous kind of plaint: '"The 
 Quimpers have been a great trouble to me — a very 
 great trouble. Of course I consider it my duty to 
 visit them regularly ; but twice the door has been 
 shut in my face, and only last Thursday — no, it must 
 have been Friday, because Mr. West went to the 
 Bank that day — when I offered Mr. Quimper that 
 most awakening little tract, ' A Word to the Sinner/ 
 he said he did not want any such words ; those the cap 
 fitted might wear it ; and then he w T ent on in a most 
 insolent manner about an Englishman's house being 
 his castle, and he did not see why a poor man might 
 not choose his own visitors as well as a rich man." 
 
 " I quite agree with him there," said George 
 Monro to the Rector. 
 
 " I think in this case it would be as well to discon- 
 tinue your visits, Mrs. West. I don't remember the 
 tract you mention. Surely it is not in our library." 
 
 " No, Mr. Crashawe, it is not. I think there is a 
 lamentable want of awakening power in the books 
 lent by this society, so I bought a number of tracts
 
 282 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 recommended to me by a valued friend of mine, 
 who, though himself an Independent Christian, has no 
 prejudice against the ministers of the Establishment, 
 as long as they preach Evangelical truth — as he said 
 to me " 
 
 " Of course — of course," interrupted Mr. Crashawe. 
 " I should like to look at the tracts you lend, Mrs. 
 West ; and as for the Quimpers, I would advise 
 you not to go there again. Anything else in your 
 district ?" 
 
 " No, Mr. Crashawe ; nothing else. About the 
 Quimpers " 
 
 u I will take your report, if you please, Miss East," 
 said Mr. Crashawe, hastily. 
 
 Effie thought the Vicar rather deficient in polite- 
 ness ; but she soon learnt that " the Quimpers " were 
 the bete noire of the Gateshill District Visitors' 
 Society. 
 
 Miss East was a tall, thin, elderly young ladj T , 
 who spoke fast and loud. " I think you or Mr. 
 Monro should call on the Leonards — the family 
 who have lately come to No. 3 Mill Stream Lane. 
 They seem very respectable people ; but the woman is 
 most distressingly ignorant on the subject of Church 
 principles. When I reprimanded her for being 
 absent from church, last Sunday, her excuse was : 
 ' Well, miss, Leonard likes to lay a-bed a little on 
 Sunday morning, and we weren't quite in time for
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 283 
 
 Mr. Crashawe's, so we turned into Mr. Warmham's,' 
 the Baptist Chapel in the lane ! I did my best to 
 point out to her the extreme wickedness of dissent ; but 
 she was not at all inclined to acknowledge her error, 
 or to yield to my arguments. Her answer was that 
 dissent could not be wicked, as she had known many 
 very good people who were dissenters. But perhaps 
 she might pay more attention to you or Mr. Monro." 
 
 " Well, I think we need not be very unhappy 
 about Mrs. Leonard," said Mr. Crashawe, with a 
 smile. "Is that all, Miss East? Miss Fairbairn? 
 Ah, I see you have written your report, as usual." 
 
 Miss Fairbairn, a pretty girl, with bright eyes, and 
 a pleasant voice, gave the necessary explanations 
 with straightforward simplicity, so that her report was 
 soon over ; and Mr. Crashawe went on : " Mrs. Evans, 
 have you anything to tell us of your district ?" 
 
 " The Popes have got the measles. Johnnie — the 
 youngest boy — is very bad indeed. He is just as my 
 Tom was with them. We thought we must have 
 lost him ; and Mr. Snow — that was when we were 
 living at Wandsworth — Mr. Snow was Dr. Gane's 
 partner, a very estimable young man, and clever, too 
 — I'm sure he was most successful in his treatment of 
 Tom. The poor little fellow was so weak he could 
 not stand, and his eyes were so bad we were obliged 
 to keep the room quite dark — we had no hope but 
 that we must lose him — Mr. Evans said to me "
 
 281 TONIC BITTEI.S. 
 
 "Then you think little Tommie — Johnnie Pope is 
 not likely to pull through ?" 
 
 " I won't say that. My Tom was, as I was saying, 
 more like a corpse than a live child. Mr. Snow said 
 to me, ' Mrs. Evans, we never despair of a child's life ; 
 but in this case I can hardly say that we may hope.* 
 He ordered a large mustard-plaister all along " 
 
 " Has Rogers seen little Pope ?" 
 
 " Yes. I went round and asked him to call in 
 yesterday. He gives no hope at all — but then I 
 think Mr. Rogers is never hopeful enough. When 
 my James had rheumatic fever Mr. Rogers quite 
 gave him up ; but Dr. Baines took a much more 
 favourable view of the case, and now James is as 
 strong as ever." 
 
