LIE. R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLl NOI5 
 
 82/3
 
 THE IMPENDING SWORD.
 
 LONDON : 
 KOBSOIT AND SONS, PEINTERS, PANGEAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 THE 
 
 IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 J^ lobtl. 
 
 BY 
 
 EDMUND YATES, 
 
 AUTHOR OP ' BLACK SHEEP,' ' THE ROCK AHEAD,' ' THE YELLOW FLAG, 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 * Put we onr quarrel to the -will of Heaven, 
 "Who, when He sees the hours ripe on earth. 
 Will rain hot vengeance on the offenders' heads.' 
 
 Shakespbark, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 YOL. T. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 1874. 
 [^The right 0/ translation^ dramatic adaptation, and reproduction is reserved.^
 
 >r\ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 TO 
 
 MR. AND MRS. J. A. FITHIAN, 
 
 OF NEW YORK CITY, 
 BY THEIR ATTACHED FRIEND.
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/impendingswordno01yate
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 §0oK l^e Jirst. 
 
 THE EMPIRE CITY. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. The Curtain rises . 
 II. The Letter of Instructions 
 
 III. The Shadow of Parting 
 
 IV. Helen's Diary . 
 V. An Explanation 
 
 VI. A mysterious Commission 
 
 VII. Conjugal Confidence 
 VIII. A wandering Star . 
 
 IX. A Dinner of Celebrities 
 X. No Nonsense about her 
 
 PAGE 
 
 • 3 
 
 . 28 
 
 . 44 
 
 . 67 
 
 . 88 
 
 . 127 
 
 • 145 
 . 164 
 
 . 203 
 
 . 247
 
 §00h t^t Jrirst. 
 THE EMPIRE CITY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. 
 
 ' And you really insist upon my going T 
 
 'Insist is not the word. Stay here if 
 you like it better, and amuse yourself by 
 drinking brandy-and- soda-water, which, since 
 your visit to Europe, it seems you cannot 
 do without. All I say is, that I shall go, 
 and if yoU want to see some pretty women 
 you had better come with me.' 
 
 'What did you say the man's name was? 
 and where does he live ?' 
 
 ' His name is Griswold — Alston E. Gris- 
 wold — and he lives in Fifth-avenue, just 
 above Thirty-sixth-street. He runs a bank, 
 and is all day long in Wall-street, and 
 makes a pile of money, they say. He ought 
 to, for he lives in elegant style.'
 
 4 THE IMPENDINa SWORD. 
 
 ' And his wife — he has a mfe, I suppose 
 — what is she like? Does she come from 
 New England and sing through her nose, or 
 from out West and drawl like — ' 
 
 ' What stuff you are talking, Redmond ! 
 Since you have . come back from Europe 
 there is no bearing with you. Why don't 
 you go back to the other side and get your- 
 self made a prince, or a duke, or some- 
 thing?' 
 
 ' Ay, why don't I ? Why, because — how- 
 ever, that is none of your business. Is Mrs. 
 Griswold pretty?' 
 
 'Very pretty and excellent style, and 
 always has the nicest people in New York 
 in her house. Let us go and see them;' 
 and the speaker rose from the chair which 
 he was occupying in front of one of the 
 fireplaces of the reading-room of the Union 
 Club, pitching away the butt-end of his 
 cigar and pulling himself together as though 
 preparing for a start. 
 
 ' Wait a minute,' said his friend, yawn-
 
 THE CUETAIN EISES. 5 
 
 ing lazily ; ' I don't like leaving this fire, it 
 is so confoundedly cold outside.' 
 
 ' Cold, nonsense ; you have got that 
 hideous Ulster coat which you brought 
 from England, and there are plenty of robes 
 in the coupe. We shall not be five minutes 
 spinning up to Griswold's, and once there, 
 you will be very glad you came.' 
 
 So the two young men, Redmond Dillon 
 and Charles Yanderlip, went out into the 
 hall of the club and wrapped themselves up 
 in their overcoats, and were whirled away 
 up Fifth-avenue as hard as Yanderlip's wiry 
 little horses could lay their feet to the 
 ground. 
 
 Charles Yanderlip was right in saying 
 that his friend Alston Griswold was very 
 rich, for there were evidences of his wealth 
 and of the lavish manner in which he spent 
 it before his door was reached. Although 
 it was early spring, traces of the severe 
 winter yet remained in huge masses of 
 snow piled up into a high dirty frozen heap.
 
 6 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 which extended along either side of the 
 avenue, with interstices cut here and there 
 to allow of access to the house ; but within 
 twenty yards of either side of Mr. Griswold's 
 house these icy barriers had been levelled 
 and carted away, a broad canvas-covered 
 passage had been made from the inner door 
 to the outer edge of the side-walk, and no 
 sooner was the outside barrier passed than 
 you immediately merged from cold and 
 dreary darkness into warmth and light, into 
 an atmosphere heavy with perfume from 
 the innumerable flowering shrubs with 
 which the rooms, the passages, and the 
 staircases were decorated ; into a species of 
 fairyland, where the ears were greeted with 
 the sound of enlivening dance-music exqui- 
 sitely performed, and the eyes were de- 
 lighted with the sight of the prettiest 
 women in the world in such perfect toilettes 
 as the most lavish expenditure could pro- 
 cure. 
 
 'This man really does the thing very
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. 7 
 
 well indeed,' said Dillon to Yanderlip, as 
 they made their way down the staircase to- 
 wards the parlour where the reception was 
 being held. 
 
 'Does he, indeed? How very kind of 
 you to patronise him !' said his friend with 
 a laugh. ' Why don't you pull your mous- 
 tache, Redmond, and say '' Haw" to every 
 word, after the true English swell fashion ? 
 Wait until I have presented you to Gris- 
 wold and you have talked to him, and then 
 you will find out what a true gentleman 
 and thoroughly good fellow he is.' 
 
 They had gained the door now, and 
 were being carried on with the tide of hu- 
 manity that was surging through the room; 
 the crowd was great and almost constantly 
 in motion, but as the host and hostess 
 stopped every one to say a few kindly 
 words of recognition as they passed the 
 mantelpiece, which might in military lan- 
 guage be called the saluting point, Redmond 
 Dillon had plenty of time to take a good
 
 8 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 look at Mr. and Mrs. Alston Griswold be- 
 fore his presentation to them. 
 
 A man of about six-and-thirty years of 
 age was Alston Griswold, of middle height, 
 mth a thick dark moustache and a small 
 imperial, bright, frank, honest dark eyes, 
 and a gentlemanly, intelligent, good-looking 
 face. A few lines here and there round his 
 eyes tell of business cares, and his shoul- 
 ders are slightly rounded from frequent 
 stooping over his desk. For this night, 
 however, he had temporarily abandoned all 
 thought of business care or worry. You 
 would have thought him the least preoccu- 
 pied man in the world, if you had noticed 
 the gay courtesy with which he addressed 
 each of his guests as they passed by; you 
 would have thought him the best man in 
 the world, had you chanced to mark the 
 glance of mingled pride, love, and admira- 
 tion which from time to time he threw 
 upon his wife, standing by his side. 
 
 Nor could he have bestowed upon her
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. \) 
 
 any amount of admiration or affection which 
 would not have been richly deserved, for 
 Helen Griswold was a woman among a 
 thousand. Rather under than over the or- 
 dinary height of women, with a figure 
 which, though light and lithe, was rounded 
 and shapely, with perfect little hands and 
 feet, and with a gliding walk, such as is 
 rarely seen save among Spanish women, for 
 one of whom she might have passed. Her 
 eyes were large, soft, and dark, her com- 
 plexion creamy, her hair the very darkest 
 shade of brown, shot here and there with a 
 tinge of deep dull red. Add to this a small 
 straight nose , and a rather large fresh 
 mouth, and you have Helen Griswold's por- 
 trait complete. 
 
 By this time the two club inen were 
 abreast of their host and hostess, to whom 
 Yanderlip presented his friend as just re- 
 turned after a long absence in Europe. 
 Helen merely bowed and smiled, but her 
 husband shook hands with Dillon, and
 
 10 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 laughingly congratulated him on safely ac- 
 complishing a voyage which he himself was 
 about to undertake. 
 
 ^ What did he mean by that?' asked Dil- 
 lon of his friend when they had passed 
 through the crowd and were standing in 
 the further room, where dancing was going 
 on. ' You don't mean to say he is going 
 to Europe?' 
 
 ' I imagine so by what he said ; indeed, 
 I recollect now hearing at the club he sails 
 in the Calabria to-morrow, and that this 
 is a kind of farewell fete.' 
 
 'Of course he takes his wife with 
 him?' 
 
 ' I think not. She would give the world 
 to go, but is encumbered by the ties of ma- 
 ternity. Her little baby is delicate, and the 
 mother could neither take her nor go away 
 from her.' 
 
 ' Isn't Griswold fond of his wife ?' asked 
 Dillon, looking through the arched opening 
 between the rooms at the host and hostess,
 
 TKfi CURTAIN RISES. 1 1 
 
 who, having finished their reception, were 
 now approaching the dancers. 
 
 ' Fond of her ! He worships the ground 
 she treads ; you have only to look at them 
 to tell that; 
 
 'What makes him leave her, then?' 
 
 ' Business, my dear fellow, to which, as 
 you appear to have forgotten, all the men 
 in New York are slaves. Griswold is deeply 
 interested, amongst other matters, in the 
 establishment of some new telegraphic line 
 which is to compete with the Western 
 Union, and rumour reports that his present 
 mission is in search of English capitalists 
 and English engineers to aid him.' 
 
 'And he leaves his wife behind!' said 
 Dillon, shaking his head. ' Poor child ! I 
 thought by the expression of her face that 
 there was something clouding her happiness 
 even to-night.' 
 
 ' Yes ; in these days, when conjugal fide- 
 lity is somewhat at a discount, their devotion 
 to each other is extraordinar}^ I never — *
 
 12 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ' Say, quick, who is this man leaning 
 against the wall with his arms folded, and 
 looking so intently at Mrs. Griswold ?' 
 
 Yanderlip looked round in the direction 
 pointed out. His eyes rested on a tall man, 
 of slim but wiry build, about twenty- eight 
 years of age, with a long, thin, close-shaved 
 face, small deeply-set eyes, and thin blood- 
 less lips. His evening dress was scrupu- 
 lously plain and neat, and as he leant back 
 against the wall with his legs crossed, one 
 hand was hidden in his bosom, while with 
 the other, long and lean, he slowly stroked 
 his chin. His gaze was fixed, and never 
 varied; its object, as Dillon had remarked, 
 was Mrs. Griswold. 
 
 ' That,' said Vanderlip, after looking at 
 him^ ' is a man of some importance in this 
 household. His name is Trenton Warren, 
 and he is perhaps Griswold's most' intimate 
 friend. He is a clear-headed 'cute fellow, 
 versed in all the mysteries of "bulling" and 
 " bearing," and is supposed to be Griswold's
 
 THE CURTAIN EISES. 13 
 
 adviser in all matters of business, and the 
 real mainspring and contriver of these 
 lucky hits by which his fortune has been 
 made. Trenton Warren is supposed to be 
 quite necessary to Griswold's existence.' 
 
 ^ And from the way in which he looks 
 at her apparently seems to think the con- 
 templation of Mrs. Griswold necessary to 
 his own,' said Dillon. ^ He hasn't moved 
 his eyes from her since she came into the 
 room.' 
 
 ' You never were more mistaken in 
 your life, my good friend,' said Yanderlip, 
 with a smile. ' Perhaps the sole fault of 
 Warren in Griswold's eyes is that he can- 
 not be brought to admire Mrs. Griswold 
 sufficiently; that he does not give her 
 credit for the rare qualities which her hus- 
 band and his other friends believe her to 
 possess.' 
 
 ^Do you mean to tell me, then,' asked 
 Dillon, Hhat that man is not reckoned 
 among Mrs. Griswold's admirers — I mean
 
 14 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 of course admirers in the proper sense, of 
 whom you may be considered one?' 
 
 ' Certainly not ! It is said that he was 
 averse to his friend's marriage with the 
 lady, and that he has always entertained 
 somewhat of a dislike for her since.' 
 
 'Didn't approve of the marriage? Ah, 
 perhaps he wanted her for himself?' 
 
 ' Bah ! Trenton Warren is the last man 
 in the world to whom such an insinuation 
 could apply. He thinks of business and 
 nothing else, and is so singularly apathetic 
 about Mrs. Griswold's grace, beauty, and 
 good qualities, as really to rile and vex her 
 husband, who wishes all the world to be as 
 cognisant of them as he is himself.' 
 
 ' What a large-hearted man !' said Dillon, 
 with a cynical smile. ' And so I am en- 
 tirely wrong about Mr. Trenton Warren, 
 am I?' he added to himself, as Vanderlip 
 moved off to speak to some ladies. ' And 
 he has no admiration for Mrs. Griswold? 
 Well, I am not usually wrong in such mat-
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. 15 
 
 ters, and as I have nothing else to do until 
 Yanderlip is ready to go, I may as well 
 amuse myself by watching what is going 
 on around me.' 
 
 Let us take advantage of this opportun- 
 ity to sketch a little of the previous history, 
 and to describe the relations then existing 
 between Helen and Alston Griswold and 
 Trenton Warren, three personages who are 
 to play most important parts in our drama. 
 And first let us see that Eedmond Dillon, 
 clever by nature and sharpened by experi- 
 ence, was not very far wrong in his judg- 
 ment of the actual position of affairs. All 
 that he had heard from Yanderlip about 
 Trenton Warren was correct. The one an- 
 noyance of Alston Griswold's life (out of 
 his business career, which, as is usually the 
 case, was full of annoyances) was, that his 
 friend- could never be prevailed upon to 
 speak, as her husband thought, sufficiently 
 warmly of Helen. 
 
 And yet if all had only been known, War-
 
 16 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ren's appreciation of the woman at whom 
 he was then gazing, with all his soul glowing 
 in his eyes, was really greater than that be- 
 stowed upon her by her husband. Alston 
 Griswold thought his wife the prettiest, dear- 
 est little creature in the world — one on whom 
 it was impossible to bestow too great an 
 amount of petting and affection, one whom it 
 would have been impossible for him to deceive 
 or betray — far beyond any other woman in 
 the world, but still a woman, and as such 
 inferior to man; something to be caressed 
 and petted and spoiled, a pretty plaything, 
 a charming solace for one's leisure hours, 
 but nothing more. Alston Griswold would 
 have scouted the idea of talking over any 
 affairs of vital importance with his wife, of 
 making her the confidante of his business 
 schemes, of asking her advice in regard to 
 any detail of the great struggles in which he 
 was constantly engaged ; she would not 
 have understood them, he thought, and why 
 should she be bored with them ?
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. 17 
 
 Trenton Warren knows her better than 
 this. His sense is far finer, his insight far 
 keener, than his friend's, and while he has 
 apparently stood aloof from any attempt at 
 intimate acquaintance with Helen, and has 
 been sufficiently sparing of her praises in 
 her husband's ears, he has brought all his 
 sense and keenness to bear upon the dissec- 
 tion of her character, and has arrived at a 
 far different estimate of her mental power. 
 Constant secret study of her tells him that, 
 if she is not exactly clever, she has an im- 
 mense fund of common sense, determina- 
 tion, and patience — tells him also another 
 thing, the thought of which sends the blood 
 into his pale cheeks, and causes his heart to 
 throb with exultation. Helen Griswold, 
 this pattern wife, so decorous, so much re- 
 spected, so universally looked up to, holds 
 her husband in highest esteem, in most 
 affectionate appreciation, but of love for him 
 — of love, be it understood, in the sense of 
 passion — she has, according to Warren's 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 idea, not one whit. Such love the placid 
 easy-going absorbed man of business — so 
 much her elder too, with his petting pa- 
 rental way — was not one to kindle ; and yet 
 such love, if Warren were any judge, was 
 as necessary to her as air to light or heat 
 to flame. He had watched her carefully, 
 and he read the necessity for it in the occa- 
 sional wearied expression which came across 
 the lustrous depths of her dark eyes, in a 
 certain unsatisfied restlessness which from 
 time to time she betrayed ; he imagined he 
 had discovered her craving for love of a 
 distinct kind from that which her husband 
 bestowed on her, and in this discovery he 
 found hopes for his own future success. 
 
 For this man, outwardly cold, self-pos- 
 sessed, and reticent, so far as Helen Griswold 
 was concerned, was the slave of a passion, 
 violent, unreasonable, unconquerable. He 
 struggled against it for a time, fearing the 
 probable trouble, the danger it would cause 
 him ; and when finally he found resistance
 
 THE CUETAIN RISES. 19 
 
 to it impossible he determined that by her 
 alone should its existence be known. All 
 his apparent insensibility to Helen's charms, 
 all his studied depreciation of Griswold's 
 enthusiasm about his wife, were caused by 
 what he felt to be the imperative necessity 
 of keeping his passion hidden until the time 
 should arrive for declaring it to its object, 
 and to her alone. 
 
 And Helen — what was the state of her 
 feelings towards Trenton Warren ? She 
 could scarcely have told you if you had 
 asked her. But in her secret self she knew 
 that she regarded him with dislike, almost 
 approaching to loathing, without being able 
 to account to herself for the detestation he 
 inspired. She was afraid of him without 
 any definite cause for her fear, suspicious 
 without being able to explain to herself the 
 reason for her suspicions. That he has any 
 tender feeling, any of the animal passion 
 which men of his stam^) dignify by the name 
 of love, she does not dream for a moment.
 
 20 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 Had such an idea crossed her mind, her dis- 
 like of him would have been intensified. It 
 was on her husband's account that she first 
 conceived this distrust of Warren, who, she 
 felt certain, was exercising an evil influence 
 over Griswold, and worming himself for a 
 bad purpose into her husband's confidence. 
 Helen had this conviction so strongly 
 that it would have been impossible to dispos- 
 sess her mind of it ; and yet, feeling as sh e 
 did the difficulty of reasoning it out to her- 
 self, she saw clearly the utter impossibility of 
 making her husband understand it. Even if 
 she could have explained herself, she doubt- 
 ed very much whether she could have carried 
 conviction to Alston's mind ; for Helen's 
 keen and accurate judgment had long since 
 taught her to comprehend the exact manner 
 in which her husband appreciated her, and 
 to know that, though most kind and loving 
 and admiring, he regarded her merely as a 
 sweet solace for his hours of relaxation, and 
 would have certainly misunderstood any-
 
 THE CURTAIN EISES. 21 
 
 thing she might have said to him in regard 
 to Trenton Warren, and imputed it to a 
 womanish jealousy of his male friends. 
 
 What was it that filled Helen's mind 
 with these reflections at a time when she 
 ought to have been thinking either of the gay 
 scene around her, or of the loneliness which 
 would fall upon her on the morrow, when her 
 husband should be gone ? What was it that 
 set her speculating upon the motives which 
 could possibly prompt Trenton Warren to 
 be so assiduous in his attention to her hus- 
 band, so desirous to conciliate him and to 
 secure his intimacy and confidence ? What 
 was it? She was answered at once, as she 
 raised her eyes and saw the man who had 
 occupied her thoughts standing immediately 
 opposite, his gaze bent full upon her ! 
 
 Was • Trenton Warren taken ofi* his 
 guard? Had the sight of the woman for 
 whom he had entertained so fierce a passion 
 — sitting there radiant in youth and beauty, 
 her full evening toilette contrasting some-
 
 22 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 what strangely with her air of preoccupa- 
 tion, almost of sadness— caused him for an 
 instant to drop the mask ? Or did he think 
 the time had come when the revelation of 
 that passion might in safety be made ? Cer- 
 tainly, there was an expression in his eyes 
 such as Helen had never seen there before 
 — an expression which caused her to drop 
 her own instantly in amazement and indig- 
 nation. 
 
 The next moment he was by her side. 
 
 'It is strange to see you sitting here 
 alone, Mrs. Griswold,' he said, with a slight 
 tremor in his voice, which, however, he im- 
 mediately got the better of ; ' and you are 
 generally so surrounded as to make ap- 
 proach to you impossible.' 
 