 " Are there any other cases of measles in your 
 district ?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Crashawe. Bobbie Stevens has broken 
 his arm, but it is going on very well. When my Joe 
 broke his arm — that was when we were living at 
 Hoxton — Mr. Quail, the medical man there, said that 
 a broken arm was a very slight affair with a healthy 
 boy — and Joe was a remarkably healthy boy. When 
 they all had the scarlatina, Joe was not two whole 
 days in bed ; and with the whooping-cough " 
 
 " Then you don't think we need concern ourselves 
 much about Bob Stevens. Miss Leafe, what have 
 you to tell us?"
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 285 
 
 Miss Leafe, a feeble-looking little girl, began in 
 low, trembling tones : " There is fever in my district, 
 so Papa thought I had better not go to any of the 
 houses. I met Mrs. Howes in the town yesterday, 
 and she told me that George Bailey was dying ; but 
 Papa said poor people always exaggerate, so I need 
 not trouble you about it." 
 
 "It was no exaggeration," said George Monro, 
 sternly. " He died this morning." 
 
 " Mr. Monro had been with him constantly for the 
 last week," added Mr. Crashawe. 
 
 "You need not be frightened away from your duty, 
 Miss Leafe ; the fever is not infectious," said George, 
 still so severely that the poor little culprit began first 
 to tremble visibly, and then to cry — utterly broken- 
 hearted at having incurred the displeasure of the 
 handsome curate, for whose sake alone she had under- 
 taken the, to her, most trying task of district visiting. 
 
 "And you, Miss Sharp?" asked Mr. Crashawe, 
 turning abruptly from the unfortunate Miss Leafe. 
 
 " The Cobbs pretend to be in great distress," said 
 Miss Sharp ; " but I tell them they won't find me easy 
 to impose upon. I know real poverty when I see it, 
 and I don't see it there." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Sharp," said George. 
 " I heard yesterday, from a most reliable source, that 
 the Cobbs are, entirely without any fault of their 
 own, utterly destitute ; and, if a benevolent stranger
 
 286 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 had not heard of their dire necessity, Mrs. Cobb 
 might have been actually starved to death." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Monro, but you must 
 allow me to believe that your benevolent stranger 
 was taken in by Mrs. Cobb's plausible tongue. How- 
 ever, we won't dispute that matter. There is nothing 
 else to say of my district, Mr. Crashawe." 
 
 " Mrs. Page ?" said Mr. Crashawe, addressing a 
 tall, gaunt lady, dressed in very light garments. 
 
 "I have no complaints to make of the yflxysical 
 state of my district ; but alas ! I have much — sadly 
 too much — to say of its heathen darkness. I go from 
 house to house — weak instrument as I am — en- 
 deavouring to win some souls — but all in vain. I am 
 met on all hands with neglect and evil words. It is 
 indeed true of this unhappy town that it ' lieth in 
 wickedness, taken captive of the devil at his will.' 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Crashawe, impatiently. " Monro, 
 will you look up Mrs. Page's district ? That is all, I 
 think." It was evident that Mr. Crashawe did not 
 expect much help from the visiting ladies whom 
 George had organized ; but George was a host in 
 himself, and he managed to give something of his 
 own spirit to a few, amongst whom was his sister 
 Clara, who had now come to live wath him.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Effie ! Look at my face !" cried Jessie Yonge, 
 bursting into the room where her sister was teach- 
 ing the two elder boys, one bright morning in 
 May. 
 
 " Well," said Effie, carelessly, vexed at the inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 " Well !" repeated Jessie. " Don't you see what a 
 figure I am ?" 
 
 " Your face is swelled, is it not ? Then I suppose 
 you have lost all the pain." 
 
 " Yes ; but isn't it provoking. How can I possibly 
 go to-night ? How coolly you take it !" 
 
 " Oh, I forgot about to-night. Yes, it is tiresome. 
 But perhaps the swelling will go down before the 
 evening. Walter, those up-strokes are too thick." 
 
 " How absurd you are, Effie ! As if it were likely 
 to go down. Most likely by the evening my face 
 will be as big as two." 
 
 " Oh, what fun !" shouted Davie.
 
 288 TONIC BITTEB& 
 
 " No ; it is not fun, sir," cried his mother, angrily. 
 "How can you allow that boy to be so insufferably 
 rude, Effie ?" 
 
 "Attend to your sum, Davie," said Effie. "That 
 line is all wrong. That is not the way to make a y, 
 Walter." 
 
 " Much sympathy I get from you !" exclaimed 
 Jessie, indignantly. " Harold, come here !" she added, 
 as she heard her husband's step in the hall. "Effie 
 thinks it is of no consequence that my face is like 
 this." 
 
 " Papa ! Mamma is going to have two faces," cried 
 the incorrigible Davie. 
 
 " The more the better, Davie," said Harold. " We 
 cannot have too many faces like hers, can we ?" 
 
 " Like this f" asked Jessie, a little mollified by her 
 husband's complimentary tone. 
 
 " What is wrong with the face ?" asked Harold, as 
 she turned it towards him. 
 
 " Cannot you see ? That shows how little you have 
 studied my face." 
 
 " I can see no fault in it," persisted Harold. " Is 
 it too red, or too white, or what V" 
 
 " There, Jessie ; Harold does not see the swelling, so 
 it cannot be much," remarked Effie. 
 
 " He does not take sufficient interest in mv face, 
 usually, to know when there is any alteration in it." 
 
 "Is it swollen ?" asked poor Harold, in desperation.
 
 TONIC BITTEES. 289 
 
 " Is it swollen," mimicked Jessie. " Of course it 
 is swollen, so that I am not fit to be seen." 
 
 " Never mind that, if you have lost the pain," said 
 Harold, cheerfully. 
 
 " And. how am I to go to-night ?" 
 
 "To go where?" 
 
 " To the ball, of course. You are as bad as Effie. 
 I believe you, neither of you, think anything about the 
 ball — the only morsel of amusement that we have 
 in the whole year. I believe you are both glad that 
 I shall not be able to go. You are always glad that 
 I should lose any pleasure. And here have I been 
 for tw r o days in such agony — if you had any feeling 
 you would have been rejoicing in the prospect of my 
 having anything to divert my mind — I know it is 
 my mind — it is all nonsense about a decayed tooth — 
 I have not a decayed tooth in my head ; but when 
 I am day after day, and month after month, without 
 the slightest relaxation or amusement, it is not very 
 wonderful that my nerves should get out of order. 
 But you care nothing for that. I believe you are 
 never, either of you, so happy as when I am ill and in 
 pain. And it is very seldom I am not ill. I don't 
 complain, so nobody knows what I suffer. I am sure 
 I don't know how it is to end. My constitution is 
 gradually breaking up. I shall not last much longer 
 to be a burden to you — I " 
 
 " Mamma is naughty !" cried Walter, suddenly for- 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 getting his copy, and looking at his mother with 
 wide-open eyes. "Mamma is crying!" 
 
 " Come for a run in the garden, Walter," said Effie, 
 hastily. ''Come, Davie." 
 
 " No, Effie ; you shall not escape in that way," cried 
 Jessie. " I don't often speak, but I cannot be silent 
 for ever. You and Harold both know that I am 
 ill and miserable, and you cannot either of you spare 
 a moment to comfort me. You both try to run away 
 directly I make the slightest complaint. You will 
 go off to the ball to-night, and leave me to a wretched 
 
 solitary evening, and then " 
 
 "I shall go to no ball without you, Jessie," inter- 
 rupted Harold. 
 
 " I am sure I do not care for the ball," said Effie. 
 "Run, Davie, and pick some violets for Mamma. 
 Walter, you go and help him. Harold, take her 
 into some other room," she added, in an authoritative 
 tone, when the little boys were gone. " I cannot 
 have the children so interrupted at their lessons." 
 
 k ' She cannot have ! — hear her !" cried Jessie. u ^1 ay 
 I not do as I like with my own children? Nobody 
 would believe they were my children, to hear how they 
 speak to me. But of course they catch the general 
 tone towards me. Every one is against me. There 
 never was such a wretched woman as I am. And now 
 to be deprived of this ball, which would have been some 
 distraction to me — and that you two should be rejoicing
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 29 J 
 
 over my disappointment — and making every one 
 think that it is my vanity keeps me at home." 
 
 " I have said that I shall remain at home with you. 
 Jessie/' said Harold. 
 
 " And then, I suppose, you will tell every one that 
 / prevented you and Effie from going to the ball ?" 
 remarked Jessie. 
 
 " No one will inquire why I am not there ; and as 
 for Effie, I shall ask her to avoid all questions by 
 going as she intended. Mrs. Mortlake will take 
 charge of her." 
 
 " Oh, of course," cried Jessie, bitterly ; " Mrs. Mort- 
 lake will be delighted, and no one will miss me. If 
 Effie were kept at home, of course all Gateshill 
 would be in despair." 
 
 " Am I to have this room for the children ; or 
 must their lessons be given up for to-day ?" asked 
 Effie, impatiently. 
 
 " Oh, I will not be in your way," said Jessie. " I 
 will not interfere with my own children. I suppose 
 I had better go to bed again. I seem to be in every 
 one's way when I am up. And I am sure I only feel 
 fit for bed." 
 
 " You will go to this stupid ball, Effie ?" asked 
 Harold, as soon as Jessie had left the room. 
 " Oh, yes, if you think I had better." 
 " I do think so. It would seem so strange for us 
 all to be absent after taking tickets."
 