 Helen did not look up at him, but there 
 was nothing in his tone or his* words to 
 which she could take exception; so she 
 merely said : 
 
 ' It is surely not from experience that 
 you say that, Mr. Warren. Your apprecia-
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. Z6 
 
 tion of my society has, I imagine, never 
 been so great as to induce you to take any 
 trouble to enjoy it.' 
 
 She was looking straight before her, and 
 the expression of her face was deadly cold ; 
 but the words spoken in her musical voice 
 fell deliciously on Warren's ear. 
 
 ' But it is never too late to mend,' he 
 said, ' we are told by our schoolbooks and 
 by Mr. Charles Reade. If my shortcoming 
 has been so great I will hasten at once to 
 repair it. They have just started a waltz, 
 you are not engaged, will you give it to 
 me?' 
 
 He bent over her so closely that she felt 
 his warm breath on her hair. Drawing 
 back hurriedly, she again saw the expres- 
 sion she had already noticed in his eyes. 
 
 ' Thank you,' she said, with great cold- 
 ness ; ' I have no intention of dancing.' 
 
 Her frigid decided tone must have struck 
 him, for he looked at her with surprise, and 
 said.
 
 24 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ' You cannot be tired, Mrs. Griswold?' 
 
 ' Since you say so, of course I cannot,' 
 she replied, looking him full in the face; 
 ' for what you say, at least in this house, 
 Mr. Warren, is not to be contradicted; 
 nevertheless, I will take upon myself the 
 risk of declining to dance and of holding to 
 my word.* 
 
 Trenton Warren looked as though he 
 would have spoken, but Helen, by a slight 
 bow and by an almost imperceptible move- 
 ment of her hand, gave him to understand 
 that the interview was at an end. 
 
 ' The horror with which that man in- 
 spires me increases daily,' she said to her- 
 self, as he moved slowly away ; ' but never 
 have I seen him so odious, so offensive as 
 just now. I dread his intimacy with Alston, 
 not merely on account of the influence 
 which it may have on our fortune, but from 
 some undefined dread that he will work 
 mischief between my husband and myself. 
 See him now even at this instant. He
 
 THE CUETAIN EISES. 25 
 
 makes his way to Alston's side, and by the 
 expression of Alston's face, and the way in 
 which he looks towards me, I can tell as 
 certainly as though I were at his elbow 
 what he is saying. He is speaking of me 
 kindly, and lovingly too, I am sure ; in the 
 confidence of his friendship he is comment- 
 ing on my appearance to Trenton Warren. 
 How blind he is ! Can he not detect the 
 contemptuous sneer with which his friend 
 is listening to him ? The very look which 
 I saw in his face the other day when he 
 complimented me on the possession of that 
 rare treasure, " a husband who admires his 
 wife and is not ashamed to say so.'' No, 
 Alston sees nothing of that, and still con- 
 tinues to — Mr. Warren takes his leave. 
 Ah, thank Heaven, there is a general move ! 
 I am tired and out of spirits, and shall be 
 only too delighted to get rid of all these 
 people.' 
 
 Trenton Warren accepted one of the 
 numerous offers to him of conveyance to
 
 26 THE IMPENDING ST70RD. 
 
 his house; but although it was suffi- 
 ciently late when he reached home, and he 
 knew that the next morning he must be up 
 betimes, having much important business 
 on hand, he did not think of going to bed, 
 but throwing himself on a couch, lit a cigar, 
 and became absorbed in contemplation. 
 
 ^ She hates me,' he muttered, after a 
 pause, slowly expelling a cloud of smoke; 
 ' and after her treatment of me to-night, I 
 declare I almost hate her. I hate her for 
 her coldness; the way in which she con- 
 stantly avoids me, and for her calm insol- 
 ence when compelled to acknowledge my 
 presence. What makes her shun me so, I 
 wonder ? Is her avoidance of me caused by 
 fear, arising from dislike, or is it the vague 
 sense of displeasure with which a woman 
 regards a man who has found out — while 
 she meant to keep him at the greatest dis- 
 tance — that her feeling for her husband, 
 though very pure and very gentle, is but a 
 milk-and-water feeling after all, without a
 
 THE CURTAIN RISES. 27 
 
 trace of passion in it ? No matter much 
 which it may be, I shall soon find out. I 
 read somewhere recently that the first thing 
 to be done by a man who is courting a wo- 
 man is to make her think about him, even 
 though it be unpleasantly. So far, I ima- 
 gine I have succeeded with Helen Griswold ; 
 she cannot keep me out of her thoughts just 
 now, even though she think of me with dis- 
 like and fear.' 
 
 Having arrived at which satisfactory 
 conclusion, Mr. Trenton Warren pitched 
 away his cigar and went to bed.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 
 
 ^ Good-night' and 'good-bye.' These words, 
 uttered by Alston Griswold to certain de- 
 parting guests as he stood on the top of 
 what is called in New York the stoop (equi- 
 valent to our steps) outside his open door, 
 gave a fresh turn to the last proceedings of 
 the evening. Good-bye? Why, of course, 
 he was going to Europe the next day ; most 
 of them had forgotten that, and many of 
 them thought it a favourable opportunity 
 for cracking another bottle of champagne 
 to wish their host health, happiness, and a 
 safe voyage. Those wishes for the prosper- 
 ity of others, which always increase in fer- 
 vour with the advance of the night and the 
 circulation of the wine, were mingled with
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 29 
 
 the expression of hopes from some that 
 Griswold would not remain away long ; that 
 he was a representative New Yorker, one 
 of their merchant princes, and a thoroughly 
 good fellow, and of fears from others lest 
 when he did come back he should be spoiled 
 and Europeanised, as was the case with too 
 many of them ; but none of these expres- 
 sions of doubt were whispered above the 
 speaker's breath, while all the good-byes and 
 God-speeds were loud and protracted, so 
 that a man of less genial and kindly im- 
 pulses than Alston Griswold might have 
 been excused in indulging in a little self- 
 gratification at the esteem in which he was 
 held, and the regrets of losing him which 
 were so loudly manifested. 
 
 The last guest had gone, and Griswold, 
 after waving his farewell to them from the 
 door, had turned back into the hall, when 
 it suddenly struck him that his wife had 
 not been present at these final joyous cere- 
 monies. To stand well in her eyes, to have
 
 30 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 her as the mute witness of the honours paid 
 him in acknowledgment of his social and 
 commercial position, was his greatest pride, 
 and he was vexed and angry to think that 
 the warm compliments of which he had just 
 been the recipient had been unheard by her. 
 
 He looked into the supper-room, but she 
 was not there; into the ball-room, and 
 there he found her on a seat at the far end, 
 listless and dejected. 
 
 ' Helen, what ails you?' 
 
 And all his anger vanished in an instant 
 as she lifted up her eyes, and he saw they 
 were filled with tears. 
 
 ' Helen, my darling, what is the matter? 
 Has anything happened?' 
 
 ^ Nothing, dear,' she said, in a low flat 
 voice. ' Tell me, are the people all gone ? 
 every one, I mean? 0, 1 am so glad!' 
 
 'You are over-fatigued, child, that is 
 all,' said he, bending tenderly do^vn to 
 her. 
 
 ' I wish it were all,' said Helen, rising
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 31 
 
 and throwing herself into her husband's 
 arms. 'I am so horribly wretched!' 
 
 ^ Wretched !' he repeated, with infinite 
 tenderness. 'What makes you wretched, 
 dear ?' 
 
 ' You do, and no one else. You are 
 going to leave me, and it seems cruel and 
 unkind of you.' 
 
 ' My sweet Helen, those are very hard 
 words, and — ' 
 
 ' I don't mean them harshly, Alston ; but 
 you have no idea how I dread your absence. 
 If I have any influence with you, you will 
 give up these plans and stay with me.' 
 
 ' Put ofi^ my voyage now, on the very 
 eve of my departure, with all my plans ar- 
 ranged ? It would be impossible, Helen.' 
 
 ' Nothing is imj)ossible to you in busi- 
 ness if you choose, Alston,' she replied; 'but 
 you don't choose. You are carried away 
 by the inordinate ambition to be rich. That 
 contemptible money-worship, which is every- 
 where sapping the foundations of New York
 
 32 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 society, has you for one of its high-priests, 
 and my comfort and my happiness are no- 
 thing in comparison with your desire for 
 the accumulation of money.' 
 
 Griswold was silent for a moment, re- 
 garding her earnestly; then he pushed his 
 hair from off his forehead, and with the 
 faintest sigh and a grave smile, more in his 
 eyes than on his lips, said, 
 
 * You are speaking hurriedly and like a 
 woman, Helen, and do not, I am sure, mean 
 half you say; but even if I have this wild 
 desire for the accumulation of money, for 
 whose sake is it indulged in, to whom is the 
 acquired wealth devoted? Xot, I think — ' 
 and a grave smile now broke on to his lips 
 — ^ not, I think, to myself entirely. I go 
 down town in the morning in the stage for 
 ten cents, and I return on foot ; my clothes 
 are the standing topic for my friends' abuse 
 and — ' 
 
 ' I know, Alston — I know it all. You 
 are the least selfish of men; and it is for me
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 33 
 
 and for my sake alone that you are con- 
 demning yourself to a life of slavery, and 
 making both of us wretched. But this is 
 precisely the reason why I am the person to 
 enjoin you to give it up. We are quite rich 
 enough for my ambition, dear. Stay with 
 me, and let us enjoy together what we 
 have. But for Heaven's sake do not leave 
 me.' 
 
 ' I love to hear you talk like this,' said 
 he, putting his arm around her as she pil- 
 lowed her head on his broad chest and 
 looked up with soft entreaty into his face. 
 ' It shoAVS you to me as what I have always 
 known you to be, the most affectionate 
 and most trusting of God's creatures. But 
 though I would give my life to save you a 
 pang, what you now ask me is an impossi- 
 bility. If I had had any idea that you would 
 have taken my going away so much to heart, 
 I would have endeavoured, though it would 
 have been difficult, to send some one else in 
 my place. At this late hour, however, it is 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 impossible to make any such substitution, 
 and it is imperative that I should go in per- 
 son ; not merely to look after my own busi- 
 ness, but after very large interests of others, 
 which have been staked on a guarantee that 
 I would attend to them. Helen, darling, 
 when you say that my inordinate ambition 
 to be rich and my worship of money are 
 greater than my love for you, you talk fool- 
 ishly, and you know it. To part from you 
 will half break my heart. I would willingly 
 surrender all the profits, large though we 
 expect them to be, of this projected under- 
 taking, if by so doing I could remain with 
 you ; but I could not do so without a sacri- 
 fice of honour and credit ; and, utterly un- 
 businesslike as you are, you know the mean- 
 ing of those two words and the value which 
 is necessarily attached to them. Do you 
 understand me, child ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, wiping the traces of tears 
 from her face and looking up at him almost 
 calmly, ' I understand all you say, and I see
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 35 
 
 there is nothing for me to do but to ac- 
 quiesce in the arrangement. Only under- 
 stand one thing, Alston; thiis protest of 
 mine against your leaving me is not the 
 mere pettish flmcy of a woman who hates to 
 be alone, or who is possessed by any absurd 
 jealousy as to what may be her husband^s 
 proceedings during his absence — you and I 
 understand each other too well for any non- 
 sense of that sort; but I hate you going 
 away on this voyage, Alston. I have had a 
 presentiment about it which nothing can 
 dispel, though which I should find impos- 
 sible to explain. However, it is useless say- 
 ing any more about it; only promise me one 
 thing, that you will never undertake such a 
 voyage again.' 
 
 ' I promise ; that is to say, I promise 
 never to sail again for Europe unless you 
 go with me. 0, you need not purse your 
 little mouth up in that manner ! Charley 
 Yanderlip tells me that his friend Dillon, 
 who has just returned from the other side,
 
 36 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 VOWS that Europe is the only place in the 
 world fit to live in/ 
 
 ' Then ]\Ir. Dillon is a — never mind ; I 
 will say not a good American citizen/ said 
 Helen, tossing her head. ' Do you know 
 what o'clock it is, Alston ?' 
 
 'Late enou2:h,' said Alston, lookinsr at 
 his watch ; ' but I have some work to do in 
 the library before I can think of rest/ 
 
 'I will join you there, then,' said Helen, 
 rising. ' I am not in the least sleepy, only 
 I must first get rid of this stiff silk dress, 
 and these bracelets and jewels. I can then 
 send that wretched Hortense to bed, and I 
 will be down again in five minutes.' 
 
 Alston Griswold leaned back in his 
 chair, and looked long and lovingly at his 
 wife as she glided away, and at the spot 
 which she had occupied after she had 
 passed out of his sight. Then his brow 
 darkened, and he thrust his hands deeply 
 into his pockets as he slowl}^ rose from his 
 seat.
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 37 
 
 Did he share the presentiment as to his 
 departure which his wife had confessed? 
 Not the least in the world. He was by far 
 too practical a man of business to have 
 given way to any such folly. But the word 
 — and yet — No, it would be madness. He 
 would be the lauo:hino:-stock of Wall-street 
 and the butt of his clubs if he allowed a 
 woman's weakness to influence him in a 
 matter where three or four millions were 
 involved, and in the conduct of which his 
 reputation and his fortune w^ould be made 
 or marred. He would close up his prepara- 
 tions at once, and the first thing to be at- 
 tended to was that letter of instructions. 
 
 Acting at once upon this determination, 
 he crossed the hall and entered the library 
 — an old room furnished with black oak, 
 and entirely surrounded with antique book- 
 cases filled with a choice collection, w^hich, 
 indeed, their owner never opened, but which 
 were Helen's greatest resource and delight. 
 On the other side of the large open folding-
 
 38 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 doors were the supper-rooms, the lights in 
 which were still burning, though the tables 
 had been cleared ere the servants retired to 
 rest. Griswold looked somewhat surprised 
 when he saw the room still lighted, and 
 was on the point of ringing the bell ; but 
 remembering there was no one to answer 
 it, he turned back into the library, lit a 
 cigar, and seating himself at the writing- 
 table, took from one of the drawers a sheet 
 of paper, two sides of which were already 
 covered. 
 
 By the shaded light of the kerosene 
 lamp, which stood upon the writing-table, 
 Griswold read this paper carefully through ; 
 then laying it down before him, fell into 
 a train of thought. ' It looks innocent 
 enough,' he said ; ^ it might be what I shall 
 tell her it is, when I put into her hand — a 
 mere paper on business, to be read at a 
 future time — and yet to think how all- 
 powerful it will be, or ought to be, in the 
 event of anything happening to me. To
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 39 
 
 be read at some future time, eh ! I think I 
 can see the scene which will occur at that 
 future time plainly enough ; what a com- 
 motion there would be in Wall-street, what 
 an anxiety amongst a certain set to know 
 whether I had carried out the commission 
 with which I had been intrusted, before I 
 died. The commission mth which I have 
 been intrusted, that is what they would be 
 anxious about — not me, their agent; only 
 poor Helen would think of me. What she 
 said just now about her little regard for 
 wealth was true enough. If the enterprise 
 succeeded, she would be rich as an empress ; 
 if it failed, she would have comparatively 
 little to live upon ; but in neither case 
 would she care much, I flatter myself, if I 
 were gone. The joys or the woes of life 
 would affect her equally little if I were not 
 there to share them with her. What a 
 wretchedly gloomy train of thought I have 
 fallen into !' he muttered, half aloud, strik- 
 ing his hand upon the desk. ' Hundreds of
 
 40 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 men go to and return from Europe every 
 week ; it is the boast of the Cunard Com- 
 pany that they have never lost a passenger, 
 and yet here am I, in rude health and 
 strength, picturing to myself what is to 
 happen after my immediately approaching 
 death. Helen must have innoculated me 
 with a touch of her presentiment ; however, 
 I will shake it off at once. I will finish this 
 letter of instructions, for it is better for her 
 in any contingency to know exactly how 
 she stands, and then I will get some rest, of 
 which I fancy I am more than usually in 
 need.' 
 
 He drew the paper towards him again, 
 and bending over the desk commenced 
 writing earnestly. From time to time he 
 paused in his occupation and stared ear- 
 nestly before him, as though weighing cer- 
 tain matters in his mind before committing 
 his thoughts to paper. At length, after 
 about ten minutes' work, he came to the 
 end of his task ; and, having folded the
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 4 1 
 
 letter, placed it into an envelope, and was 
 about to return it to the drawer, when he 
 suddenly stopped. 
 
 ' No,' he muttered ; ' in her present 
 state of mind it is best to be prudent 
 over such a matter as this. I will not 
 leave it behind for her and tell her where 
 it is; I will not give it to her myself, for 
 she is but a woman, and her woman's 
 curiosity might impel her to open it at 
 once, and that would certainly impose a 
 scene between us ; I will send it to her 
 to-morrow by Warren. Helen will not 
 come down to the wharf; Warren is sure 
 to be there to see me off, and I will send 
 the letter to her by him. I have only him 
 to trust to for seeing after her while I am 
 away, and this little commission will break 
 the ice between them, and show her to 
 him — though he has never properly valued 
 her — in colours that must compel him to 
 acknowledge her the perfect wife she is.' 
 
 So saying, he sealed the letter and
 
 42 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 deposited it in his pocket-book, after re- 
 storing which to his breast he continued 
 his musing. 
 
 ' What a wonderful stroke of luck for 
 me, situated as I am, to have made such a 
 friend as Trenton Warren ! He will be in- 
 dispensable to Helen, and to me as the 
 means of communication with her. I must 
 get all her letters through him, for I could 
 never make her simple heart and unbusi- 
 ness-like head comprehend the necessity 
 for my taking a false name in England. 
 She would be frightened at the mere idea, 
 and she must never know it. This neces- 
 sity alone would oblige me to endeavour 
 to establish thoroughly good relations be- 
 tween Helen and Trenton Warren before I 
 sail to-morrow.' 
 
 'Before I sail to-morrow.' The words 
 turned his mind into a new train of 
 thought. Absorbed, he let his chin re- 
 cline upon his breast, and did not notice 
 Helen's entrance at the other end of the
 
 THE LETTER OF INSTRUCTIONS. 43 
 
 supper - room. She was clad in a loose 
 dressing-gown and looked lovely, with her 
 hair hanging around her shoulders. 
 
 When she had progressed halfway up 
 the room, her eyes were attracted by 
 something shining on the ground just in 
 front of her. Stooping and picking the 
 object up, she found it to be a portion of 
 a sleeve-link, an engraved cameo in a gold 
 setting ; the gold work had been twisted 
 and broken under the feet of the throng. 
 All this Helen saw at a glance ; but placing 
 it in the pocket of her dressing-gown, she 
 thought no more of it, and entered the 
 library to join her husband.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 
 
 So absorbed was Alston in his rumina- 
 tion, that it was not until he felt Helen's 
 gentle touch upon his shoulder that he was 
 aware of her presence. 
 
 'Has my melancholy been infectious?' 
 said she, bending tenderly over him, and 
 bringing her face close to his. ' Is it pos- 
 sible that what I said about your going 
 could have turned your thoughts in the 
 same direction ?' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said he, with a half smile ; 
 ' my thoughts were of quite another kind. 
 I was thinking — ' 
 
 ' Hush !' she said, laying her little hand 
 softly on his lips. 'Don't say you were 
 thinking of business; that hated rival dis-
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 45 
 
 places me in your mind far too much as it 
 is, but to give up to it such moments as 
 these would be sacrilege. I will be your 
 sole consideration now, until — until — ' 
 
 ^ Until the end of my life,' said Alston, 
 passing his arm tenderly round her ; ' and 
 your jealousy of my absence and all those 
 connected with it is a mere pretence, a 
 playful pastime, as you very well know.' 
 
 'Let us settle it so,' said Helen, 'and 
 quit the subject. Meanwhile,' she said, 
 taking from her pocket a morocco case, 'I 
 have a present for you, Alston, and one,' 
 placing it in his hand, ' which I think you 
 will like.' 
 
 He opened it, and saw gleaming on the 
 blue velvet a plain but costly gold hunting- 
 watch. 
 
 ' Thanks, dearest one,' he said, taking it 
 in his hand and looking tenderly up at her. 
 ' I shall like it, because, by its aid, I shall 
 check off every hour that brings me nearer 
 to my home and to you.'
 