 202 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 " Very well," said Effie, wearily. " T t wi'l be very 
 dull," she thought. " But, at any rate, I shall have 
 some pleasant talk with George Monro." 
 
 " I must go and see if I can comfort poor Jessie," 
 said Harold, going slowly out of the room. " Ah, 
 my beauty !" he cried in an altered tone, as he opened 
 the door. 
 
 "Auntie, me do 'essons," said the little three-year- 
 older, whom Harold brought back in his arms. 
 
 " What, you do lessons before Freddie, Isa ! That 
 would never do." 
 
 " Me do 'essons lite bid boyd," persisted the little 
 girl. 
 
 "Will you go to a ball with Auntie, Isa?" asked 
 Harold. 
 
 "Me go ball with Auntie," repeated the child, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Some day, my darling," said the father, looking 
 proudly at his beautiful little daughter. Harold's 
 face had quite lost the vexed look. The child had 
 charmed away the pain which her mother had 
 caused. 
 
 "My darling!" cried Harold again, as he smoothed 
 back the clustering golden curls, and looked into the 
 clear blue eyes. " Effie," he asked, suddenly, u what 
 is an idol ?" 
 
 Effie smiled, and pointed to the child. 
 
 " It is true/' said Harold, gravely. "I suppose
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 293 
 
 you good people would call me very wicked, but 
 I believe this mite is my idol. Come, Isa, let's go 
 and race the butterflies. I will send the boys in, 
 Effie." 
 
 " Me no' ant dey 'ude boyd," said Isa, demurely, 
 as she went out, perched on her father's shoulder. 
 
 Effie had plenty to do that day, besides the neces- 
 sary preparations for the ball ; there was Jessie to be 
 soothed, if possible, and Harold to be consoled for 
 the hard things his wife had said to him. Effie 
 always set herself this task when Jessie was in one 
 of her disagreeable moods ; and she therefore spent 
 the whole afternoon in the studio, reading manuscripts, 
 admiring sketches, and listening to plans. The silent 
 man delighted in a sympathetic listener when he 
 was inclined to be confidential. 
 
 Jessie, left to herself, had reached her penitent 
 stage by the evening ; and her tragic self-condemna- 
 tion was sadly out of character with the comic 
 appearance of her distorted face. The comedy of 
 the situation was increased by the sudden entrance 
 of Mrs. Mortlake, arrayed in a wonderful garment 
 of yellow China crape, with a turban-like erection 
 on her head. " Miss Effie, I am perfectly over- 
 whelmed with the honour — ye gods, what do I see ? 
 * Lugete Veneres Cupitlinesque V The glorious sun in 
 its meridian splendour obscured. ' Formoe gloria 
 fiuxa atque fragiHs.' No, Mr. Yonge, I must not —
 
 294 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 I have already incurred the dire wrath of all our 
 beaux for delaying the appearance of the brightest 
 star in the firmament of Gateshill." 
 
 " Yourself, Mrs. Mortlake ?" asked Harold, mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 " Mr. Yonge, I blush for you ! ' Pessimum genus 
 inimicorum laudanies? Mrs. Yonge, what consolatory 
 message will you send to all those who will be 
 desolated at your absence? Some of the fair sex, 
 no doubt, will rejoice — woe's me that it must be 
 said. A thousand thanks, Mr. Yonge ! — a little 
 higher — Miss Erne, are you warmly clad ? — old Father 
 Winter has not yet quite abdicated his — Ah, Mrs. 
 Yonge, your aesthetic mind has flown to the May of 
 the Poets — but, alas ! alas ! Come Miss Effie ! Let 
 us not dim our eyes by weeping for that fair ideal — 
 the reality will nip our features, I warn — Well, 
 Mr. Yonge, if you will honour me so far above my — 
 Good-night, dear Mrs. Yonge — may our now fasting 
 eyes soon have their usual feast of — Good-night :" 
 and Mrs. Mortlake and her yellow robe vanished into 
 the darkness, Effie following. 
 
 Effie often afterwards looked back with a kind of 
 wonder to that quarter of an hour's drive, during 
 which she listened so calmly to Mrs. Mortlake's flow 
 of words, with no expectation of anything before her 
 but the usual unexciting course of a Gateshill party. 
 That course seemed to be beginning with its ac-
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 205 
 
 customed promise of placid monotony when she first 
 had a quiet talk with George Monro on parish 
 matters, and then was invited by Nathaniel Butter- 
 field to join in a quadrille. Before that dance was 
 over everything was changed — all calmness was gone. 
 
 " It is very pleasant dancing with the room so 
 little crowded ; don't you think so, Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 "Yes, very — if the music were a little more in- 
 spiriting." 
 
 "I am sorry you don't like the music. I thought 
 it quite tasty. I am very partial to a horn and 
 a fiddle. Arn't you, Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 " Yes, oh yes. How fashionable we are becoming 
 at Gateshill — it is nearly ten o'clock, and hardly any 
 one has come yet." 
 
 " It is very foolish to be so late — don't you think 
 so, Miss Garnock ? Now, what I say is, give me my 
 money's worth. I am not one to pay a good price 
 for a ticket, and then to miss half the fun. As 
 I said to Joe, * What's the good of dropping in when 
 all the nicest young ladies are engaged, and you 
 have no chance of a partner worth looking at ?' Now, 
 you see, I got my pick by coming early ; and I hope 
 you will reward me several times this evening, eh, 
 Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 "Is not your brother Joseph coming to-night?" 
 asked Effie, not desiring to answer the question put 
 to her.
 
 296 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 
 " Oh yes, Joe is coming some time or other. But 
 I left him over his wine — him and Gerard Yonge. 
 They did not seem either of them very keen about 
 coming; and, between ourselves, Miss Garnock, I am 
 afraid Yonge was taking more wine than he ought. 
 I don't know what his brother thinks — but I fancy 
 he is getting rather fast. Are you sure about this 
 figure ? I always get confused between this one and 
 the next." 
 
 Effie was not sure of anything — excepting that 
 Gerard Yonge was then in Gateshill, and might 
 be in the same room with her in another minute. 
 She was nearly choked with agitation and dread — 
 but above all there was a feeling of intense joy that 
 she should see him once more. 
 
 " Why, Miss Garnock, I always tell my sisters they 
 ought to take pattern by your dancing, and now you 
 are out in the figures. I must not take up your 
 attention so with my talk. It is your turn to 
 advance." 
 
 When Effie had returned to her place, and her 
 partner was away, George Monro came close behind 
 her, and asked, in a low voice, " Have you seen 
 Gerard Yonge ? he is here." 
 
 " Thank you," said Effie, frankly, for his thoughtful 
 kindness moved her to forget for the moment that 
 no one was to think Gerard Yonge's presence could 
 be anything to her.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 297 
 
 " What has Monro got to say to you, Miss Garnock ?" 
 asked Nathaniel Butterfield, jealously. " Is he finding 
 fault with you for dancing ? For my part, I don't 
 see that parsons have any business in a ball-room." 
 
 " Mr. Monro does not disapprove of dancing," said 
 Effie, shortly. 
 
 "Well, he has made you look quite hipped with 
 his solemn talk. It is not fair to come poaching 
 on another man's ground, and so I shall tell him. 
 We must have an extra dance to-night, Miss Garnock ; 
 this one has not gone well at all." 
 
 " Then I had better sit down at once, and let you 
 find a better partner for the next quadrille. I am 
 very sorry I made so many blunders." 
 
 " Don't trouble about that, Miss Garnock. I am 
 sure I shan't think anything of them, and I am not 
 at all keen about looking for another partner now. I 
 had much rather take a few turns with you ; in fact, 
 I — Well, Yonge, so you have got your legs from 
 under the mahogany at last." 
 
 " Yes, at last. It did require a great effort. Your 
 father's wine is excellent." Gerard looked very 
 much flushed and excited ; he spoke loud, and with 
 a nervous lau^rh. 
 
 " Oh, Effie !" he cried, affecting surprise at the 
 sight of her; "how are you? How are they all at 
 home ?" He gave her hand an almost fierce pressure, 
 and then dropped it suddenly. " There is Rogers !
 
 298 TOXIC BITTERS. 
 
 I must go and speak to the old fellow/' And he 
 hurried away. 
 
 " You and Yonge are not so thick now as you 
 used to be, eh, Miss Garnock ?" asked Nathaniel. 
 
 " Gerard has not so much leisure time now as he 
 had," Effie managed to say. 
 
 " From all accounts, he has leisure time enough for 
 a good many wild pranks," remarked Nathaniel, 
 little guessing how he was cutting away the ground 
 under his own feet, whilst labouring to do that kind 
 office for Gerard. 
 
 " I must sit down now, Mr. Butterfield," said Effie, 
 faintly. 
 
 But pitting down was of little use, for her tormentor 
 stood before her during the next quadrille, which 
 she refused to dance. At last she caught George 
 Monro's eye, and her beseeching glance brought him 
 in a moment to her side. " Save me from that 
 man," she whispered, in utter desperation. 
 
 " That is a nice cob vour father rides, Mr. Butter- 
 field. Is it allowable to ask what he gave for him?" 
 said George, at once laying a trap into which he 
 knew Nathaniel would fall. 
 