 46 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 'Why, Alston,' said Helen, laying her 
 hand tenderly on his, ' do you know that 
 is quite a poetical sentence? I fear your 
 reputation as a practical man would be lost 
 for ever if it were known in Wall-street that 
 you had given utterance to such a remark. 
 But,' she added, taking the watch from him, 
 ' it will have, I trust, a still stronger value 
 in your eyes.' 
 
 She touched a spring, and the back fly- 
 ing open revealed an admirably executed 
 coloured photograph, a likeness of herself; 
 underneath was engraved the date, 'Feb- 
 ruary 20th, 1871.' 
 
 ' 0, how glorious !' said Alston Griswold, 
 with surprise. ' It is a wonderful likeness,' 
 said he, after a little pause, during which 
 he had been looking fondly at the picture ; 
 'somewhat too sad and serious, perhaps, 
 for my Helen.' 
 
 ' It reflects the shadow of parting which 
 hung over your Helen at the time it was 
 taken, as the engraved date underneath will
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 47 
 
 never cease to remind you ; you see it, 
 Alston, the one dark day in our married 
 life.' 
 
 ^ You shall regard it in a very different 
 light, dear one,' said her husband; 'you 
 shall learn to look upon it as the day on 
 which your husband entered into an under- 
 taking by which his fortune was perfected, 
 and he was left freed from the cares of busi- 
 ness to devote the remainder of his existence 
 to his wife and his home.' 
 
 'God grant it!' said Helen fervently. 
 'Each time that you look upon that pic- 
 ture, Alston, think upon what you have 
 said just now, and come what may, make up 
 your mind not to leave me alone again.' 
 
 ' You speak of being alone, dear, as 
 though you were on a desolate island, in- 
 stead of in New York, surrounded by 
 troops of friends.' 
 
 ' I am always alone when I am without 
 you ; and as to friends, I am not sanguine 
 as to their taking much interest in our
 
 48 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 affairs, or helping me to smooth any diffi- 
 culties which may arise in my path.' 
 
 ' There is one, at least, among them of 
 whom you must not speak so lightly,' said 
 Alston in a grave voice; ^one who has 
 already been tried and proved himself in 
 the highest degree trustworthy, and in 
 whom my confidence is such that I am 
 about to ask him for further proof of his 
 friendship.' 
 
 Helen's glance shifted instantly from 
 her husband's face and droj^ped upon the 
 ground. She knew instinctively to whom 
 he was alluding. Should she in that last 
 moment give utterance to her detestation 
 and distrust? Should she implore Alston 
 to authorise her to deny herself to Mr. 
 Warren, and entreat him to select some 
 other friend as his agent in the transaction 
 of any business which might be necessary 
 between them ? She paused for an instant 
 in reflection. What reason could she give 
 for such a course of action? What real and
 
 THE SHADOW OF PAETING. 49 
 
 tangible ground of complaint had she against 
 this man ? None at all. A vague dislike, an 
 undefined suspicion, were all she could bring 
 forward; and these her husband's practical 
 common sense would induce him, with all 
 his love for her, to reject at once. 
 
 ' I am glad that we possess such a friend, 
 Alston/ said Helen, after a pause. 'I say 
 "we," because, allied as we are, not merely 
 formally but in heart, without the smallest 
 shade of division between us, this mysterious 
 unknown could not be your friend without, 
 as it seems to me, being mine.' 
 
 ' There is no mystery about me, dear 
 one,' said Alston, 'for I am speaking of 
 Trenton Warren 5 and as to his being your 
 friend, he would only too gladly prove him- 
 self if you would give him greater oppor- 
 tunity of so doing. ^ 
 
 ' Greater opportunity, Alston!' she cried. 
 ' Have I then been remiss in — ' 
 
 ' Eemiss in nothing which concerns the 
 duties of a wife,' said he tenderly; 'only I 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 thouglit I had noticed — it may have been 
 imagination — that there was a certain cold- 
 ness and avoidance in your manner towards 
 Warren. He is himself somewhat of my 
 temperament, Helen, engrossed in business, 
 unaccustomed to make the polite advances 
 common in society, and liable to take flight 
 immediately if he did not find his atten- 
 tions appreciated.' 
 
 The bitter word rose in Helen's mouth 
 as she listened. ' I am sorry that Mr. War- 
 ren,' she commenced, and then better reflec- 
 tion came to her aid, and she broke ofi* that 
 sentence. 'I will not have you compare Mr. 
 Warren to yourself,' she resumed, 'for there 
 is no one like you in the world ; but I have 
 no doubt that Mr. Warren means very well, 
 and I certainly had no intention of snubbing 
 him, as you seem to fancy I have done.' 
 
 ' That is spoken like my own true little 
 wife,' said Alston. ' Then depend upon it,' 
 he added, assuming an important air, which, 
 under other circumstances, Helen would
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 51 
 
 have found amusing, ' depend upon it that 
 the knowledge of human nature which I 
 possess would prevent my forming an inti- 
 mate alliance with one who was not worthy 
 of itj and I want you and Trenton Warren to 
 be the best of friends. It will be the greatest 
 comfort to me during my absence to know 
 that I have left you in the charge of one 
 who is worthy of the thorough confidence 
 which we both equally place in him.' 
 
 ^You — you are going to leave me in 
 Mr. Warren's charge, Alston ?' 
 
 ' Why, Helen,' replied her husband, with 
 a laugh, * you speak as though you were a 
 trembling captive and he a terrific gaoler 
 into whose custody I was about to deliver 
 you. When I say take charge, I mean sim- 
 ply this. During my absence it will be 
 necessary that there should be some one to 
 whom you can refer in any ordinary mat- 
 ters of your daily life, whom you can call 
 into your council, and by whose decision 
 you shall abide at any special crisis which 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 ILLINOIS LIBRARY
 
 52 THE IM:PENDINa SWORD. 
 
 that dear, unbusiness-like little brain might 
 find itself unable to grapple with. For this 
 confidential position there is no one so fitted 
 as Trenton Warren. He knows both my 
 private and my business affairs, has a cool 
 clear head, and on more than one occasion 
 has shown his devotion to my service. I 
 have told him what is wanted of him, and 
 he will accept the charge.' 
 
 Should she speak then ? Should she 
 seize what might be the last opportunity of 
 declaring to him the dread, strong yet un- 
 definable, which lay so heavy on her soul? 
 Should she brave the chances of his rail- 
 lery, his annoyance, even of his anger, by 
 imploring him not to leave her in this man's 
 power, not to give him any control whatso- 
 ever over her actions, avowing at the same 
 time frankly that, while she suspected Tren- 
 ton Warren of deceit and double dealing, 
 she could give no reason but that internal 
 consciousness which, however powerful in 
 its operations, had no practical value.
 
 THE SHADOW OF PAETING. 53 
 
 No, she would not do this ; she would 
 not send him forth on that desolate journey 
 amongst strangers with any doubt or dis- 
 trust at his heart. Better for her to bear 
 whatever unpleasantness there might be in 
 her relations with this man rather than per- 
 plex her husband during his absence with 
 an additional source of anxiety. So she 
 looked at him with a soft smile and said : 
 
 ' It will doubtless be all right, Alston ; 
 and Mr. Warren and I shall get on very 
 well together. I suppose I have formed an 
 exaggerated idea of the horrors of this ab- 
 sence of yours. Mrs. Hotchkins, whose 
 husband is so frequently called over to the 
 other side, says that the time slips away 
 without one's noticing it; and that she is 
 quite surprised when she hears the vessel 
 bringing him is telegraphed at Sandy Hook. 
 I don't think surprise is exactly the phrase 
 which will express my feelings when I get 
 that welcome news.' 
 
 ' No, my love ; but, then, you are not
 
 54 
 
 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 Mrs. Hotchkins. Nor have I, I hope, much 
 in common with the eminent dry-goods 
 man. But she is right, I daresay, as re- 
 gards the quick passing of the time.' 
 
 'I suppose I shall hear from you con- 
 stantly, Alston?' 
 
 ^ Certainly, dearest ; by every mail.' 
 
 'And I suppose,' she said, glancing up 
 at him with a demure look, ' that you will 
 wish me to write to you occasionally T 
 
 ' Occasionally !' he cried. ' You must 
 let me hear from you equally constantly. 
 And, by the way, I have something to say 
 to you about that — ' 
 
 He checked himself just in time. He 
 was on the point of explaining to her the 
 arrangement he had made that all her let- 
 ters to him should be sent under cover to 
 AVarren, but he thought it better to keep 
 silence. Her simple nature never would 
 understand the business necessity which in- 
 duced him to adopt another name during 
 his stay in England, in order that the na-
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 5*5 
 
 tare and extent of his operations might not 
 become known in Wall- street, and thus in- 
 fluence the position of certain transactions 
 in which he was already known to be deeply 
 engaged. Her trust in him, he flattered 
 himself, was beyond question; but as he 
 had never sufi'ered her to have the slightest 
 knowledge of business matters (with which 
 indeed she had shown no inclination to 
 meddle), she could not be supposed to com- 
 prehend that what he intended to do was 
 what was constantly done for the purpose of 
 preventing one's rivals from getting a trade 
 advantage, but would look upon it as a de- 
 ception which no honourable man ought, 
 under any circumstances, to permit himself 
 to practise. 
 
 Alston Griswold then made up his mind 
 that he would not intrust his wife with this 
 part of his intentions on the spot, but would 
 send her word of it only by the letter of in- 
 structions which he had already written, and 
 which, on the eve of his departure and well
 
 56 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 on board the ship, he would give to Warren 
 to take to her. Warren was aware of and 
 approved of his project of taking a false 
 name ; and Warren's judgment was, in 
 Alston's eyes, indisputable. He would de- 
 fer letting Helen know about it until he 
 was safely out of reach of objection. 
 
 ' You said you had something to say to 
 me about that,' said Helen, recalling him to 
 the conversation ; ' you seem to have fallen 
 into a reverie.' 
 
 'It was but a temporary one, dearest, 
 and is immediately dispelled by the sound 
 of your voice,' said Alston Griswold, rous- 
 ing himself ' We were talking about your 
 letters to me, and what I want to say to 
 you is this, that you must write every day.' 
 
 'Everyday!' cried Helen, in astonish- 
 ment. ' There is not a mail every day, 
 Alston ; you would receive several by the 
 same post, and find quite a jumble of news.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, you must write every 
 day,' he said with a smile, ' though what
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 57 
 
 you write need not be posted; and as to 
 letters, I do not intend you to send me let- 
 ters at all ; I intend you to keep a diary.' 
 
 ' A diary !' she echoed ; ' I never did 
 such a thing in my life. I have begun a 
 dozen, kept them up bravely for the first 
 day or two, forgotten them for a week, and 
 then descended into a series of entries "no- 
 thing particular." ' 
 
 Griswold laughed. ' That was because 
 you had other things to engross your mind; 
 now I hope your diary will be your one 
 absorbing topic. It will be the sole record 
 I shall ever see of your daily life, which, 
 though absent, I hope and know I shall in 
 a certain sense fill, and it therefore must 
 be all-interesting and all-important to me.' 
 
 * You have thoroughly studied my weak 
 points, Alston,' said Helen, with a smile, 
 'and know that that is an argument that 
 I cannot withstand — the journal shall be 
 kept.' 
 
 'Kept from day to day, copiously and
 
 58 THE IMPEXDINGi SWOED. 
 
 full of detail,' said her husband ; ' do not 
 omit anything because you may think it 
 trivial or uninteresting ; the trivialities are 
 probably what will interest me most. Let 
 me be able to follow your life from day to 
 day through all the familiar hours of it, 
 and thus endeavour to cheat myself out of 
 the sense of separation.' 
 
 As he spoke these last words, he bent 
 down, and encircHng her with his arms, 
 pressed her to his heart. ' Xow let us go 
 and see the child,' he said — 'my little un- 
 conscious rival. If she had not existed, you 
 would have accompanied me on this trip to 
 the old country, and I consider myself ex- 
 ceedingly generous in still retaining my 
 affection for her.' 
 
 The Cuba was advertised to sail at three 
 P.M., but early the next morning the house 
 in Fifth-avenue was astir, and with all the 
 bustle and confusion occasioned by its mas- 
 ter's impending departure. Huge boxes,
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 59 
 
 packages of coats and rugs and piles of 
 clothing, removed from drawers and sub- 
 mitted to inspection before being packed, 
 lumbered up the passage ; heterogeneous 
 articles, from paper parcels up to portman- 
 teaus, were continually arriving, their bear- 
 ers brino^ino; with them little notes, the 
 writers of which expressed their hope that 
 they were not giving their friend too much 
 trouble in asking him 'just to take this 
 across with him;' friends who lived in the 
 neighbourhood, and did not care to take the 
 trouble of going down to the ship, dropped 
 in to say good-bye, and were found wan- 
 dering all over the house in search of its 
 owner. 
 
 And in the midst of all this confusion 
 and all this crowd, Helen drifted purpose- 
 lessly about, spoken to by everybody, but 
 scarcely comprehending what was said to 
 her, and when replies were desired, ans- 
 wered them vaguely, her eyes filled with 
 tears, her heart sinking more and more
 
 60 THE IMPENDING STVOED. 
 
 within her as she watched the hand creep 
 ing round the dial, and bringing nearer and 
 nearer the hour at which her husband was 
 to start. 
 
 It had been originally intended that she 
 should accompany Alston to the ship and 
 take leave of him on board, but she had 
 abandoned that idea. It would have been 
 impossible for her, she felt, to have main- 
 tained her calmness at such a moment, and 
 for his sake, as well as for her own, she de- 
 termined on not making the attempt. 
 
 And now the time had come ! She saw 
 it in his face as he slowly made his way up 
 the stairs to where she stood in the door- 
 way of her boudoir — her own room where 
 they had spent such happy times, and from 
 the wall of which his portrait was even 
 then looking at her with something of a sad 
 expression. 
 
 Alston took her by the hand and drew 
 her gently into the room, closing the door 
 behind him.
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 61 
 
 ^ The carriage is at the door, darling/ 
 he said in broken tones, ' and I have not 
 given myself much more than time to get 
 across to the Cunard wharf. For both our 
 sakes let us make this scene of parting as 
 short as possible. My darling, my own 
 heart's darling, God bless and protect you ! 
 Recollect the diary ; let it be begun to- 
 morrow and write it fully and freely. Once 
 more, my own one, farewell !' 
 
 He held her yielding form to his heart, 
 pressed one long, long kiss upon her lips, 
 and was gone. 
 
 "When the carriage drove into the yard 
 of the Cunard wharf in Jersey City, Alston 
 Griswold saw at a glance that half New 
 York had come to see him off. He had 
 cauo;ht siojht of several friends on board the 
 ferry-boat, but had no idea of their real 
 number until they clustered round him as 
 he alighted. Wall-street, of course, was 
 well represented. There was Uncle Dick, 
 rubicund and genial, smacking his lips as
 
 62 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 though the flavour of the terrapin which he 
 had eaten for luncheon at the comer of 
 Chambers-street still hung about his palate ; 
 and at his elbow, of course, was bright- eyed 
 handsome Billy Barstow, with his hand on 
 every one's shoulder, and his rich voice pro- 
 claiming every one to be his ' dear old boy,' 
 ready, not merely by word, but in deed, to 
 do universal kindness. And there was Alf 
 Macgregor, the banker, whom no amount of 
 American citizenship could deprive of his 
 keen honest Scottish look and sharp incisive 
 accent, and Willersheim and Schonbrunn, 
 and all the Hebraic-German clique, and 
 scores of others, to many of whom Alston 
 Griswold had ^ done a good turn,' and all of 
 whom wished him well. 
 
 There was to be a final drink — a part- 
 ing bumper of champagne — in the saloon, 
 and, followed by the enthusiastic crowd, 
 Alston made his way on board. But first 
 he took a look at the chief- steward's cabin, 
 which had been retained for his use, and
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. 63 
 
 which he found literally overflowing with 
 baskets of flowers and floral off*erino;s in 
 pretty and quaint devices. Some of these 
 were anonymous tributes, others bore 
 the owners' cards; but there was one on 
 which his eye at once rested — a large circu- 
 lar basket of primroses, with, in its centre, 
 made of the freshest and choicest violets, 
 ' Come back.' It did not give Alston Gris- 
 wold much trouble to know who was the 
 donor of that basket, or how fervent was the 
 prayer expressed in that gift. This thought 
 was put to flight by the arrival of Billy 
 Barstow, who came to inform Alston that 
 the champagne was ready in the saloon and 
 that he alone was waited for. 
 
 'Give him two minutes with me first,' 
 said Trenton Warren, suddenly looking 
 over Barstow's shoulder. ^ I want to speak 
 to him on business, Billy, and I will then 
 hand him over safely to you convivial 
 boys.' 
 
 ' I was looking anxiously for you, Tren-
 
 64 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ton,' said Griswold, when Barstow had re- 
 tired ; ' I want, as you know, to make you 
 the recipient of my last words. Here,' tak- 
 ing it from his pocket and handing it to his 
 friend, ' is the final letter of instructions for 
 Helen, telling her, among other matters, 
 that her letters are to come to me under 
 cover from you. I count upon you to place 
 this in her hands yourself.' 
 
 'You may rely upon my doing so,' said 
 Warren. 
 
 * And at once, if you please,' said Gris- 
 wold. 
 
 ' By at once you mean to-day,' said War- 
 ren. ' Have you told Mrs. Griswold to ex- 
 pect a visit from me?' 
 
 ' No, I have not ; but that need make 
 no difference, you know.' 
 
 ' Of course not,' said Warren. ' Any- 
 thing more?' 
 
 'Yes,' said Griswold, taking a slip of 
 paper from his pocket, 'the name under 
 which I propose to pass in England.'
 
 THE SHADOW OF PARTING. Q5 
 
 Warren took the paper and glanced at it. 
 
 ' All right/ he said, with a smile, ' that 
 will do very well ; not remarkable and yet 
 not suspiciously common for a man doing 
 big business — we consider it adopted. Now 
 we must hurry to the saloon, the time is 
 just up.' 
 
 The saloon was reached, the God-speed 
 toast was drunk with all the honours, War- 
 ren and the New Yorkers returned to the 
 shore, and the big ship noiselessly and al- 
 most invisibly headed into the stream and 
 stood away upon her ocean voyage cheerily, 
 cheerily. 
 
 ' He had not warned her that I should 
 come to-day,' said Trenton Warren to him- 
 self, as he landed from the ferry at Des- 
 brosses-street, ' so that I shall not attempt 
 to intrude upon her grief. The delivery of 
 the letter will do very well to-morrow, and 
 will give me a night during which to deli- 
 berate on my plan of action.' 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE IMPENDING SWOKD. 
 
 The next day about noon Trenton War- 
 ren called at the house in Fifth-avenue, and 
 was told by the servant that Mrs. Griswold 
 was not well enough to receive visitors. 
 
 ' Take her this card, if you please,' he 
 said quietly, 'and tell her that I am the 
 bearer of a message from Mr. Griswold.' 
 
 In a few minutes the servant returned. 
 
 ' Walk this way, if you please,' she said ; 
 ^Mrs. Griswold will see you.' And mutter- 
 ing to himself, ' I thought so,' Trenton War- 
 ren marched onward to the assault.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Helen's diary. 
 
 ^ I A^i to write my letters to him, Alston 
 says, in the form of a journal, so that when 
 I send them off each week, he may be able 
 " to follow my life from day to day through 
 all the familiar hours of it, and so to cheat 
 himself out of the sense of separation." 
 These are Alston's words, not mine ; I have 
 it not in me to think these thoughts, and 
 so the words would not come. 
 
 ' And why, I wonder ? Am I a heartless 
 woman, or ungrateful, or only common- 
 place, and unable to understand the way in 
 which things present themselves to Alston? 
 At all events, it will do me no good to 
 think about myself; I shall come to no bet- 
 ter liking for myself, to no clearer conclusion 
 about myself, by questions of this kind. If
 
 68 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 I cannot quite understand him, I can at 
 least perfectly obey him, and, please God, I 
 will do that, as I have always done it ; and 
 as he has said I am to keep a journal, I will 
 keep a journal. So I begin it thus, in an 
 irregular and unskilful fashion, no doubt, 
 but with the utmost sincerity of intention 
 to write in it everything which can interest 
 him (according to his scale and meaning of 
 interest, not of my own), on the very day 
 after his departure. 
 