 " Well, you see, that was one of Joe's clever 
 strokes," he be^an, forgetting his vexation with '* the 
 parson " in his delight at finding any fresh auditor 
 for the story, which he had told again and again to 
 every one in Gateshill.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 299 
 
 Effie was left in peace, and the first use she made 
 of her liberty was to look round for Gerard. She 
 soon discovered him, dancing with Emily Butterfield. 
 With George so near, she dared not watch him as 
 she would have liked to do ; but presently she per- 
 ceived that he and his partner were reflected in a 
 glass just beside her, and at that reflection she 
 might gaze without fear. Without fear, but not 
 without pain. Gerard was grievously changed in 
 two years. His face had lost its bright boyish look, 
 and had instead a careworn, restless expression. 
 
 Just now his manner was forced and unnatural ; 
 but that was probably owing to some embarrassment 
 at being where he was, as well as to the excitement 
 caused by Mr. Butterfleld's ' ; excellent wine." Effie 
 was seized with a terrible fear that this excitement 
 might lead him so far to forget himself as to ask 
 her to dance ; and that fear was increased when, 
 directly the quadrille was finished, he came towards 
 her, with his partner on his arm. He looked at her, 
 but did not speak, and, turning full upon George, 
 held out his hand. George hesitated, coloured 
 violently, and at last coldly accepted the advance 
 which he could not reject without attracting notice. 
 
 " I want to say a word to you, Nathaniel," said 
 Emily Butterfield, drawing her brother aside ; and 
 then Gerard spoke rapidly to George, "I beg your 
 pardon for forcing you to practise your own precepts
 
 300 TONIC BITTERS*. 
 
 But I could not endure to be in the same room with 
 you as a stranger, or an enemy ; and, not very long 
 ago, I heard a very eloquent preacher on a text 
 which said something about forgiving ' seventy times 
 seven times ' " 
 
 '•'Were you in this church when I preached on 
 that text?" cried George, in some agitation. 
 
 " Yes ; and as I came out, I heard an old woman 
 say, ' Dear ! what a comfortable preacher he be, to be 
 sure V But it is not comfortable to have one's hand 
 taken as gingerly as if it were an electric eel." 
 
 " If it were an offence against myself," muttered 
 George, doubtfully. 
 
 " Your sister will not even look at me/' remarked 
 Gerard. 
 
 " Well, Monro," said Nathaniel, returning to 
 George's side, "the best of it was that w r hen Joe 
 heard — " 
 
 The interesting history of the cob was doomed not 
 to be related this evening. Directly George's 
 attention was reclaimed by Nathaniel, Gerard had 
 turned to Eflie. " Will you dance with me ?"' he asked, 
 humbly in tone, but with a slightly confident look. 
 
 Effie was in a terrible dilemma. She would not 
 wound Gerard by refusing his request ; but she felt 
 that she would do anything rather than accede to it. 
 
 " I — I am afraid I am engaged," she stammered, 
 glancing in her desperation at Nathaniel, who was
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 301 
 
 flattered by the look, but did not understand its 
 meaning. George did, and said quickly, " The dance 
 is forming, Mr. Butterfield. Had you not better 
 claim your partner ?" as he spoke, he looked towards 
 Effie, so that Nathaniel could not mistake the hint. 
 
 " Miss Garnock, shall we stand up ?" and thus 
 Effie escaped the dreaded dance with Gerard. 
 
 All the Gateshill gentlemen were eager to engage 
 her, and she therefore went on from dance to dance, 
 without sitting down. Once she had to give her 
 hand to Gerard in "the Lancers," and once he 
 addressed a few words to her at the refreshment- 
 table. After supper she missed him from the 
 dancing-room, and began to hope that he had left — 
 or rather to say to herself that she hoped so, whilst 
 she in reality felt an undefined sense of loss in his 
 supposed departure. "Whilst occupied with this 
 feeling she unthinkingly agreed to dance with 
 Nathaniel Butterfield for the fourth time that evening. 
 She repented that she had done so when, in the 
 course of the first figure, he said, slowly, his voice 
 being more than usually thick, " Miss Garnock, I 
 have something very particular to say to you." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Butterfield ! A ball-room is hardly 
 
 the place in which to say anything' very particular.' " 
 
 " From a look you gave me before supper, I am 
 
 encouraged to think that what I have to say will not 
 
 be disagreeable to you."
 
 302 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 Effie was very glad that the dance required her 
 attention at that moment. When she returned to 
 her partner, he immediately went on, " I have no 
 doubt that you have been aware for some time that 
 you are the object of my preference — you young 
 ladies are so sharp in such matters." 
 
 u I assure you, Mr. Butterfield, I " 
 
 " Oh, yes," he interrupted her, with a sly look of 
 intelligence. " I know it is the fashion with voung 
 ladies to profess unconsciousness — Joe warned me of 
 that ; but as I was saying, now that I am in a position 
 to marry, and can offer you a comfortable home, I 
 am very anxious to have it all settled between us ; 
 that is, of course, if my feelings are reciprocated." 
 