 ' As I know that nothing can be regu- 
 larly done which is not done at a set hour, 
 I will begin my journal with a rule for the 
 writing of it. It is to be for Alston ; it is 
 to be his share in the day during his ab- 
 sence, and it shall be done during that hour 
 when I was always with him, just before I 
 went up-stairs to see baby fast asleep, and 
 to go to bed myself; after every one was 
 gone, when we had company at home; 
 when we had returned, if we had been out, 
 and when we compared notes of our impres-
 
 69 
 
 sions of the place and the people. In Al- 
 ston's room, at Alston's desk, my letter- 
 journal shall be written, and it may be I 
 shall get over the shyness and the discom- 
 fort with which the notion of writing to 
 him inspires me noAV, in the custom and fa- 
 miliarity of the time, and be able to per- 
 suade myself that I am only talking to him. 
 ' This, of course, is not beginning ; this 
 is only a little rehearsal, what the jockeys 
 call "a preliminary canter;" I shall start 
 properly by and by. It is rather odd, when 
 I come to think of it, that I have never 
 Amtten to Alston in my life, beyond one 
 or two mere notes just before we married; 
 and he found fault with them, and said 
 they were stiff and formal, and such as I 
 might have written to my writing-master, 
 to show him how I had profited by his in- 
 structions, and how attentively I looked to 
 my downstrokes and my loops. I remember 
 thinkino; that thouo^h Alston said this in 
 jest he was very nearly right, for I had
 
 70 THE IMPENDING SWORD 
 
 made three or four fair copies of each note 
 before I sent it, which was only my foolish 
 girl's notion of respect for Alston after all, 
 for I am sure I never copied out anything I 
 ever wrote to Thornton in my life, but just 
 sent it as it was, dashed ojff anyhow. This 
 makes it all the more difficult to write to 
 Alston now, and in journal form too; it is 
 commencing a new correspondence and 
 learning a new art. 
 
 ' I have never written down any of the 
 things that have happened to me ; I have 
 just let them slip by as if they were things 
 in a picture or in a dream, and I am a good 
 way on in my life now — a wife and a mo- 
 ther, to say nothing at all of my girlhood 
 and the story that was in it, only a simple 
 story, but the kind of thing women, I 
 should think, remember always, and I sup- 
 pose and hope it ^vill be a simple story now 
 until the end, until Alston and I shall bid 
 baby good-bye in this world. 
 
 ' And I hope that day will come for me
 
 Helen's diary. 71 
 
 before it comes for Alston, for I cannot 
 imagine what I should do with or for baby 
 without him. He says I am not a helpless 
 but a useful woman, and could stand alone 
 as well as the avowedly " strong" ones if I 
 hfid to do it; but, I don't know, I think 
 Alston is wrong; I fancy the only bit of 
 strength I have about me is the power of 
 hiding my weakness — well, there's some de- 
 fence in that, after all. But 0, the pain of 
 knowing oneself to be a coward! the pain 
 of feeling as I feel this horrid presentiment 
 of evil in Alston's journey to England, of 
 not being able to hide it quite^ and to make 
 the going, which he feels so much, a little 
 easier to him ! 
 
 ^ But this talking to myself is not be- 
 ginning my journal. It is really very diffi- 
 cult to write the everyday history of one's 
 life in a disjointed unpremeditated way. 
 Here have I been sitting for the last twenty 
 minutes staring at the paper, and not writ- 
 ing a line. I cannot bring myself before
 
 72 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 myself, as it were — something to be de- 
 scribed and set down in black and white. 
 
 ^ What have I to tell Alston, except that 
 I am writing in my room quite early in the 
 morning — not as I intend to write in future, 
 when all the house is quiet, and baby is still 
 fast asleep ? I could not sleep last night for 
 loneliness and trouble, and this haunting 
 something, which is not presentiment, I 
 suppose, but merely nervousness, and which 
 I must put down with resolution if I am to 
 be cheerful and useful. This order of Dr. 
 Benedict, that I am to give up nursing 
 baby, is troubling me. I feel that he is 
 right; I am not equal to it, and I should 
 harm the child and myself; and yet I hate 
 the very idea of putting a strange woman 
 in my own place — a strange woman, just 
 picked up by an advertisement! If this is 
 to be my journal, it will be nothing but a 
 list of grievances. Sometimes, ungrateful 
 woman that I am, I think life is not much 
 more.
 
 helek's diary. 73 
 
 ^ A happy idea has just occurred to me. 
 Suppose I write my journal in a retrospec- 
 tive sense? Suppose I bring myself before 
 myself as I was, and thus make it easier to 
 take up the history of myself as I am ? All 
 the earlier portion will be for myself, and 
 when I come abreast of the present time, I 
 will write it for Alston. 
 
 ' The notion pleases me ; I had almost 
 forgotten myself as I was, and now I shall 
 live within my own sight over again. I 
 have bought such a pretty book, in vellum 
 binding, with gilded leaves and lock, and 
 in that I am going to write the story of my 
 childhood and my girlhood, for no eyes but 
 my own — and Thornton's when I am dead, 
 if he Hves longer than I do, as Heaven 
 grant he may — he, too, as well as Alston. 
 I will shut myself up ; I will see no one. 
 I will work hard, and by this day week I 
 shall have written up to the present and 
 done my letter so as to mail it to Europe.'
 
 74 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 Into her pretty book, in vellum bind- 
 ing, with gilded leaves and lock, Mrs. Al- 
 ston Griswold pasted the foregoing prefatory- 
 pages ; and then settled herself seriously to 
 her task, and wrote as follows : 
 
 ' My life commenced with the greatest 
 misfortune which can signalise the begin- 
 ning of any existence; My mother died 
 shortly after my birth. How much more I 
 should have had to remember, how^ many 
 more pleasures, how much happiness, if I had 
 ever been to any one what baby is to me ! 
 Every one was very kind to me, and I was 
 a happy child; but there was nothing very 
 particular in my childhood except about my 
 going to school, and that is particular, be- 
 cause it brought Thornton and me together 
 and did away with my loneliness. For I 
 certainly was lonely when father was away 
 at the Mills all day, and aunt Catherine 
 busy all day long about the house, evi- 
 dently finding me very much in the way, and
 
 Helen's diary. 75 
 
 so glad when papa sent me to bed early, and 
 she could have those long talks with him, 
 which, I felt certain, made papa so de- 
 pressed and melancholy next day. 
 
 ' If I were writing a novel now, and had 
 to draw a picture of home — Holland Mills 
 was its commonplace name — I wonder could 
 I make it all picturesque and interesting? 
 I don't think I could ; and yet the long low 
 green and white house was pretty — and the 
 fields, the orchards, the river, were all 
 beautiful to me. I could describe every 
 part of the road between the Mills and 
 the minister's house, Thornton's home — for 
 Thornton's father was our minister, and 
 his mother was our school-madam ; but the 
 minister did the most of the teachino^. 
 
 \ My place was beside Thornton on the 
 very first day when aunt Catherine took 
 me to school, and he became my friend and 
 protector, and I his plague and oppressor, 
 from that instant. What patience he had 
 with me ! and how naughty I was ! I was a
 
 76 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 pretty child, and ahvays very trim and 
 neat ; aunt Catherine never would have 
 tolerated any untidiness or disorderly ways, 
 and I regarded Thornton's plain features, 
 much too large for his narrow face, and his 
 untidy clothes, worn anyhow and much 
 patched and darned, with great contempt. 
 But Thornton soon made me ashamed of 
 such a feeling. He helped me with my 
 tasks, he even did some of them for me; 
 he tauo^ht me to feel a moderate deo:ree of 
 interest in the subjects of our studies, in 
 which he repeatedly shot far beyond me ; 
 he got me out of scrapes, and kept me out 
 of mischief; he defended me against my 
 adversaries, fought and punished them ; he 
 saved the life of my little dog, when it was 
 drowning in the millstream, at the risk of 
 his own (poor little Taffy! she is stuffed 
 and under a glass case in Alston's study ; 
 and that is more of Alston's kindness to me, 
 for I am sure he does not like her, and she 
 isnt naturally done); he stole apples for
 
 Helen's diary. 77 
 
 me, and he lent me his own skates in the 
 ice-season, when aunt Catherine would not 
 hear of my having a pair. 
 
 'I put these foolish-sounding trifling 
 things down because I want to bring back 
 to myself the assurance that Thornton was 
 always like a brother to me. 
 
 ' The first thing that I can remember 
 as troubling the busy tranquillity of my 
 school life was my coming to understand 
 why aunt Catherine and papa always had 
 so much to talk about, and why the talking 
 never did them any good. I was growing 
 up into a staid little person, as Alston says 
 I am now, when the word " difficulties" be- 
 sran to be familiar to me. It never has the 
 sad and hopeless meaning in America that 
 it has in the old countries of Europe, I am 
 told ; but " difficulties'' are not easy or plea- 
 sant anywhere, and papa was not a man to 
 bear them well. He gave way very much, 
 and I used to tell Thornton about it, and
 
 78 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 he and I used to consult together and dis- 
 cuss what could be done. 
 
 ' Thorton had only one solution to offer ; 
 it was that he should marry me. This, he 
 said, would save a great deal of expense, by 
 taking me completely off my father's hands. 
 But I saw that that plan would not be of 
 much use, because some one must have 
 given us something to live upon, and that 
 some one would certainly not have been 
 Thornton's father; for he was very poor, 
 and Thornton was studying as hard as he 
 could, that he might be able to go into 
 business and assist his father. So that idea 
 did not come to anything; and when we 
 were a year older, and the 'difficulties" 
 were a year worse, Thornton got a situation 
 in New York, and he and I parted. 
 
 ' It was very hard — very hard indeed — 
 to part: I don't mean to deny that or to 
 make any mistake with myself about it ; 
 but I do wish to assert most distinctly, 
 though only for my own satisfaction, that
 
 Helen's diary. 79 
 
 there never was any engagement between 
 Thornton and me. 
 
 * I know Thornton loved me as a man 
 loves a woman whom he would make the 
 partner of his life — as Alston loves me, but 
 without Alston's curious notion of the essen- 
 tial difference and distance between men 
 and women. Thornton, though a highly- 
 cultivated man, thought me perfectly cap- 
 able of understanding the best of his studies, 
 if not of following their details, of sharinor 
 his interest in every sense ; but Alston could 
 not think thus, and though he is most ten- 
 der and indulgent, he is not confidential. I 
 should be the most ungrateful of women 
 were I to murmur; but I do wish some- 
 times for a little more confidence, even at 
 the cost of a little less indulgence. 
 
 ^ But I am wandering from my intention 
 to record exactly what was the state of 
 things between Thornton and me when our 
 schooldays came to an end, and he went to 
 take a small post with but poor pay at New
 
 80 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 York. I know that he loved me — that was 
 frankly acknowledged between us; but 
 there was no thought that we should 
 marry, then or ever. I loved him too ; but 
 not with love such as I have heard and 
 read of, but have never known ; love which 
 must mean misery, I think, because it 
 causes one to sacrifice duty, and common 
 sense, and all one's obligations towards 
 other people, to its own imperious claims. 
 I knew that I could not be Thornton's wife 
 without harming him and all concerned ; 
 and that, however much I might believe 
 that it would be the happiest fate to be his 
 wife, happiness of that particular kind was 
 not destined to be mine. I do not say our 
 parting was not sad, but I am quite safe in 
 saying that it was not bitter. 
 
 ' A little Avhile after Thornton went 
 away to New York I first saw Alston. He 
 came to Holland Mills on some business 
 connected with papa's afi'airs, and merelv in 
 a business capacity. My father and he had
 
 HELENAS DIARY. 81 
 
 not met previously, and we knew nothing 
 of him except that he was a prosperous mer- 
 chant of New York, and I think we had a 
 little of the sense of shrinking and depres- 
 sion — I mean aunt Catherine and I had — 
 which comes to unprosperous people in the 
 sight of those whose lot is far different. A 
 very little time, a very brief acquaintance 
 with Mr. Griswold, did away with such a 
 feeling as this, and turned him into a friend. 
 ' My father took to him from the first, 
 and as to aunt Catherine, I never knew her , 
 to like any man who was not a minister so 
 much, or to believe in him so implicitly. 
 He brouofht relief and cheerfulness with 
 him, that was plain, and at first all he did 
 was quite for papa's sake. After a while, he 
 began to care very much about me, and, 
 like a gentleman, as he is in everything, 
 he told me that he loved me, and hoped I 
 might in time come to love him well enough 
 to marry him, but that I must not regard 
 the matter as having anything whatever to 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 do with the efforts he was making on my 
 father's behalf He would continue them 
 as zealously as ever, whether I decided 
 for or against him. 
 
 ' I can never forget how Alston appeared 
 that day. I had not thought about loving 
 him, though of course I knew, as every wo- 
 man knows such things, how he felt towards 
 me; but when he spoke this to me, I felt 
 that it would not be hard to love such a 
 man, and that it would be a blessed fate to 
 become his wife. 
 
 ^ He did not press me for an answer 
 then; he said I must consider it until his 
 next visit, and I promised him that I would 
 do so. But before his next ^dsit, ah, what 
 a change had fallen on us all ! My father 
 had met with a terrible accident in the 
 mill ; he was hopelessly injured, and when 
 Alston came it was to see him on his death- 
 bed. 
 
 ^ The last hours of my dear father would 
 have been very sad had it not been for
 
 Helen's diary. 83 
 
 Alston. All was confusion in his affairs; 
 there had not been time to disentangle 
 them, as Alston was striving to do, and he 
 could not have died in peace without the 
 assurance which Alston gave him that aunt 
 Catherine and I should be well cared for. 
 He would not tell my father that he had 
 asked me to marry him, because he feared 
 my father might ask me for a promise 
 made to himself^ and so fetter the freedom 
 of my will; but when I understood this reti- 
 cence and the high honour that dictated it, 
 and how much it would rejoice my father 
 and take the sting from his death to know 
 that I should be safe, with such safety, I 
 told him in Alston's presence that he had 
 asked me to be his wife, and that I had re- 
 served the answer until now. My father 
 placed my hand in Alston's, and from that 
 moment I believe not one care belonging: to 
 this world troubled him. He told aunt 
 Catherine that he did not wish any need- 
 les§ delay to be made about the marriage,.
 
 84 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 that it should take place when a decent time 
 should have elapsed after his death. 
 
 ' When the sad funeral was over, as soon 
 as I could bear to see him, I told Alston all 
 about Thornton. The *^ all" was not very 
 much, but he still more fully proved to 
 me that he was a high-minded man by the 
 way in which he heard it, and the un- 
 asked promise which he gave me that Thorn- 
 ton's interests should also be his care. He 
 could not do anything to help him just then, 
 without sending to ISfew York for him (I 
 have omitted to mention that Thornton had 
 got a better berth than his first, and gone 
 to New Orleans), but there was something 
 which he had in view that he thought would 
 exactly suit him likely to turn up after a 
 while. 
 
 'He wished me to write at once to 
 Thornton and tell him of my approaching 
 marriage, but not to mention his intention 
 of serving him ; that, he said, would come 
 more graciously afterwards. I did write to
 
 Helen's diary. 85 
 
 Thornton, but he did not answer my letter 
 until he addressed me as Alston's wife, and 
 then I did not hear from him again for a 
 long time — he had gone on a trip to the 
 Dominion for his employers — not until just 
 before baby was born. 
 
 ' But I am not jotting down my own 
 story, for, after all, there is not much of 
 Thornton in that, though I seem to put a 
 great deal of him in this. Our wedding was 
 a very quiet one, and on my wedding-day 
 I took leave of the Mills. 
 
 'Alston wound up all poor papa's af- 
 fairs, sold the place, paid the debts, and 
 arranged for aunt Catherine's boarding at 
 Mrs. Broom's very near our house in New 
 York. Alston proposed, in his delicate 
 generous way, to make aunt Catherine's al- 
 lowance appear to come from the sale, that 
 she should still suppose herself to be under 
 obligation to her brother only; but I soon 
 made him understand that would be a hope- 
 less attempt. There is not a better head for
 
 6 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 business in the States than aunt Catherine's, 
 and she understood papa's affairs as well as 
 he did; she could not have been misled 
 about the origin of a dollar. 
 
 ' But, as I told Alston, she and I are not 
 of the mean sort who hate to be obliged to 
 a friend because we feel ourselves incapable 
 of gratitude ; we both accepted his kindness 
 as loyally as he offered it, and I don't think 
 there is a happier old lady in Xew York 
 than aunt Catherine — with baby, who has 
 cut me out completely, to come and see, and 
 unlimited sermons to listen to — Mrs. Broom's 
 boarding-house goes in for ministers, and 
 they have several denominations there. 
 
 ' I was bewildered when Alston brought 
 me home. It took me some little time to 
 get accustomed to the luxurious house, and 
 the stir of society, and even to the fact of 
 living in a city. I felt too small, too young, 
 and too ignorant. But Alston helped me, 
 Alston encouraged me, Alston had perfect 
 patience with me; and if he would only
 
 Helen's diary. 87 
 
 have made me more of a confidant, and less 
 of an idol, I should have had not one unful- 
 filled wish. 
 
 * All this shall be for his return, please 
 God. I am growing older so rapidly, so 
 much older than is told by years, and when 
 he sees me a sensible mother, he cannot help 
 thinking I am fit to be regarded as a wise 
 wife. 
 
 ' But I must stop. It is baby's bed-time, 
 and I can go on when she and I are dressed, 
 until lunch. This really must be put in 
 journal form, " posted up" to yesterday, be- 
 fore to-night, that I may keep my promise 
 to Alston — the promise he asked me with 
 almost his last kiss — " You will be sure to 
 besfin to-morrow." '
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 
 
 Helen Griswold laid down her pen ; placed 
 the sheet of paper which she had just co- 
 vered with her neat writing in a drawer of 
 her davenport; ranged her natty desk im- 
 plements, and then, resting her chin in the 
 palms of her hands and looking wistfully 
 before her, she fell a-thinking. Was the 
 sense of her husband's absence growmg real 
 and painful? Had the effort of this un- 
 wonted method of communication with him 
 roused her to a realisation of the great 
 change that had fallen upon her daily life? 
 Perhaps so. But there was more perplexity 
 than pain in Helen's face, and Griswold's 
 departure, though painful, was in no way 
 perplexing. There was something lurking 
 in her mind to-day — there had been some-
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 89 
 
 thing lurking in her mind yesterday— which 
 she dreaded to call out and gaze upon in the 
 open light. 
 
 After a little she rose restlessly, and with 
 an impatient sigh, and passed into the ad- 
 joining room, where she found her infant 
 just awake, and was soon absorbed in the 
 pleasant duties and interest of her nursery. 
 Then came a walk with the child and its 
 nurse, and Helen reentered her house, feel- 
 ing composed and cheerful, and full of good 
 resolutions for the wise disposition of her 
 time during her husband's absence ; a dis- 
 position by which she almost unconsciously 
 provided for the elimination of the one dis- 
 turbing depressing element. 
 
 She had just reached her room and was 
 laying aside her bonnet when the servant 
 brought a message from Mr. Warren. That 
 gentleman requested that he might be ad- 
 mitted to her presence, and said that he had 
 come upon special business from Mr. Gris- 
 wold.
 
 90 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 'He knows how to make me receive 
 him/ Helen thought bitterly ; and her eyes 
 flashed and her brows contracted. 'He 
 knows I cannot let the maid take a refusal 
 to such a plea as that.' 
 
 ' Tell Mr. Warren I will be with him 
 in a few minutes,' she said ; and went on 
 mechanically arranging her dress. 
 
 As she was fastening her linen cuffs, she 
 was reminded of the trifling incident of the 
 finding of the sleeve-link, and it occurred to 
 her that the ornament in question belonged 
 to Trenton Warren. Surely it was a carved 
 gem ; one of a pair which she had seen him 
 wear, respectively representing the heads of 
 Hebe and Ganymede. She was glad to 
 have recollected this circumstance ; it would 
 give her something indifferent, something 
 safe, to talk about. She looked about for 
 the link ; she had taken it out of her pocket 
 the nioht before, and laid it down on her 
 dressing-table. It was not there. She called 
 her maid, and asked her if she had noticed
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 91 
 
 a gentleman's sleeve-link in the ring-tray. 
 Her maid replied that she had seen it, and 
 supposing it to belong to Mr. Griswold, she 
 had slipped it into his dressing-bag just be- 
 fore he closed it. Mrs. Griswold remarked 
 carelessly that it was rather provoking, that 
 the sleeve-link was not Mr. Griswold's, but 
 that it could not be helped, and it did not 
 matter. 
 
 She lingered, unwilling to go down, and 
 hoping, when at length she could not defer 
 doing so any longer, that as soon as Mr. 
 Warren should have informed her of the 
 nature of the business, real or pretended, 
 on which he had come, some other visitor 
 might arrive and interrupt the tete-a-tete^ 
 which was extremely disagreeable to her in 
 prospect and most ill-timed. 
 
 It was impossible longer to loiter, and 
 Mrs. Griswold went down-stairs, her long 
 dress trailing, her small head rather disdain- 
 fully held up and back, her countenance 
 wearing an expression which all her cus-
 
 92 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 tomary associates, save one, would have 
 regarded with surprise. In the presence of 
 that one, whose ear had caught her first 
 footfall upon the thickly-carpeted stairs, she 
 stood in a few moments, and his glance 
 caught the unfamiliar expression and read 
 it aright — without, indeed, its inmost mean- 
 ing, its complications of origin, but still 
 clearly enough. 
 
 Trenton Warren was standing^ in the 
 same place from whence he had watched 
 her so closely on the night which had so 
 severely taxed his self-command and her 
 patience. 
 
 He was handsomely dressed in his usual 
 accurate unexaggerated style, in a light 
 gray morning suit, and he had an air of 
 perfect leisure about him, simple leisure 
 which was not without its charm. 
 
 It was the kind of manner which pleases 
 women who live in a business atmosphere, 
 among men who are generally either occu- 
 pied or over-tired ; it said so intelligibly,
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 93 
 
 ' Here I am entirely devoted to your service^ 
 having got everything off my mind but 
 yourself.' 
 
 As all the women of his acquaintance 
 knew Trenton Warren to be as busy a man 
 as his fellows, the compliment was real, and 
 so the manner was effective. He was de- 
 cidedly liked by women ; perhaps the soli- 
 tary exception to that rule was the one 
 woman for whom he wore this manner most 
 elaborately, most watchfully, most invari- 
 ably. But Helen Griswold did not like 
 even the air of leisure which was so cap- 
 tivating to other women. It had the mis- 
 fortune to link itself to the one drawback, 
 the one discomfort, the one injury of her 
 life, and so, woman-like, she distorted its 
 meaning, she refused its tribute. 
 
 He, too, she bitterly thought, had the 
 presumption to regard her as an ornament, 
 as a being incompetent to fill a serious and 
 sympathetic place in her husband's life; he, 
 too, held that women should be excused
 
 94 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 from business, and so lie came to her a 
 totally unreal creature, a drawing-room 
 lounger, with malice in his quiet smile and 
 insulting depreciation under his deferential 
 address, and the acquiescence in her useless- 
 ness which encouraged Alston in his one 
 fault, and made her heart sick with a power- 
 less anger, to which her unerring woman's 
 instinct, as she called it — the least trust- 
 worthy guide any woman can follow except 
 within a very limited track — assured her 
 that Trenton Warren was perfectly con- 
 scious. 
 
 He had never found her in a less con- 
 ciliatory humour than on the present occa- 
 sion. The undefined struggle in her own 
 heart, the signs that a great change was 
 passing over her, the introspection which 
 had been so entirely foreign to her mind 
 and habits, the little lingering bitterness 
 which had mingled with the solemn ten- 
 derness of a parting with Alston, imparted 
 into it by her feeling that she in reality
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 95 
 
 knew notliing about the purpose and details 
 of the business which was taking him so far 
 away from her for so long; all this had 
 prepared her to receive his visit with any- 
 thing but welcome. And as he looked at 
 her he knew that, too, and she saw that he 
 knew it. 
 
 Helen Griswold was not sufficiently a 
 woman of the world to be mistress of those 
 fine shades of manners which are such 
 powerful weapons on the woman's side of 
 social warfare ; but she conveyed to Tren- 
 ton Warren with quite sufficient accuracy 
 a sense that she expected him to deliver his 
 message and go, before they had exchanged 
 two sentences. She did not take her cus- 
 tomary seat, but placed herself on an ordi- 
 nary chair in an attitude which had a pro- 
 voking coolness about it; and she looked 
 over, not at Trenton. 
 
 He had seen her husband later than she 
 had; her husband's parting words had 
 been for him ; would she not display some
 
 96 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 curiosity as to tlie final interview — some 
 interest? Not she; not a jot! So he made 
 up his mind at once that he would not use 
 any menagements with her, but show her at 
 once and plainly the position in which 
 'that enviable ass, Griswold' — for thus Mr. 
 Trenton Warren called his confiding absent 
 friend in his thoughts — had placed her. 
 
 ' You have some business to be commu- 
 nicated to my husband, I believe ?' said 
 poor Helen, with her very best imitation of 
 slightly patronising unconcern. 
 
 ' dear, no,' replied Warren, putting 
 his hand into his breast-pocket and taking 
 out a letter. ' I have no business to com- 
 municate to Mr. Griswold ; my commission 
 is from him.' 
 
 ' To me ?' The colour flushed over her 
 face. 
 
 ' To you,^ he answered with a bow, and 
 then went on without looking at her, his 
 eyes bent on the letter in his hand. ' You 
 are aware that I met Mr. Griswold at the
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 9 7 
 
 steamer. He had some last words to say 
 to me — last words which gratified me very 
 much, Mrs. Griswold, because they proved 
 the sincerity and genuineness of his con- 
 fidence in me ; he intrusted me with — ' 
 
 ^ That letter, which I can see from here 
 is addressed to me. Please to give it to 
 me, sir!' 
 
 He glanced at her very slightly, smiled 
 also very slightly, and laid the letter on the 
 table, by her side. She had not made the 
 least gesture like taking it from his hand. 
 
 'I thank you,' she said, but did not 
 take up the letter. ' I thought my husband 
 had given me his final instructions ; but 
 perhaps he had forgotten something. I am 
 sorry you should have had the trouble of 
 coming during business hours.' Then with 
 a total change of tone, ' I think you lost a 
 sleeve-link here the other evening, which I 
 picked up ; but most unfortunately it has — ' 
 
 'Excuse me, Mrs. Griswold,' said War- 
 ren, in a firm tone, ' if in my turn I inter- 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 98 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 rupt you. I have something to say, and 1 
 do not wish to turn to irrelevant matters 
 until it has been said. I did not come 
 here merely to bring you a letter, which I 
 might have sent you by a messenger ; I 
 came here for a more serious purpose, 
 which may or may not be corroborated by 
 Mr. Griswold's letter — I know nothing of 
 its contents — to tell you that your husband 
 has intrusted you to my care, and wished 
 you to refer to me in his absence in any 
 case in which you might experience diffi- 
 culty or require advice.' 
 
 So far Helen had heard him with varying 
 colour and a beating heart, half choked with 
 anger and an undefined dread 5 but now she 
 rose, and laying her hand upon the letter, 
 said, in an unsteady voice, ' Your commu- 
 nication is an extraordinary one, Mr. War- 
 ren. I think — I think you can hardly ex- 
 pect me to say that it is welcome. I would 
 rather read my husband's letter before I 
 hear more.'
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 99 
 
 'You wish me to leave you?' asked 
 Warren, who had risen when she rose, but 
 made no sign of an intention to go away. 
 
 'I do.' 
 
 ' I cannot obey you, Mrs. Griswold. Let 
 me beg that you will resume your seat and 
 listen to me. I am an unwelcome visitor, I 
 know, and you take my communication 
 badly for some reason which I do not un- 
 derstand, but which I hope to surmount.' 
 
 He controlled himself perfectly ; his 
 tone was quite deferential, and not the 
 faintest, most flickering smile passed over 
 his face. 
 
 She had slowly reseated herself, and sat 
 holding the letter and looking at him with 
 a fixed frown. 
 
 ' Griswold felt this parting, in more than 
 its sentimental aspect, very seriously — he 
 thought of your position gravely, and of 
 your inexperience and habitual dependence 
 upon him for guidance. He deputed me, 
 as his most intimate friend — indeed, the
 
 100 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 only one who is thoroughly acquainted with 
 the business which has taken him to Eng- 
 land — to act for him in several affairs here 
 — things with which I need not trouble you 
 — and to take care of you and baby ; I 
 use his own words. In the first place, I 
 must apprise you that all your letters to 
 your husband — the charming daily record 
 which you have promised him' (Helen 
 started and winced with pain. That her 
 husband should have talked so famiharly of 
 her with any man — with this man of all 
 men!) — 'must reach him through me.' 
 
 ' Through you ? I do not understand 
 what you mean.' 
 
 ' Then I will make my meaning plainer. 
 Every letter which you write to your hus- 
 band must be sent to my office, under cover 
 to me, to be forwarded from thence. Such 
 are Griswold's explicit directions. Please 
 to look at this memorandum.' 
 
 He laid a leaf, torn from a note-book, 
 before her ; it bore these words :
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 101 
 
 ' All letters written to me by my wife^ or 
 
 sent to my private address to he forwarded^ 
 
 are to he sent under cover to Trenton Warren 
 
 to his office^ ichen he will dispatch them to me, 
 
 'Alston Griswold.' 
 
 ' I see/ said Helen, ' that your statement 
 is correct, that Mr. Griswold has made this 
 extraordinary arrangement, and that, much 
 as I dislike it, I am bound to conform to it. 
 But you, Mr. Warren, you are bound to ex- 
 plain it. Have the goodness to do so.' 
 
 'Ah, ha!' he replied, with a shrug of 
 the shoulders, full of impertinent deprecia- 
 tion to her angered eyes ; ' that, I regret to 
 say, it is not in my power to do !' 
 
 ' What, do you pretend that after your 
 last words with my husband, after under- 
 taking the charge he laid upon you, after 
 bringing me this letter and this memoran- 
 dum, you do not know why Mr. Griswold 
 made such an arrangement?' 
 
 ' Pardon me, I do not pretend, I do not
 
 102 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 say, anything of the sort. I am perfectly 
 well aware of the motive which led to Mr. 
 Griswold's making the arrangement which 
 is unpleasant to you, but which I am con- 
 strained to commend as a wise and proper 
 one. I merely say that I regret that it is 
 not in my power to inform you of his rea- 
 sons.' 
 
 ' You refuse to tell me; you acknow- 
 ledge that you are in my husband's confid- 
 ence more completely than I am — you tell 
 me so in fact, commending his unexplained 
 directions to me — and you expect me to 
 tolerate all this. For what do you take 
 me, Mr. Warren?' 
 
 The struggle in Helen's mind and feel- 
 ings while she spoke these brave-sounding 
 words was severe. Under the smooth lei- 
 surely manner of Warren there was an ill- 
 disguised consciousness of power which 
 frightened her, and there was that nameless 
 something that had already been haunting 
 her. She was not exactly a courageous, but
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 103 
 
 she was a singularly sincere woman, and 
 there is always more or less bravery in 
 truthful actions. She made a sudden reso- 
 lution even while her blood was cold, as she 
 asked the question of herself : ' Has Alston 
 put himself in this man's power?' She 
 would quarrel with Warren a Voutrance then 
 and there. She would put an end to this 
 evil influence in her life ; it should haunt 
 ler no longer. She would justify herself to 
 Alston if he blamed her by confiding in him, 
 as she had not yet done by telling him, the 
 innost dread of her heart. If he treated it 
 as a folly, she would say let it be a folly in 
 his eyes, let it he a folly of liers^ which she 
 sholld look to him to respect. A full pre- 
 seniment and an intimation which she truly 
 and fully believed (there was a dash of 
 superstition about Helen Griswold) — with 
 whbh women with more mind than any 
 one who has taken the trouble to develop, 
 and an unconsciously unsatisfied heart one 
 occasionally possessed — told her that in an
 
 104 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 utter breach with this man, a determined 
 stand against him, lay her only safety. She 
 would make the utter breach now on the 
 spot ; she would take a determined stand. 
 
 With the wonderful quickness of thought, 
 all this passed through her mind, and her 
 resolution was taken before Trenton War- 
 ren answered her angry question, which h( 
 did with considerable deliberation. H( 
 too, had been making a resolution ; he, too, 
 recognised this interview as a crisis in Hs 
 relations w^ith this woman — this woman iso 
 beautiful in his sight, so captivating, so far 
 removed — unless, indeed, his skill and (iar- 
 ing, his 'good play/ as he called it in/his 
 inmost thoughts, chanced to bring her ijear. 
 
 The events of that morning had curtiiled' 
 
 I 
 the space between them in an unexpected, 
 
 unlooked-for manner. And he entirelylmis- 
 
 interpreted the irrepressible s}'mptoiis of 
 
 emotion in Helen's manner. He saw |:hat, 
 
 with all her braving out of the positioij, she 
 
 was afraid of him ; and, as he judged her
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 105 
 
 only from the shallow depths of his own con- 
 sciousness, as one who did not love her hus- 
 band with passion, and therefore did not love 
 him at all, it never occurred to him that she 
 feared him for her husband's sake — he 
 sought and found a meaner motive for her 
 fear. Why should she fear him? Why 
 should she shrink from the notion of his in- 
 fluence with the husband she assuredly did 
 not love, if she were unconscious that he 
 had not an influence over herself which she 
 dreaded? Fear comes not of indiff'erence, 
 nor is one with disdain ! The hope which 
 he had secretly cherished in his treacherous 
 breast in a smouldering state for months 
 past sprang up into a flame under the influ- 
 ence of Helen's misinterpreted auger. The 
 mental process in his case was as swift as in 
 hers, and it was after only a brief pause be- 
 tween question and answer that he replied 
 to her. 
 
 ^ I refuse to tell you, Mrs. Griswold. It 
 is impossible that I should violate your bus-
 
 106 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 band's injunctions on this point, and I has- 
 ten to reply to your other question. I do 
 expect you to tolerate my conduct, because 
 you must recognise that honour dictates it, 
 though you may not understand what it 
 costs me ; and I take you for the best of 
 wives and the most fascinating of women.' 
 
 He approached her as he spoke with his 
 hand held out, and a smile upon his face 
 which drove the last faint scruples of prud- 
 ence far from the exasperated woman whom 
 he had so thoroughly roused ; but Helen 
 rolled her chair some feet back upon the 
 castors, and, with a slight wave of her hand, 
 rejected his. Yery beautiful she looked — 
 more beautiful than he had ever seen her — 
 her great eyes ablaze, so that they shone 
 like jewels, as she said : 
 
 ^ And I take you for the falsest of men. 
 You have always been my enemy, and I 
 have always known it — known it so long 
 and so well, felt it so constantly, that it is a 
 relief to me to tell you so. Keep this secret
 
 AN EXPLANATION-. 107 
 
 from me ! Do you think Alston will keep 
 it, when I ask him to explain it to me ? 
 No ; you know he will not, though you 
 would have made me despise and distrust 
 him, if you could. Yes, you would, and 
 you tried, tried hard, for some purpose of 
 your own — I do not know and I do not care 
 for what purpose — to divide us utterly. 
 You succeeded in part — thank God, only in 
 part did you succeed ! Alston would have 
 made me his friend and confidant only for 
 you. But you made him contemptuous of 
 my intelligence ; you persuaded him that 
 women are unsafe in matters of business; 
 you divided me from one-half my husband's 
 life, and made it a mystery to me. But for 
 you I should have been his companion in 
 everything. I tell you, Mr. Warren, I dis- 
 trusted you from the first. T saw you had 
 an influence which you were using ill, I — ' 
 
 ' You did me the honour and vourself 
 the injury of being jealous of me, Mrs. Gris- 
 wold. It is a mistake which young mves
 
 108 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 are apt to make with respect to their hus- 
 bands' friends, and one which frequently 
 costs them a good deal.' 
 
 ^ I was not jealous of you,' she said in- 
 dignantly. ' I could not entertain so base 
 a feeling. Why should not Alston have 
 friends, as many and as close as he 
 pleased? But you were his enemy — not his 
 friend; because you were my enemy; be- 
 cause you would have degraded me if you 
 could — yes, degraded me, I repeat — by 
 making my husband treat me as a toy or 
 an indulged pet, not as an equal associate.' 
 
 ' You are simply doing him a monstrous 
 injustice,' said Warren, with a sudden 
 abatement of sarcasm in his tone and man- 
 ner, and a not unsuccessful assumption of 
 hurt-feeling, of deferential explanatoriness ; 
 'you are imputing that which is in the 
 nature of the man to an external influence. 
 Griswold is a very good fellow, and my 
 best friend; but his notions of women, all 
 his theories about them, differ from mine
 
 AN EXPLANATIOIS'. 109 
 
 widely. He believes in the intellectual in- 
 feriority of women as he believes in their 
 physical beauty, and likes it as much. 
 Long before he married you, he told me a 
 clever woman was, to his mind, an anomaly, 
 and a clever wife a nuisance; that he did 
 not believe any woman in the world could 
 understand business or hold her tongue; 
 and he meant to conduct his domestic rela- 
 tions, if he ever found any, on Hotspur's 
 theory, and, while giving his wife all due 
 credit for discretion, making sure that she 
 "would not tell that which she did not 
 know." This root of bitterness was none of 
 my planting, nor have I Avatered it. You 
 have spoken with harsh frankness to me, 
 Mrs. Griswold; let me speak with frank- 
 ness that shall not be harsh to you. I 
 have contemplated your domestic life with 
 pain — ' 
 
 ' Indeed, and why ? It is an unenviable 
 one.' 
 
 ' So you believe, because you have little
 
 110 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 experience and an unawakened heart. If 
 you only knew what home might be, and 
 love, the love of a man to whom you would 
 be more than the fairest of women, the 
 dearest of friends, the most trusted of coun- 
 sellors, the sharer of every feeling, the com- 
 panion of every thought ! Would not that 
 be the ideal of earthly happiness ?' 
 
 His voice had become low, tender, and 
 persuasive, and his words had a strange in- 
 fluence on Helen. She seemed to forget 
 liim^ to be conscious of them only, to have 
 been sent by them into a dream. 
 
 ^ Happiness more than earthly,' she said, 
 as if to herself, hardly knowing that she 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Such happiness might have been yours. 
 Be honest, be patient, be true with yourself 
 and with me, and you must acknowledge 
 that it could never have come with your 
 marriage with Griswold. He is the best of 
 fellows, but it is not in him to appreciate 
 you. You are a woman for a man to love
 
 AN EXPLANATION. Ill 
 
 with his whole mind and with all the 
 strength of his pride. If fate had made you 
 my wife you would have been so loved.' 
 
 He moved a step nearer to her, and 
 stepped before her, looking at her with eyes 
 whose gaze she dared not meet. 
 
 ' You may as well hear me out,' he 
 went on, with a tremor in his voice ; ' since 
 your ill-placed suspicions have forced me to 
 clear myself from the charge which you 
 have brought against me, it is fair that you 
 should listen to me. When you believed 
 that I was estranging Griswold from you, 
 undervaluing you to him, I was tortured 
 with envy of his lot, and silent about you 
 because I dared not speak to my friend of 
 his wife lest he should — slow as his mind is, 
 except when business is concerned — sus- 
 pect that I loved her.' 
 