 Again the requirements of the dance saved Erne 
 from the necessity of immediately answering. 
 
 " I am most distressed at what you have said to 
 me, Mr. Butterfield," she began, as soon as there 
 was an opportunity of speaking. " I am very sorry 
 that my manner should have so misled you." 
 
 "As to that, Miss Effie, I always considered your 
 manner very proper and retiring. I am not partial 
 to forward young ladies. Sometimes I have certainly 
 thought you rather cold — but Joe said that was only 
 to bring me on." 
 
 " Oh, no ; I assure you, Mr. Butterfield, I never 
 had such an idea. I have never looked upon you in 
 any other light than as a friend."
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 303 
 
 "I wonder at that, Miss Garnock. Several persons 
 have made game of me about you, and I have often 
 been asked when I meant to propose. I thought you, 
 who are so clever, would be sure to understand my 
 intentions, particularly as it is several years now 
 since I first began to be attached to you ; in fact, it 
 was when there was a talk that you were engaged to 
 Gerard Yonge. I suppose there was no truth in 
 that, was there, eh, Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 At that moment Erne's ear caught the tones of 
 Gerard's voice, raised in uproarious mirth. She did 
 not know what question had been asked her ; but 
 as Nathaniel paused for an answer, and under the 
 present circumstances, " no " seemed safer than 
 ''yes," she said, " No, oh, no." 
 
 "Then, if }^our affections are not engaged, I hope 
 I may consider that my offer is favourably received. 
 They say silence gives consent, eh, Miss Garnock ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, indeed, Mr. Butterfleld ; it is not so now. 
 I am very much obliged to you for the honour you 
 have done me, but I cannot do as you w r ish. Eeally, 
 I do not deserve the kind feeling you express for me 
 — I — I — " she stopped, again forgetting everything 
 in the horror of those sounds from the supper-room — 
 all the more audible now that the music had ceased, 
 and the dancers were walking about the room. 
 
 " As for that, Miss Garnock, you must not carry 
 your modesty too far. I think no position could be
 
 304 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 higher than you deserve ; and if I value a good dispo- 
 sition more than money or rank, surely no one else 
 has anything to say in the matter." 
 
 " But really, Mr. Butterfield, I cannot care for you 
 as you deserve." 
 
 " I am not a coxcomb, Miss Garnock. I don't 
 think so highly of myself that I should require my 
 wife to be a devoted slave. I like you better than 
 any young lady I know ; and if you like me better 
 than any other man, that is all I care about." 
 
 " But it is not all I care about, Mr. Butterfield," 
 said Effie, growing rather indignant with her unro- 
 mantic wooer. 
 
 " I am going into partnership with my father 
 almost immediately, Miss Garnock. The articles 
 are already drawn out. I shall have a good seven 
 hundred pound a year to begin upon, and many girls 
 would tli ink that a very fair prospect." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Butterfield, I think you have very 
 good prospects." 
 
 " Then, Miss Effie, I hope you will allow me to 
 come to-morrow and speak to your brother-in-law ; 
 we shall be able to arrange matters so, much better 
 than in a ball-room. Don't you think so, Miss 
 Garnock ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, much better," answered Effie, mechani- 
 cally, as she heard Gerard strike up a comic song — 
 a thing which he had always formerly abhorred.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 305 
 
 Nathaniel's look of triumph recalled her to herself. 
 "No, no!" she cried, almost fiercely, "nothing of 
 the sort. You must not come, indeed, Mr. Butter- 
 field. It would be utterly useless. It would be quite 
 impossible for me to marry you." 
 
 " I suppose you look higher, then, Miss Garnock," 
 said Nathaniel, sullenly, hurt by the sudden fall from 
 his momentary elation. "People do say you and 
 your sister are very proud. Perhaps you think a 
 solicitor beneath you. I know we don't rank so high 
 as the Bar or the Church ; but anyway a solicitor is 
 above an artist, and you can't expect to do so much 
 
 better than vour sister." 
 
 ti 
 
 " It would not be possible to do better," exclaimed 
 Effie, now feeling an intense desire to quarrel with 
 her admirer, as the only possible way of disposing of 
 his suit. 
 
 " You will greatly oblige me if you will allow me 
 to take a seat, Mr. Butterfield." 
 
 " It is very hard to have all my plans so upset, 
 after having been partial to you for so many years, 
 Miss Garnock," said Nathaniel, falling into a somewhat 
 melting mood. 
 
 " You will soon find some one more worthy of you, 
 Mr. Butterfield." 
 