 'You are a wicked man,' cried Helen, 
 rising from her chair and speaking almost 
 inarticulately in a passion of rage, shame, 
 and fear. The undefined thing which had
 
 112 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 been haunting her, the shadow with which 
 she had refused to parley, the shapeless 
 dread which had troubled the last hours of 
 her husband's presence in his home, the 
 phantom that had stolen to her side when 
 she was recording the blameless thoughts 
 of her innocent heart, had assumed form, 
 consistency, and spoke to her with a hu- 
 man voice and undissembled speech. This, 
 then, was what it had all meant, and the 
 thino- which she had feared had come 
 upon her in a shape worse than her fears. 
 It was this man's prejudice, continued dis- 
 like, that she had fancied were in the atmo- 
 sphere of her home, tainting it, and filtering 
 drops of poison into her cup of life; but now 
 she found it was his love, his deadly, hate- 
 ful, treacherous, dastardly love. Good God ! 
 How she loathed and feared him, for her 
 husband had gone away and left her in this 
 man's power. Without his aid she could 
 not even communicate with him, and he — 
 and he, he was free to write whatsoever he
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 113 
 
 pleased to Alston. It said much for Helen's 
 courage and principle that she never dreamt, 
 in the moment when all this was fresh and 
 clear and terrible before her, of any com- 
 promise. She would keep this man at de- 
 fiance, she would brave him. 
 
 'You are a wicked man,' she said, 'a 
 traitor to your friend, and a coward to me ; 
 you take a dastardly advantage of my un- 
 protected position, and the blind confidence 
 which my husband places in you, and you 
 insult me in my solitude. Leave my house, 
 sir, and send me at once my husband's ad- 
 dress in England. I refuse to transmit my 
 letters through you. I repudiate all ac- 
 quaintance with you henceforth from this 
 hour ; and if you attempt to presume upon 
 the mistake Alston has made, I shall inform 
 him word for word of what has occurred to- 
 day. Let me pass, sir, or I will ring for my 
 servants!' 
 
 Warren had interrupted her on her way 
 to the door, and was standing before it, his 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 hand behind his back pressed upon the 
 upper panel. 
 
 ^She did not say she would tell him 
 whether or no^ was his rapid reflection, and 
 there was a gush of guilty hope in the 
 thouo:ht, for this man believed women to be 
 virtuous only in the degree in which also 
 they were fools, and he held Helen to be 
 no fool. 
 
 ^ I entreat you to pause,' he said gently, 
 ' before you make a scandal in the house. I 
 am resolved to speak to you, and nothing 
 short of your making such a scandal can 
 deter me. I have offended you by telling 
 you the truth, only a little more deeply 
 than you were previously offended. I am 
 very unfortunate, but I have justified my- 
 self, and I repeat it; I love you — I love 
 you as I have never even persuaded myself 
 that I loved any other woman! I ask no- 
 thing — I seek nothing from you but the 
 toleration of a sentiment which does you no 
 dishonour, which is stronger than my
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 115 
 
 will, for your husband's sake and your 
 own.' 
 
 ' And I tell you/ she cried, wild and 
 reckless with anger, ' that I will not tolerate 
 it, either for my husband's sake or my own, 
 for it does me dishonour. It may be, as 
 you say, that mine is an unawakened heart, 
 but my conscience is unused to slumber' (in 
 after days she remembered this fatal ad- 
 mission, and raged blindly and in vain 
 against the impulse which had induced her 
 to make it), ' and now T am not going to 
 make any scandal, I am not going to endea- 
 vour to pass that door until you think fit to 
 stand aside and no longer use virtual vio- 
 lence to me in my own house. See, I re- 
 sume my seat ; I shall retain it until you 
 rid me of your presence ; and I tell you 
 quite plainly my determination. I demand 
 of you my husband's address in England, 
 and if you refuse to give it, I think it fair 
 to warn you that 1 shall follow him to 
 London by the next steamer; and once
 
 116 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 there, I shall have no difficulty in finding 
 him; 
 
 At the words 'I shall follow him,' Tren- 
 ton Warren had started and left the door. 
 He now turned abruptly to one of the 
 windows, and stood there looking out, 
 his face set and pale, for a full minute after 
 she had concluded her slowly-delivered sen- 
 tence. 
 
 When he turned to speak to her, she 
 marked the whiteness of his face, and be- 
 lieved her threat had frightened him. 
 
 ' I cannot give you your husband's ad- 
 dress,' he said. ' I can write to him, and 
 telling him that you are dissatisfied — as 
 doubtless your own letters will convey — 
 advise him to intrust you with the truth 
 concerning his business in London in every 
 respect. But no matter what you threaten, 
 or what you do, I cannot, I will not, depart 
 from his wishes in this matter.' 
 
 He slowly approached her, but did not 
 pass round the table which stood between
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 117 
 
 tliem ; then suddenly seated himself, and 
 studiously averting his eyes from her — in- 
 deed, Helen Griswold never caught his 
 o;lance ao;ain durino; the remainder of the 
 interview — he went on speaking in a dogged 
 tone. 
 
 ' I have made a blunder, Mrs. Griswold, 
 and made a fool of myself ! I cannot unsay 
 what I have said, for it is true ; the expla- 
 nation of all the past which has offended 
 you is the oiFence of the present. I have 
 loved you, but I may cease to love you by 
 an effort. A man does not go on loving 
 mth any kind of love very long if he is 
 quite without hope ; and I am quite without 
 hope.^ 
 
 The emphasis on these w^ords would 
 have conveyed a warning to the ear of a 
 practised woman of the world; to Helen 
 they conveyed merely an assurance, a relief, 
 a mitigation of insult. 
 
 ' Suppose,' he continued, ' we discuss 
 the matter reasonably, not so much in
 
 118 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 your interest or in mine, as in that of Gris- 
 wold, your husband and my friend ?' 
 
 ' Your friend ?' 
 
 'Yes, my friend. Women like you in- 
 sist upon pushing everything to its extreme 
 verge ; because I am not the soul of honour, 
 I must be a mere villain ; because I love 
 you, I must, in every other sense and way, 
 be false to my friendship with your hus- 
 band — a weak notion, a shallow judgment! 
 Accept my assurance that you are mistaken, 
 and let me go on. A total breach between 
 us will only make Alston suspicious and un- 
 happy, and, perhaps, morose. He is the 
 sort of man to suspect that a cool man 
 like me does not make love to a married 
 woman without something like encourage- 
 ment ; another case of a weak notion and a 
 shallow judgment. But I will relieve you 
 of my presence. I will abandon the charge 
 laid upon me by Griswold, which you so 
 much resent, and he may never know it, 
 until time shall have changed everything,
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 119 
 
 enabled me to meet you with indifference, 
 which has hitherto been impossible, and you 
 to conquer your repugnance.' 
 
 In the evenness of his speech there was 
 something artificial, which might have 
 warned her had the temptation to snatch 
 at the relief in his words been one whit 
 less strong. But she heard no warning, 
 only a blessed promise ; only an indication 
 that the cloud which had fallen upon her 
 might be made to pass away, and leave a 
 better and surer brightness than ever be- 
 hind it. 
 
 'I will forgive, I will forget everything,' 
 she said eagerly, and with a bright and beau- 
 tiful blush, ' if you will go away and leave 
 me ; if you will never attempt to see me 
 during Alston's absence. If I may be quite 
 sure of that, and calculate upon it, I will 
 never mention anything to him. It would 
 be an awful pain to me to do so; it is an 
 immense rehef that you do not force me to 
 tell it. I will send my letters through you ;
 
 120 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 I will ask you no question, if you will promise 
 me, when you pass that door to-day, I shall 
 see you no more until Alston has returned !' 
 
 ' And I have come to my senses. The 
 terms are hard, but I accept them. Only 
 you forget, Mrs. Griswold, that you are ex- 
 acting a very difficult thing from me ; the 
 relinquishment of my business, the placing 
 it in the hands of other people, for at least 
 the same term as that of Griswold's ab- 
 sence.' 
 
 ' Why, would you leave New York ? 
 
 ' How could I remain in New York and 
 never come here, break through all my 
 former habits, and neglect every recogni- 
 tion of Griswold, without being suspected 
 of a motive; and from the suspicion of a 
 motive to the discovery of its nature the in- 
 terval is very, very short. No, I must 
 leave New York, where lots of men know 
 how I stand with Griswold, and have been 
 seriously supposed to stand mth you. I 
 will do so ; but in your turn you must pro-
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 121 
 
 mise me, in addition to your forgiveness, 
 absolute silence towards Griswold.' 
 
 * Of course,' said Helen impatiently. ' I 
 only care that he may never have the pain 
 of knowing.' 
 
 ' You mistake me again. I do not al- 
 lude to that, but to my absence from New 
 York. Men are too busy, and we signify 
 too little to one another, for any risk to 
 arise, or any one comparing notes with Gris- 
 wold, when he comes back, about how long 
 I have been away. But he must not be al- 
 lowed to think that, for the sake of a mere 
 pleasure trip — I should go to the Western 
 States — I abandoned the charge he laid 
 upon me, and broke the promise I made 
 him at the last moment.' 
 
 'You are scrupulous enough in small 
 matters,' thought Helen; but she only as- 
 sented aloud again, impatiently. 
 
 ' Then I have your promise, Mrs. Gris- 
 wold, your positive assurance, that your 
 letters to your husband shall contain no
 
 122 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 intimation whatever of my absence from 
 New York?' 
 
 ' They shall contain no mention of you 
 whatever.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, that will not do. Your 
 correspondence with your husband is to be 
 in journal form— you are right, it was not 
 very delicate in him to tell any one any- 
 thing of the kind — ' 
 
 ' I did not speak, sir.' 
 
 'True, there was no need of speech; 
 but that journal, if it contains no mention 
 of me, will be very unlike what Griswold 
 expects.' 
 
 ' I cannot help that. I can suppress all 
 mention of you, but I cannot write letters 
 about you, if that is the meaning you are 
 aiming at. But you need not hesitate for 
 that consideration. I shall merely have to 
 remind my husband that we never agreed 
 about you, and to say that I avoided on 
 purpose the disagreeable subject.' 
 
 A momentary gleam of fury shot across
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 123 
 
 Warren's face; but he suppressed it, and 
 made her a slightly artificial bow. 
 
 ' This is agreed to, then,' he said ; ' and 
 so this interview, which had so stormy a 
 beginning, ends peaceably. I am utterly 
 beaten, Mrs. Griswold, acknowledging my 
 defeat, and accepting the penalty. You 
 will see me no more during Griswold's ab- 
 sence, and when we next meet the old 
 things will have passed away.' 
 
 He bowed deeply and slowly, and walked 
 out of the room with a quiet deliberate step; 
 but there was something in his air, in his at- 
 titude, in his smile, as little like a beaten 
 man as could be. When he had left the 
 house — she waited, listening for the closing 
 of the street-door — Helen Griswold lay back 
 in her chair, and wept such bitter tears of 
 anger, humiliation, and loneliness as her 
 eyes had never before shed. 
 
 This terrible interview had terminated 
 much better than she could have hoped. 
 She had got rid of Warren, who would be
 
 124 THE IMPE^^)IXG SW'OED. 
 
 powerless for the future to harm her, and 
 she had avoided the necessity for wounding 
 her husband. When he returned, she not 
 only hoped that foreign travel and new 
 acquaintances would have weaned him from 
 his infatuation for Warren, but supplied 
 him with a sounder standard whereby to 
 measure his claim to regard. But where 
 was the triumph which she ought to have 
 felt at such a solution of the difficulty 
 which had beset and harassed her whole 
 married life ? No signs of triumph came to 
 the overwrought feelings and tired nerves; 
 on the contrary, a strange kind of terror, 
 depression, and misery settled down upon 
 her, the more irresistible as she endeavoured 
 to disentangle and sort the incidents of the 
 interview which had just taken place. Her 
 woman's instinct really aroused, and not 
 wrong for once, told her the victory had 
 been too easily won. 
 
 ^ ^ •!? T?" ^ 
 
 ^So there is an end of my journal, '^vrote
 
 AN EXPLANATION. 125 
 
 Helen the same night, when she was the 
 only person awake under the roof. ' All 
 my pretty and pleasant plans of setting 
 doAvn the inmost feelings of my heart, of 
 recording them and every mcident of the 
 growth of my mind for Alston's eyes to see, 
 are quite at an end. There is a secret in 
 my life now which he must never know, 
 and a dread within my breast which I can- 
 not say to him that he might soothe it. 
 How wretched they make me ! how I detest 
 them! Good heavens, how miserable one 
 may be with everything beside one's-self to 
 make one happy! I read over and over 
 again the few pages 1 wrote this morning, 
 and I ask myself. Can it be that I wrote 
 them, and that since then I have learned so 
 much of life, seen so much of human na- 
 ture? That such treachery should exist 
 as Trenton Warren's ; that such credulity 
 should exist as Alston's ; that such blind- 
 ness could be as mine ! Thank God he has 
 really promised to go away. I shall hardly
 
 126 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 breathe until he has gone, and I shall never 
 stir beyond the door. He said he would 
 go at once. How am I to write to Alston ? 
 The journal plan I must abandon ; I feel 
 that would now be impossible. I must 
 only just do one common every-day letter. 
 Alston will not like it — he will reckon it as 
 only one of my compromises. No matter ; 
 it is a convenient excuse for faults far worse 
 even than I have ever committed.'
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. 
 
 Brown- STREET, New York, is not a savoury 
 locality. Although it is situated in the 
 heart of the city, lying midway between 
 the palatial splendour of the ^up-town do- 
 mestic residences and the enormous blocks 
 of buildings forming the ' down-town' com- 
 mercial establishments; though it runs pa- 
 rallel with, and at no great distance from, 
 the famous Broadway; and though it has 
 in its rear a magnificent square, where are 
 to be found some of the grand old-fashioned 
 roomy mansions which by their size and 
 substantiality might well put the gimcrack 
 erections of Fifth-avenue to the blush, yet 
 is Brown-street a place of ' no 'count.' 
 
 The houses are for the most part two- 
 storied buildings of the shabbiest descrip-
 
 128 THE IMPEl^fDma SWORD. 
 
 tion ; the iron railings which should guard 
 the ' stoop' or flight of steps leading to the 
 doors are generally wanting, having been 
 extracted feloniously for the purpose of sale, 
 or broken up and converted into handy wea- 
 pons of attack and defence by the Hiber- 
 nian residents of the colony. The street- 
 doors are but seldom closed, standing three 
 or four inches open, but creaking furiously 
 when further demands are made upon them, 
 as though they had conceded all they meant 
 to give ; the windows of the first-floors are 
 uniformly furnished with outside Venetian 
 shutters, which, no matter what may be the 
 time of year, are generally closed during 
 the morning, while in the afternoon the 
 passer-by can discern through them the 
 half-dressed figures of frowsy women and 
 girls, who have no scruple about entering 
 into conversation or indulging in humorous 
 repartee. 
 
 What the second-floor contained, none 
 save those who have made their way into
 
 A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. 129 
 
 such penetralia (among which number I 
 am not one) can say, but there is no doubt 
 as to the purposes to which the under- 
 ground cellars are applied. These are lager- 
 beer saloons, dram-shops, whisky-stores, in 
 some instances pretended bilhard- halls or 
 pistol-galleries, but in every case pander- 
 ing to the vilest tastes of degraded huma- 
 nity. 
 
 Stumble down these steep, broken, slip- 
 pery steps and you stumble into Hades, 
 you plunge head foremost into the infernal 
 regions. Here, for the gratification of his 
 countrymen. Max Heilbronn has opened a 
 German gehenna, where Schinken and Blut- 
 wurst, dried and highly-seasoned Lachs, 
 provoke the thirst of the Teutons, and in- 
 duce them to wind up with something far 
 stronger than the mild and insipid lager- 
 beer with which they commence their pota- 
 tions. There Tim O'Dwyer, to insure the 
 happiness of his compatriots, unfurled the 
 green flag over the ' Ould Ireland' store, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 strewed the stained and battered tables witli 
 the latest received numbers of the Bloody 
 Pike^ the Patriot's Vitriol Bottle^ and other 
 cheerful publications, and provided a stock 
 of Bourbon and rye, after the consump- 
 tion of which his customers would clear the 
 floor and betake themselves to dancing jigs, 
 breakino: heads, bitino^ each other's noses 
 off, and other national j)astimes. 
 
 The street itself, like the majority of the 
 streets of the sort in New York, is strewn 
 with garbage and refuse of every descrip- 
 tion; no need for its inhabitants to copy 
 the example of their more respectable neigh- 
 bours, and nightly put forth the barrow 
 filled with the cinders and sweepings of the 
 day ; for what the Brown-street denizens 
 have to get rid of, they adopt a more easy 
 way with, and throwing it into the middle 
 of the street, there let it lie. The only one 
 portion of the road which is kept at all de- 
 cent is the track of the horse-cars, which 
 enormous lumbering vehicles permeate a
 
 A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. 131 
 
 portion of the street, and by their noise, the 
 cracking of their drivers' whips, and the jang- 
 ling of their bells attached to the horses, dis- 
 pel some of the monotony which settles down 
 on the neighbourhood during the daytime. 
 
 Some days after Trenton Warren's in- 
 terview with Helen Griswold, and late in 
 the afternoon, just when the early spring 
 sun had withdrawn his brightness from the 
 world, and the keen savage wind, sweeping 
 through the wide thoroughfares, had re- 
 minded men that the reign of winter could 
 scarcely be called at an end, a motley com- 
 pany was assembled in one of the Brown- 
 street cellars, known to its frequenters as 
 Naty Underwood's. A fat man Naty Un- 
 derwood, with a round face and pendulous 
 cheeks, little thin slits of eyes, and an up- 
 turned inquisitive nose ; altogether not un- 
 like a pig, whence probably the playful 
 designation ' Porky' by which he is known 
 to his familiars; a reserved man given to 
 much quiet expectoration, a skilful concoc^
 
 132 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 tor of drinks, but always in a quiet manner 
 and as unlike the conventional idea of a 
 ' bar -keeper' as possible. 
 
 Yet bar-keeping was Naty Underwood's 
 trade, and by the exercise of it he lived. 
 That dark smoke-discoloured saloon, whose 
 original gaudily-stencilled walls now bore 
 huge blots and stains, caused in some places 
 by damp, in others by the sudden outburst 
 of effervescent drinks, was his whisky-store ; 
 those long-necked labelled bottles on the 
 w^ooden counter before him were his stock- 
 in-trade, and the men lounging around were 
 his customers. 
 
 Most of these latter, who belonged to 
 that indescribable class of shabby-genteel 
 people so common in New York — people 
 who seem to have no recognised mode of 
 living, who are thin, starved, and ragged, 
 and yet always seem to have enough money 
 to purchase a drink or to pay for a five-cent 
 ride in the cars — most of these habitues of 
 the saloon seem known to each other. At
 
 A MYSTEEIOUS COMMISSION. 133 
 
 the end of the room, however, and just 
 within the swing door by the bottom of the 
 steps, was one who was evidently a stranger ; 
 a tall thin man, with a hard round glazed 
 hat pressed down over a mass of tangled 
 hair, and with a thick full beard. He was 
 dressed in a rough short pea-jacket with 
 huge horn buttons, and coarse blue-serge 
 trousers, and looked like the second or 
 third mate of an English collier. He sat 
 with one hand leaning on the table and with 
 his hat pulled well down over his eyes, but 
 from time to time, from under the shade of 
 its broad stiff brim, he looked sharply round 
 at the assembled company as though he half 
 anticipated interruption or attack, or glanced 
 impatiently at the door as though expecting 
 some one whose arrival had been unreason- 
 ably postponed. 
 
 Unquestionably, this stranger's appear- 
 ance at I^aty's aroused much curiosity 
 amongst the ordinary frequenters of the 
 saloon. There was a tendency amongst
 
 134 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 them to resent what they considered in- 
 trusion, and a chance dropper-in to their 
 charmed circle; though this was a feeling 
 which found no favour with the host, who 
 was only desirous of increasing the number 
 of his guests ; and on the present, as well as 
 on several previous occasions, sharp though 
 low muttered contentions had passed be- 
 tween him and them on the subject. Ques- 
 tions as to what the stranger might want 
 there, what a Johnny Bull was crowding 
 into those diggings for, and why Xaty didn't 
 take upon himself to 'snake him out of 
 that,' were all met by the bar-keeper with 
 the reply that it was 'none of their business.' 
 A hint from long Abe Stevens that he 
 didn't pan out upon Johnny Bulls, and an- 
 other from wiry Zeek Grimes that he didn't 
 freeze to dock wallopers, were also thrown 
 away upon Naty, and it seemed probable 
 that the landlord would have been called to 
 account even if the comfort of the guests 
 had not been interfered with, had not a clat-
 
 A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. 135 
 
 tering on the steps and the swingmg open 
 of the door diverted pubHc attention. 
 
 These noises were followed by the en- 
 trance of a man who, after casting a rapid 
 glance round the room, and exchanging a 
 scarcely perceptible sign with the stranger 
 in the sailor's dress, walked up to the bar 
 amid universal signs of recognition and wel- 
 come, and clapped his long lean hand into 
 the fat moist palm of Katy Underwood. 
 
 A low blackguard-looking fellow this, 
 with his hang-dog air and the shifty furtive 
 glance out of his deep- set eyes; his cheeks 
 were thin and hollow, his unfringed lips 
 bloodless and closely set together; there 
 was nothing of the rough about his phy- 
 sique ; no jowl or jaw or lowering cranium, 
 no bull neck ; washed and decently dressed 
 he might have passed muster as an ordinary 
 citizen, but now his clothes were of anti- 
 quated cut and shiny with grease, his boots 
 broken and bulging, his battered hat stuck 
 on the top of his narrow thin head. That
 
 136 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 he was known to all, and popular as well, 
 there could be little doubt, for the landlord 
 gripped his hand with friendly warmth, 
 and his entrance was received with cries of 
 ' Hullo, Eph !' and ' Bully for you !' These 
 salutations seemed rather to disconcert the 
 new arrival, who glanced doubtingly to the 
 corner Avhere the sailor was seated; then, 
 after ordering a hot whisky-punch, made his 
 way towards him and took his seat beside 
 him. 
 
 ' You seem a powerful favourite here,' 
 said the sailor sneeringiy, in between his 
 teeth. ' Bully for you and be hanged to it ! 
 What did you bring me here for? You 
 knew I wanted to be quiet and unobserved; 
 why did you name for our meeting this 
 place, where you are apparently as well 
 known as a nigger minstrel and as much 
 thought of ? 
 
 The man was at first taken aback by 
 this unexpected attack, but soon recovered 
 himself.
 
 A MYSTEEIOUS COMMISSIOJI. 137 
 
 ' What place should I have named ?' said 
 he, in very much the same tone as the sailor 
 had used. ' It is a pity I didn't propose to 
 meet you at the Brevoort House, or in the 
 hall of the Union Club; they would have 
 been pleased to see me there, wouldn't they T 
 he added, glancing down at his clothes. ' I 
 can't face the music right away, even if you 
 can. I know this to be a safe and quiet 
 place, where we can have our pow-wow in 
 peace, and that is why I brought you here.^ 
 
 There was something defiant in the air 
 with which he regarded his companion across 
 the table. Perhaps this was the influence of 
 the whisky-punch, which had been brought 
 to him while he was speaking, and of which 
 he took a large gulp. 
 
 'Dry up,' said the sailor savagely; 'I 
 don't want any more excuses. I told you 
 to find a place where we could talk without 
 having our conversation listened to, and you 
 say you have done so in bringing me here. 
 
 ' And I repeat it,' said the man. ' There
 
 138 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 was no possibility of your taking me to a re- 
 spectable house, therefore it devolved upon 
 me to bring you to a crib like this. I should 
 not have proposed it/ he added, dropping 
 his voice, ' if you had been in your old style, 
 but like this' — and he laid his hand lightly 
 on the sailor's rough pea-jacket — ' it is right 
 enough.' 
 
 ' I don't see it,' said the sailor gruffly. 
 
 ' You never do see anything unless it 
 answers your own purpose,' said the man 
 with a familiar lauo:h, ' and then it's astonish 
 ing how clear your sight becomes. This is 
 how it is : You're a sailor, you see — may be 
 mate of a liner — may be attached to one of 
 the big steam companies — and you have got 
 something you want to dispose of, some- 
 thing that you have not paid any duty on, 
 perhaps something that has been handed 
 over to you by a passenger v\^ho left the 
 other side under a sort of cloud, and he 
 could not conveniently move it ashore him- 
 self—you want to dispose of it as I say, and
 
 A MYSTEEIOUS COMMISSION. 139 
 
 Eph Jenkins has been recommended to you, 
 and yon have arranged to meet Eph Jenkins 
 here; the boys round here know Eph, and 
 will pretty soon guess that that is the sort 
 of business you and he have together.' 
 
 ' That is extremely satisfactory,' sneered 
 the sailor, pushing back from his forehead 
 some of the overhanging hair which seemed 
 to inconvenience him, and gazing hard at 
 his companion; 'you are still living the 
 same kind of life then ?' 
 
 ' Did you expect me to have been made 
 Secretary to the Treasury, or to have be- 
 come mayor of New York?' asked the 
 other. 
 
 'No,' said the sailor quietly, 'I didn't 
 know but that even a greater change might 
 have befallen you. I thought perhaps you 
 might have become honest.' 
 
 ' Xo,' said the man, with a short laugh, 
 ' you didn't think that, or you would not 
 have summoned me to do some work for 
 you. Honest !' he cried, dropping his voice
 
 140 THE IMPENDII^G SWOED. 
 
 to a low hissing whisper, ' what have such 
 as I, or you, for the matter of that, to do 
 with honesty? I was honest once, but in 
 those clays I could have been of no service 
 to you. It is only since I became the de- 
 graded brute I am that I fell within your 
 clutches, was made your tool, and employed 
 by you to do your dirty work.' 
 
 ' For such, let me remark, you have 
 been duly paid.' 
 
 'Paid!' cried the man. 'I have received 
 money with which I have bought more 
 whisky, in the hope of making myself drunk, 
 and cheating myself into forgetfulness of 
 the times when I was decent and respect- 
 able ; money which has kept me from starv- 
 ing, and rendered me available for whatever 
 you jnight order me to do.' 
 
 ' Exactly,' said the sailor ; ' you have a 
 command of virtuous indignation which 
 would obtain for you the greatest applause 
 at the Bowery, Mr. Jenkins, and extort a 
 perfect ovation of pea-nuts, but I confess
 
 A MYSTERIOUS COMMISSION. 141 
 
 you are to me most pleasing when practical. 
 You have done work for me — dirty work 
 you are pleased to call it — and have been 
 paid for it, and how you spent your money 
 was, of course, no affair of mine. I^ow, as 
 I have already explained to you, I have 
 some very important work to which you 
 must devote your very best energies. If 
 you carry it through successfully — and you 
 are perfectly able to do so if you refrain 
 from drink and one or two other little 
 weaknesses — I shall make it my business to 
 see that your future is provided for. If, on 
 the contrary, by any negligence of yours 
 you fail, I shall use such hold as I have 
 over you in the opposite direction. You 
 comprehend me ?' 
 
 ' Perfectly,' said the man, who had 
 dropped his air of bravado ; ' what am I to 
 do?' 
 
 ' You have here,' said the sailor, taking 
 from his inner breast-pocket a tolerably 
 thick packet, ^ a letter of instructions, writ-
 
 142 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ten out in the fullest possible detail. There 
 is nothing you can want to know that you 
 will not find herein. I may, however, tell 
 you at once, that the service I impose upon 
 you requires you to leave New York; it 
 may be many weeks before you are able to 
 return. Under the circumstances, however, 
 in which you are now situated,' he said, 
 looking around him with an air of disgust, 
 ^you will be rather pleased at the chance 
 of getting away. It isn't a bad billet, you 
 will find. You are to live like a gentleman 
 among gentlemen, but it will require great 
 discretion on your part, and especially ab- 
 stinence from that ;' and he lightly touched 
 the empty glass on the table. 
 
 'I understand,' said Jenkins; ^and you 
 may depend upon my being careful. And 
 if I pull it off all right, you will keep to 
 your promise?' 
 
 'You never knew me break my word 
 yet, either in reward or punishment,' said 
 the sailor. 'By the way, do you retain
 
 A MYSTEEIOUS COMMISSION. 143 
 
 that old accomplishment, the exhibition of 
 which on your part first brought us into 
 contact — I mean the power of successfully 
 imitating my handwriting ?' 
 
 ' I think so,' said Jenkins, hano^ino^ his 
 head. 
 
 ^That's right,' said the sailor; 'you 
 may find it useful in this adventure. Now, 
 as regards money. Here,' handing him a 
 roll of dollar bills, ' is some to carry you 
 on for the present. I don't at all imagine 
 it will be enough, as you are by no means 
 to stint yourself; and when you require 
 more, you will find an address in the letter 
 I have given you, to which you are to write 
 for it. Be sure not to write to me, as I 
 may probably be away from Xew York.' 
 
 'I understand,' said Jenkins, 'per- 
 fectly.' 
 
 ' Then I don't think there is any reason 
 for our stopping any longer in this delight- 
 ful tavern,' said the sailor, rising. 
 
 When they reached the top of the steps
 
 144 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 and were in the open street, he turned 
 round, and giving Jenkins his hand, said : 
 
 ^ Good-night. Be sharp and prudent in 
 this matter for your own sake. And, by 
 the way, from that letter of instructions 
 there is only one detail omitted — bear it 
 well in mind. It is this: that when I 
 direct you to go to Norfolk I shall mean 
 Chicago.'
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Bleekek-street is not attractive, either for 
 ramblino; or residence. The tall houses 
 present all the outward and visible signs of 
 over-habitation with which eyes accustomed 
 to exercise themselves in great cities are 
 famihar, and the passage of the often-recur- 
 ring tramways keeps up a perpetual vibra- 
 tion and a remorseless noise which banish 
 all rest and peace for the sojourner. It is 
 a street to live in only under pressure of 
 necessity; and it is to be presumed that 
 the people who do live in it have no great 
 latitude for choice. 
 
 There are, however, degrees of discom- 
 fort, disorderliness, and out-of-elbow make- 
 shift even in Bleeker-street, for the houses 
 have numerous and desultory inmates, of 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 all arms in the serried ranks of humanity 
 fighting in the battle of life — only among 
 the rank and file though, be it understood; 
 and the parlours all along the line of the 
 house fronts are mostly occupied by respect- 
 able artisans, with a sprinkling of super- 
 annuated rentiers in a small way. 
 
 An observer ascending from story to 
 story would find the status of the dwellers 
 in the monotonous dreary houses progress- 
 ing crab fashion. The poorer in circum- 
 stances, the lower in position, the inmate, 
 the higher up he, she, or they — or much 
 more usually he and she and they — dwelt 
 in the swarmin^: buildino^s. 
 
 To Bleeker-street Ephraim Jenkins took 
 his way when his mysterious authoritative 
 employer dismissed him ; and one of the 
 poorest, dingiest, and most crowded of its 
 houses received his somewhat slouching 
 form. His form was a little less slouchino: 
 than when he had struggled down to the 
 place of rendezvous to meet the sailor ; the
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 147 
 
 most inveterate loafer pricks up for a little 
 while under the proud consciousness of hav- 
 ing got something to do for which he is 
 going to be paid. 
 
 Ephraim Jenkins did not object to a 
 temporary occupation of a kind to leave 
 him a future margin of idleness, without 
 danger of coming to want ; and it was with 
 a decided accession of cheerfulness to his 
 countenance and alacrity to his step that he 
 climbed the stair of one of the least inviting 
 of the houses in Bleeker-street to the top- 
 most story, and presented himself in a dull, 
 close, ill-furnished room, carpetless, curtain- 
 less, and forlorn-looking. This room had 
 one tenant already — a woman, who sat in 
 an attitude expressive of deep despondency 
 and utter listlessness beside the rusty stove, 
 leaning her head against the wall, and mth 
 her hands folded in her black stuff apron. 
 
 This woman moved when Ephraim Jen- 
 kms entered ; but before her glance turned 
 towards him it fell upon an object, common-
 
 148 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 place in itself, but to which that uncon- 
 scious spontaneous look lent a pathetic in- 
 terest ; it was an empty cradle. The woman 
 was still young, and though not quite hand- 
 some, was very comely. She had kindly 
 bright dark eyes, black hair, a fresh colour, 
 and a singularly honest expression of coun- 
 tenance. She was neatly though poorly 
 dressed, in what seemed to be an attempt 
 at mourning, but wore no new article of 
 attire; though it was evident the motive of 
 the attempt was recent, for when she spoke 
 to Jenkins, it was with streaming eyes and 
 a broken voice. 
 
 ' "What a time you have been away, and 
 how lonely I have felt!' she said, as he 
 hung his hat on a nail, and threw himself 
 heavily into one of the two chairs in the 
 room. 
 
 'Yes, Bess, I've been a goodish bit 
 about it; but it's been worth it,' he replied; 
 'the tide's on the turn, my girl, and we 
 shall do well now.'
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 149 
 
 ' It's turned too late for me, then. 0, 
 Eph, to think it was only yesterday we buried 
 him! It seems like a year of misery.' 
 
 The empty cradle had a melancholy 
 meaning. This woman's infant had suddenly 
 sickened and died three days before, and 
 one of the repetitions, countless as human 
 lives, of the human tragedy was going on in 
 that shabby room in Bleeker- street. The 
 woman would not be comforted, because 
 the child was not. 
 
 ' Poor little Ted!' said Jenkins, with an 
 awkward tenderness of a man honestly en- 
 deavouring to soothe a grief which he does 
 not share, and hardly comprehends. ' I 
 daresay it is much better for him ; but it's 
 hard on you, Bess, considering how fond 
 you were of him, and how you never 
 grudged the trouble ; but he'd never have 
 been well, you know. Even our turn of 
 luck couldn't have straightened his little 
 legs or strengthened his Httle back; and 
 you would only have fretted worse to see
 
 150 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 him growing up not able to get along for 
 himself.' 
 
 ' That's true, Eph ; but I can't think 
 about it now/ said the woman with an im- 
 patient shiver, as she rose and dried her 
 eyes. ' I would rather have "the trouble," 
 as you call it, and him, than any luck you 
 can tell me of without him.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' assented Ephraim; 
 ' and you must not think I don't miss him 
 too, Bess. Children ain't as much to men 
 as they are to women, because men have so 
 much more to think of.' Mr. Jenkins's 
 bond'Jide belief in his own occupied mind 
 and industrious life was something edifying 
 to behold, not to say humorous. ^And 
 you know, Bess, you're a deal more to me 
 than any children could ever be, and I can't 
 bear to see you fretting.' 
 
 She had begun to lay out some tea- 
 things in a noiseless tidy way, and he drew 
 his chair to the table with a not unskilful 
 assumption of wanting his tea. Ephraim
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 151 
 
 Jenkins was loose and a loafer, but he was 
 not more than ' half bad,' and the other half 
 was redeemed by a very genuine and con- 
 stant love for his wife. She saw the best 
 side of his character always, and she formed 
 an extremely erroneous estimate, happily 
 for her, of the whole of it. 
 
 'While the tea is drawing, I will tell 
 you all about it, Bess,' he said; p.nd she 
 sat down quietly, looking straight at him, 
 and evidently trying hard to rally her 
 spirits and fix her attention. ' I thought it 
 was only a temporary job to buy a horse at 
 some Western fair, or to go and look at 
 some premises, or to follow up some debtor,' 
 began Jenkins; 'and I was not a little 
 stumped when I found that Warren wanted 
 me for a big job and some time — three 
 months certain, Bess.' 
 
 ' Three months ! What for ?' 
 
 ' Well, that's it. I don't exactly know 
 what for. At least, I know what I've got 
 to do, but I don't know what it means;
 
 152 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 however, it's no business of mine, as you'll 
 see.' 
 
 Thereupon Ephraim Jenkins proceeded 
 to give his wife an account of the interview 
 between himself and Warren. It was a 
 garbled account, and it presented the mis- 
 sion he had undertaken in a light which he 
 perfectly well knew was not its real one ; 
 but he had an elastic conscience, and was 
 apt to accommodate circumstances to his 
 wife's notions when they differed from his 
 own, rather than to abide by the cold, un- 
 yielding, and inconvenient letter of facts. 
 He made out to her that he was to be em- 
 ployed as an agent, not as a substitute; for 
 he had an instinctive consciousness that she 
 would take alarm at the other view of the 
 transaction, and discern the existence of in- 
 definite danger in the very evident trickery 
 which it implied. He did not propose to 
 himself to give so very free a version of the 
 transaction as he found himself led into 
 giving, but the fact was, that when he had
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 153 
 
 concluded what he called an 'account' of 
 the interview from which he had just re- 
 turned, his wife had only two clear ideas 
 about it — the first that he was going to 
 leave her for he did not exactly know how 
 long, the second that he was going to con- 
 duct certain business operations of a kind 
 with which she had no reason at all to be- 
 lieve him practically acquainted. She was 
 not an educated woman, but neither was 
 she ignorant, and it struck her as a most 
 unaccountable imprudence that a man of 
 business should put affairs into the hands 
 of a person who had neither knowledge nor 
 position to bring to the transaction of them. 
 
 Ephraim Jenkins perceived at once that 
 his story had not satisfied his wife, and that 
 he must improve upon it if he hoped to 
 serve the first important end "to be gained, 
 i.e. her willing acquiescence in their inde- 
 finite separation. 
 
 ' Whatever I shall tell her' — so ran the 
 ingenuous current of his thoughts — 'I must
 
 154 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 not let out that I am going to pass for an 
 independent gentleman, for, of course, slie 
 would like to have her share in a game of 
 that kind, and why shouldn't she ?' 
 
 ' I don't understand it plain enough yet, 
 Eph,' she said; and Eph knew the resolute 
 ring in the voice, quite free from temper, 
 but meaning him to mind it. ' You must 
 be more distinct, please. And I should 
 like you to tell me how it is that you and 
 this Warren have turned friends again. I 
 never knew much about your quarrel or 
 how you were mixed up with him at first; 
 but it seems to me, considering he wouldn't 
 answer your letters or see you or help you 
 to get anything to do for some time back, 
 he must have some very strong reason for 
 changing round all of a sudden, and putting 
 you into a thing which must want manage- 
 ment and must mean confidence.' 
 
 ^ Ain't she shrewd !' thought Jenkins 
 rather admiringly, though his wife's shrewd- 
 ness bothered him just then ; ' goes straight
 
 COJs^JUGAL CONFIDENCE. 155 
 
 at it and hits it in the bull's-eye.' And 
 then he formed a resolution. 
 
 'You are quite right, Bess,' he replied. 
 ' I am sure his reason is a very strong one, 
 only I don't know it, and it don't matter 
 to me, for I am safe to get paid, and you 
 see that's the chief thing, and I'm sure 
 you'll allow — and there's the queerest tricks 
 going on in business, tricks that would 
 make you stare to hear of and you could 
 hardly believe. If there is any such tricks 
 up in this game, you understand, it's War- 
 ren will be playing them, not me, and they 
 don't concern me ; and you may take your 
 oath Warren knows Y^"hat he's about. But 
 I am going to tell you something, Bess, 
 w^hich I have not told you before, just be- 
 cause we have always had enough trouble 
 to get along, and a big share of it has been 
 yours, my girl, and I did not want to make 
 it bigger by giving things a look of greater 
 hardship and blacker injustice than they 
 need have ; but I can't go on without tell-
 
 156 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 ing you now, Bess, when you ask me how 
 it comes that Warren has changed his mind 
 and his hand about me. You know he is 
 not aware of your existence !' 
 
 ' Yes,' Bess replied anxiously, ' I know 
 you thought it better he should not know 
 you were married.' 
 