 Thus dismissed, Nathaniel slowly withdrew, leaving 
 Effie to meditate, not on the flattering proposal she 
 had just received, but on how it would be possible to 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 stop those sounds which were such agony to her, and 
 such a disgrace to him from whom they proceeded. 
 The open door of the supper-room was at the farther 
 end of the passage in which she was sitting. No one 
 else was in the passage, and those who were round 
 the door of the ball-room were not noticing her. Her 
 resolution was quickly taken. For a moment she had 
 thought of appealing to George ; but she shrank from 
 the idea of betraying Gerard's weakness to any one 
 more than was necessary — especially to George. 
 Summoning up all her courage, and fixing her 
 thoughts, not on the man who had been her lover, 
 but on the boy whom her father had so loved, she 
 walked down the passage, and into the disorderly 
 supper-room, in which about a dozen noisy or stupid 
 young men were lounging on the chairs or lolling 
 over the table. Gerard was standing at the farther 
 end of the room, joining in the chorus of a Bacchanalian 
 song. Effie waited at the door, unobserved, until 
 this was finished, and then walked straight up to 
 Gerard. 
 
 " I have something very important to say to you, 
 Gerard. Will you give me your arm into the other 
 room ?" she said, in a clear, distinct voice, loud enough 
 to be heard by all around in the sudden hush caused 
 by her presence. Gerard looked scared, but he gave 
 her his arm at once, and she led him out of the room, 
 shuddering to feel how unsteady his gait was.
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 307 
 
 Neither spoke till they reached the passage. Then 
 she said, turning away from the ball-room, " Thank 
 you. Now, will you go home ?" 
 
 Gerard started, was silent for a moment, and then 
 began to speak very slowly and carefully. " Effie, 
 you think I have taken too much wine. I — I — 
 assure you — I — that confounded hot room — has made 
 me giddy — but — I — Come and have a waltz," he 
 cried, suddenly, as an inspiriting tune struck up ; and 
 before Effie could resist he had drawn her into the 
 ball-room, and was whirling her round. Only for a 
 few turns, however. He soon got out of step, and 
 staggered against the wall. Effie, who was horrified 
 to see Clara looking that way, managed to force him 
 back into the passage, and then said, imploringly, 
 " Gerard, go home." 
 
 " We won't go home till morning," sang out Gerard, 
 to her utter dismay, as he leaned, almost helplessly, 
 against the wall. 
 
 "Gerard, for Harold's sake, go home." 
 
 " Dear old fellow ! ' For he's a jolly good fellow !' 
 came out again, in his full voice — thick now, and 
 uncertain. 
 
 Effie, in an agony of terror and shame, dragged him 
 farther along the passage. " Gerard ! for pity's sake ! 
 Have you lost all sense of — " shame, she was about 
 to say, but she was afraid of the effect reproaches 
 might have, and altered her sentence. "Haveyu
 
 308 TONIC BITTERS. 
 
 forgotten the old days — have you forgotten Pixy- 
 combe ?" 
 
 " ' Suld auld acquaintance be forgot, and days of — ' ' 
 he burst out again ; but Effie interrupted him with 
 the adjuration which she could not before make up 
 her mind to use : — 
 
 " Gerard, for my father's sake, go home !" 
 
 He looked at her as earnestly as a tipsy man can 
 look, and then said, vacantly, " Yes," and walked 
 slowly and very unsteadily towards the stairs. He 
 did not release Effie's hand, which had continued on 
 his arm, but he appeared to have forgotten she was 
 there. When they reached the stairs leading down 
 to the entrance, on which several people were crowd- 
 ing, Effie quietly drew back, and fled swiftly along 
 the passage to the ball-room, 'where she placed herself 
 demurely by Mrs. Mortlake's side, and suggested that 
 that lady must be very tired, and would like to leave. 
 Mrs. Mortlake had never in her life been tired ; and 
 she was beginning to disclaim such an idea, when 
 George came to the rescue, for the third time that 
 evening, and, seeing how pale and worn Effie looked, 
 made it evident to her chaperone that it was time 
 to go. 
 
 When Effie reached her own room, and threw her- 
 self on to her bed to think, it seemed to her yean 
 since she had left the house. She had then been 
 inclined to grumble at the prospect of a dull evening :
 
 TONIC BITTERS. 309 
 
 what bliss that grumbling seemed in comparison with 
 the sense of shame and misery which she had brought 
 home with her. Nay, the disappointment and desola- 
 tion of two years ago seemed as nothing to this grief. 
 Gerard a drunkard ! The idol had indeed fallen. 
 Was it shattered ? 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: PK1NTED BV WILLIAM < I.nWKS AND SONS, STAMFOKD STRUCT 
 
 AND CIIAIUNG CKOS*.