 ' I had my reasons. Long ago, AYarren 
 said to me he would never get me another 
 job, or help me with another cent, if I 
 mixed myself up in any aifair with a wo- 
 man. I have no doubt he did not mean by 
 that if I married, for he never thought of 
 such a thing, but he just said that, and he 
 meant it. '' He would not have any woman 
 told anything about his affairs," he said, 
 " and I had better act on the caution." 
 did, Bess, you know how, and I have been 
 obliged to stick to it. If I had gone to him 
 and pleaded poor little Ted, instead of soft- 
 ening him, the notion of the poor little 
 crippled baby would only have exasperated 
 him, and he would have told me I was a
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 157 
 
 cursed fool, and might take tlie conse- 
 quences. It was only while he believed me 
 to be knocking about alone, and at his beck 
 and call, that I could count on Warren's 
 remembering me sometimes for his own 
 sake ; and so I never told him I had a wife, 
 Bess, and I can't tell him now; but I will 
 when this job is through, for I mean to 
 save every cent I can while it is on, and 
 then we will set up in some little way, and 
 I will be steady.' 
 
 Poor Bess had heard many such pro- 
 mises already during the two years she had 
 been Ephraim Jenkins's wife, and had 
 tested their worthlessness, but she still 
 cherished the delusion concerning her hus- 
 band, which, however foolish, is always 
 lovable and excusable in a woman ; and 
 therefore she smiled, faintly indeed, for the 
 little tenant had left its cradle empty too 
 lately for the mother's lips to smile in full 
 or genuinely, and said, ' I know you will, 
 Eph; I know you will.'
 
 158 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ' That's hearty, my girl, and encourages 
 a man. I will say for you, Bess, you never 
 do nag, not even in your own mind, you 
 know. I know you don't, for I should see 
 it in your face if you held your tongue ever 
 so. And now for what I promised to tell 
 you. There is a reason why Warren should 
 help me, why he should turn round after 
 all his hardness and put a job into my 
 hands rather than into any one else's ; for 
 he is my brother, Bess ; yes, indeed, my 
 father was his father, but his mother was 
 his father's wife, and my mother was that 
 wife's maid — that's all the difference ! Only 
 a trifle!' he added, with a bitter laugh, 
 ' but it made a deuced deal of difference 
 to me. My father's wife died when "War- 
 ren and I were young children, and we 
 grew up together in a rather indecent sort 
 of fellowship, I daresay — he in the parlour, 
 and I in the stable - yard ; but we were 
 never long parted, and there has always 
 been some sort of feeling— a bad sort gener-
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 159 
 
 ally on his side — between us. I have been 
 a loafer and a ne'er-do-well ; it is not ele- 
 vating and encouraging to have such a 
 family history as mine to look back upon ; 
 though, mind, I don't mean to lay the blame 
 on that, Bess; that's cant, and cowardly 
 too ! Now you know all about it, and you 
 understand why Warren, when he w^ants 
 some one to help him and to keep it dark, 
 sends for me.' 
 
 ' Yes, I understand that now, and a 
 good many other things as well,' said Bess, 
 'and I do hope, Eph, you will get free of 
 him by this job, and let us make a fair 
 start. But what am I to do ? I must try 
 to get some plain sewing, I suppose, and 
 stay here, unless I can get a cheaper place !' 
 
 ' Plain sewing be hanged !' exclaimed 
 Ephraim, slapping the rickety table A\ith 
 his hand and making the cracked crockery- 
 ware ring ; ' you sha'n't go in for that. I've 
 got a notion, Bess, and I think you will 
 like it. You know what the doctor said,
 
 160 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 don't you, about poor little Ted's death, 
 and your having to be careful on account 
 of leaving oif nursing so suddenly?' 
 
 Bess nodded ; her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 'Well, then' — he spoke with a little 
 effort, creditable to the poor loafer — ' look 
 here,' taking a newspaper from his pocket, 
 'here's an advertisement for a wet-nurse. 
 "Wanted immediately, by Mrs. Alston 
 Griswold, of Fifth-avenue, a young woman 
 to undertake the charge of a delicate in- 
 fant." What do you say to trying for the 
 place at once? for I must leave you to- 
 morrow, Bess ; it's hard lines, but Warren 
 must have his dollar's worth for his dollar ; 
 it will be a good one, I'm sure, and if you 
 were to get it, my mind would be at rest 
 about you.' 
 
 ' 0, Eph, to have a child at my breast, 
 and little Ted in his grave !' cried the young 
 mother, with a burst of infinitely touching 
 sorrow, and threw her arms around the 
 'loafer's' neck.
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 161 
 
 He let her cry in silence for a few mo- 
 ments, and then she recovered herself, and 
 said: 
 
 ' This is foolish, I know. The idea is a 
 good one, Eph; but I don't think it can be 
 done. Do you know anything about Mrs. 
 Griswold?' 
 
 ' No, I don't,' said Jenkins, with an odd 
 look, which his wife did not observe ; ' but 
 where's the difficulty? The advertisement 
 is only this morning's, and you might see 
 after the place to-night.' 
 
 'No lady would take me without a re- 
 commendation, and where am I to get 
 one ?' 
 
 ' 0, for the matter of that,' said Jenkins 
 incautiously, • I'll write you out half-a-dozen 
 different ones in half-a-dozen different 
 hands; and the last lady you lived with 
 can be gone to Europe, so that she can't be 
 applied to.' 
 
 One of Mr. Jenkins's accomplishments 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 was a faculty for writing several different 
 
 hands, which Bess never liked, though she 
 
 had hitherto regarded it with only a vague 
 
 disfavour and distrust. But she coloured 
 
 violently when Jenkins said this, and hastily 
 
 bade him : 
 
 ' Hush, hush ! you are only jesting, and 
 
 I don't like such jests. No; I will go to 
 
 this lady, and try if she will engage me 
 
 when I tell her the truth about our little 
 
 Ted.' 
 
 ***** 
 
 Bess Jenkins put on her mourning bon- 
 net and shawl — the only new articles of 
 attire in her scanty wardrobe — and the two 
 set off to walk to Fifth-avenue. On the 
 way Jenkins confided to his wife — being 
 forced to do so in order that she might be 
 able to write to him during his absence — 
 that condition of his undertaking which he 
 had been most strenuously cautioned against 
 revealing: his assumption of the name of 
 Warren. Bess was vaguely alarmed when
 
 CONJUGAL CONFIDENCE. 163 
 
 she heard it, and when he told her she 
 must let no one see the address upon her 
 letters; but she felt that remonstrance was 
 now useless, and so she submitted.
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 
 
 In that tall square block of buildings known 
 as Yernon-ciiambers, Piccadilly, a London 
 bachelor must be fastidious indeed if he 
 cannot, no matter what his tastes may be, 
 find a residence to suit him. 
 
 There are suites of rooms, easy of access 
 and commanding enormous rents, and there 
 are single apartments, so loftily situate that 
 they look down upon Buckingham Palace 
 in the distance, which can be had for a 
 small sum — that is to say, a comparatively 
 small sum when the situation and accommo- 
 dation are taken into consideration. 
 
 The advantages of a residence in Yer- 
 non-chambers are great and manifold. It is 
 a great thing for a young man new to the 
 metropolis, and just commencing his career
 
 A WANDERING STAE. 165 
 
 in diplomacy, law, or commerce — for com- 
 merce has been found to pay, and is now 
 quite as fashionable as any of the learned 
 professions — to be enabled to put ' Yernon- 
 chambers' on his card, it being a recognised 
 address amongst those dinner-and-ball-giv- 
 ing members of society, the cultivation of 
 whose good will is so necessary to the well- 
 being of all young men. 
 
 Then, again, it is in the most desirable 
 quarter of the town; handy to the clubs 
 and to the park; within a shilling fare of all 
 the theatres ; and yet providing its inhabit- 
 ants — those who dwell in the topmost stories 
 at all events — with plenty of fresh air ; and 
 the pleasant expanse of the Green-park to 
 look upon, instead of the dismal line of brick 
 or stucco abomination on which most Lon- 
 doners are compelled to feast their eyes 
 when they come to the window in ungrati- 
 fied search for light and air. 
 
 It is probable, however, that none of 
 these considerations figured as inducements
 
 166 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 in the mind of Mr. Bryan Duval, when, 
 some three years before the period of our 
 story, he took a set of rooms on the second 
 floor, and agreed, without hesitation or at- 
 tempt at abatement, to pay for them the 
 rather stiff price of three hundred a year. 
 
 Mr. Duval did not go much into fash- 
 ionable society ; but at such great houses as 
 he was in the habit of frequenting in the 
 season he would have been as welcome if he 
 lived in Greek-street, Soho — a choice local- 
 ity, in which, indeed, at some anterior 
 period of his life, he had once pitched his 
 tent. He was not a member of any club, 
 and he would as soon have thought of going 
 into the Thames as into the park ; he hated 
 fresh air (his first order in connection with 
 his new rooms was to have double windows 
 made to exclude the noise), and if he occa- 
 sionally looked out on the Green-park, it 
 was not with any idea of pleasing his eyes 
 with its verdure, or amusing himself with 
 contemplating what was going on there.
 
 A WANDEEING STAR. 1G7 
 
 but rather in a fit of abstraction, when he had 
 got into what he had called 'a knot' in the 
 work on which he was engaged, and during 
 the disentanglement of which he would, per- 
 haps, lean his forehead against the window, 
 and stare straight out before him, with a 
 prolonged gaze, which saw nothing. 
 
 It was not to be imagined, however, that 
 Mr. Duval had selected this residence hap- 
 hazard ; he had a motive for everything he 
 did ; and, when it suited him, was ready to 
 explain it in the most candid manner. 
 
 ' I took these rooms,' he would say to 
 any inquiring friend, 'and I pay about twice 
 what they are really worth, because I wanted 
 them. My business lies sometimes in Bays- 
 water, and sometimes in Basinghall- street' 
 — he would smile grimly as he pronounced 
 the last name — ' and I want to be right in 
 the centre, "the hub of the wheel," as they 
 say in America, whence 1 can fly out east or 
 west with equal ease. Then again, of late 
 years, a certain number of swells, not being
 
 168 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 able to spend their money quickly enough 
 on the turf, have chosen to mix themselves 
 up with my profession, and this is a handy 
 kind of place to come and see me at when 
 they want. I have not any feeling for them 
 but one of intense contempt; but that, of 
 course, I keep to myself. Out of them I 
 get a certain portion of my bread-and-cheese, 
 and so I treat them civilly enough, never 
 rubbing them the wrong way, never bowing 
 down and worshipping them. Then, again, 
 I want large rooms, for there are books and 
 papers, and files of playbills, and all sorts of 
 things knocking about ; and there is a little 
 slip of a room out th^re — the Avarm-bath, I 
 call it — where my secretary works ; and al- 
 together the crib suits me, and is not so 
 bad.' 
 
 The ' crib,' as Mr. Duval called it in his 
 pleasant argot^ was furnished and fitted with 
 such good taste that it might have puzzled 
 an ingenious Sybarite to suggest an im- 
 provement in it.
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 169 
 
 It has been said that the arrangement 
 of a room often furnishes an index to the 
 owner's mind ; and if there be truth in the 
 dictum, Mr. Bryan Duval must be a singular 
 compound of many apparently antagonistic 
 qualities. 
 
 The broad, cosy-cushioned, spring-seated 
 ottoman, or divan, in green and gold, which 
 ran the whole length of one side of the room, 
 was counter-balanced by three or four grave, 
 high-backed, Puritan-looking chairs, in the 
 darkest of brown leather ; a huge, massive 
 black oak writing-table, littered all over with 
 papers, proof-sheets, and bills, had its pend- 
 ant in an elegant sandalwood davenport, in- 
 laid with mosaic, on which lay a green vel- 
 vet blotting-book, with raised crest and 
 monogram. The wall opposite to the otto- 
 man was taken up by a large black oak 
 bookcase, and among the treasures which 
 filled it, and overflowed on to the floor, 
 were rare elzevirs in creamy vellum covers, 
 British classics in stout old leather jackets,
 
 170 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 a splendid edition of French plays — ancient 
 and modern — rare works on costume splen- 
 didly illustrated, novels of the day, blue- 
 books, political pamphlets, two or three 
 thick rolls of Irish ballads bought in Dublin 
 streets, French pasquinades, and comic song- 
 sters. A great roaring double breechloader, 
 by Lancaster, hung close over the head of 
 an ancient arquebuse, the stock of which 
 was elegantly inlaid with pearl and ivory, 
 and on the writing-table a gold-hilted 
 dagger — said to have been worn by Henry 
 of Navarre — lay side by side with a very 
 vicious-looking six-shooter, with an inscrip- 
 tion on its barrel : ' Jacob F. Bodges and 
 Co., Danville, Pa.' 
 
 Nor was the room without examples of 
 art; a wonderfully executed copy ofGreuze's 
 ' La Cruche Cassee' hung in the place of 
 honour, proof engravings after Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds and Landseer occupied every 
 available space on the walls, and in a recess, 
 half shaded by deep-green velvet curtains,
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 171 
 
 was a marvellous Venus, by Pradier. But, 
 en revanche^ the mantelpiece was studded 
 with Danton's comic caricatures of celebri- 
 ties, and on the wall, suspended by the 
 frame of Sir Joshua's ^ Strawberry Girl,' 
 which overlapped it, was a flaring-coloured 
 lithograph of Pat Hamilton, in his favourite 
 character of Bryan Boroo, with on it a 
 memorandum, in Mr. Duval's own hand: 
 ' Wants situation in third act altered ; ad- 
 dress Wolverhampton till 29th.' 
 
 On a fine morning in early spring the 
 occupant of these rooms stood with his back 
 to the fireplace, where — for the cold winds 
 had not yet abated — some logs were burn- 
 ing on the iron dogs, with an open letter 
 in his hand. 
 
 Mr. Bryan Duval was a man of middle 
 size, with small, clear-cut, regular features, 
 and large, dark, melancholy eyes; his soft 
 dark hair was parted in the middle, and 
 taken back behind his ears; his moustaches 
 and imperial were long, and carefully trained
 
 172 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 — there were times when the exigencies of 
 his profession required that these luxurious 
 appendages should be shaved off, and then, 
 though he was far too conscientious in his 
 art not to sacrifice to it his personal vanity, 
 Mr. Duval mourned and refused to be com- 
 forted. 
 
 He was gorgeously dressed in a loose 
 jacket and trousers of violet velvet, his 
 small shirt collar, turned down over the 
 deep crimson necktie, was clasped at his 
 throat with a diamond stud, and on the 
 little finger of his small white right hand 
 he wore a massive gold signet ring, en- 
 graved with a viscount's coronet of the 
 Duvals, of which great family he always 
 stated his father was a scion. 
 
 As Mr. Duval read the letter attentively, 
 which was stamped with a coronet and a 
 large initial L, he brushed away with his 
 hand the wreaths of blue smoke from his 
 cigar, which interfered with its proper per- 
 usal, and shook his head slowly.
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 173 
 
 'It won't do, my dear Laxington,' he 
 muttered, half aloud ; ' it really cannot be 
 thought of. It is all very well for you to 
 say that you will stand the racket, that I 
 shall not be liable for a penny, and shall 
 only have to give my name ; but you don't 
 appear to understand that that is the exact 
 commodity which is more valuable to me 
 than anything else! It is solely on the 
 strength of my name that I hold my posi- 
 tion. I cannot afford to be connected with 
 failure, and failure — and dead failure — it 
 undoubtedly will be, if your lordship pro- 
 poses to take the Pomona, in order that 
 little Patty Calvert may play leading parts ! 
 What a wonderful thing it is,' continued 
 Mr. Duval, throwing down the letter, and 
 plunging his hands into his trousers pockets, 
 'to see a man in Laxington's position so 
 eao-er for such an affair as this! I don't 
 think, if I had been born a peer of the 
 realm, with a couple of hundred thousand a 
 year, and vast family estates, that I should
 
 174 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 have cared to go into management. I ima- 
 gine I could have filled up my time in a 
 better way than that, and made a good 
 thino^ of it too. Good heavens, what a taste 1 
 To smell gas and orange-peel, to be pushed 
 about by carpenters and supers, to be esti- 
 mated a nincompoop, and to have to pay a 
 couple of hundred a week for the pleasure ! 
 Let me see,' he continued, taking up the 
 letter, ' "clear half the receipts, no risk, only 
 give your name. Think of it, and let me 
 know. Yours sincerely, Laxington." No, 
 I think not. Very affectionate, but it won't 
 do. There is no part in any piece of mine 
 which little Patty could attempt to touch, 
 and I have no time to write one for her ; so 
 we shall have to fall back upon burlesques 
 and breakdowns and Amazons in their war 
 paint, and that kind of thing, which would 
 not suit my book at all. Besides, that little 
 door, just by the opjDOsite prompt private 
 box, going between the house and the stage, 
 would be always on the swing, and we
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 175 
 
 should have H.R.H.'s and foreign ambas- 
 sadors, and Tommy This of the Life Guards, 
 and Billy That of the Garrick Club, always 
 tumbling about behind the scenes. I don't 
 think I would entertain it if I were free; 
 but with this American business on hand, 
 it is not worth thinking of a second time, 
 and so I will tell L. at once.' 
 
 He touched a handbell as he spoke, and 
 a gray-haired keen-looking man presented 
 himself at the door. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Mr. Marks,' said Duval. 
 ' Come in, pray. You have brought your 
 usual budget with you, I perceive,' point- 
 ing to a bundle of letters which the secre- 
 tary held in his hand ; ^ anything of im- 
 portance ?' 
 
 ^ No, sir,' replied Mr. Marks, ' not of 
 any particular importance. Price, the man- 
 ager of the Alexandria at Ruabon, offers 
 ten shillings a night for the Cruiskeen Lawn 
 for a week certain.' 
 
 ' Does he !' interposed Mr. Duval, smiling
 
 176 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 and showing all his white teeth; ^and he 
 has the impudence to call himself " Price." 
 Of course, no !' 
 
 ' I have written so, sir,' said Mr. Marks. 
 '- They want the music for Anne of Austria 
 at Durham, and the plot of the scenery for 
 Varco the Vampire at Swansea. I have sent 
 the usual note to the Sunday papers an- 
 nouncing that Pichwiclcs Progress will be 
 put into rehearsal at the Gravity on Mon- 
 day. By the way, sir, will you allow me 
 to suggest that that name has been used 
 before ?' 
 
 ' What name, my dear Mr. Marks ?' said 
 Bryan Duval, looking up with an affectation 
 of the greatest innocence. 
 
 'Pickwick, sir,' said Mr. Marks; 'Mr. 
 Dickens has a work in which that name 
 occurs.' 
 
 'Ah,' said Mr. Duval, stroking his silky 
 moustache, ' by the way, now you mention 
 it, I think he has — curious that that idea 
 did not occur to me before. However, this
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 177 
 
 is PickwicJcs Progress, and I don't think 
 Mr. Dickens or Mr. Anybodyelse has ever 
 had anything of that sort; at all events, I 
 am clear they can say nothing about in- 
 fringement of copyright, so we will hold to 
 Pickwick's Progress, jMr. Marks. Anything 
 else? 
 
 ' A newspaper, sir, from Melbourne, 
 evidently sent by Mr. Prodder.' 
 
 ' Prodder,' repeated Mr. Duval, closing 
 his eyes ; ' ah, I remember — the stage- 
 struck pork-butcher. Yes, and what of 
 Prodder ?' 
 
 ' He seems to have made a great success 
 with Komeo, sir; the paper says he quite 
 hit the taste of the Melbourne audience.' 
 
 ' Ah, that is not very complimentary to 
 the Melbourne audience, is it, Marks? How- 
 ever, anything more?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, a letter from Mr. Van Buren, 
 acknowledging the receipt of your signed 
 copy of the engagement, saying he will take 
 your rooms at the Hoffman House, and 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 either he or Mr. Jacobs will be at the Ca- 
 nard wharf when the Cuba comes in.' 
 
 ^ Good,' said Bryan Duval, slowly rub- 
 bing his hands together. ' Van Bur en is a 
 man of business. That engagement is going 
 to turn up trumps, Marks, and my old 
 friends, the Yankees, are going to do me 
 another good turn. By the way, any reply 
 from Miss Montressor?' 
 
 'Yes, sir,' said Mr. Marks, 'this,' touch- 
 ing a small pink note. ' She will be here at 
 eleven, precisely.' 
 
 'That with a woman means half -past 
 twelve,' said Duval, nodding his head. 'All 
 right. Now be good enough to write a 
 letter for my signature in reply to this from 
 Lord Laxington — polite, of course, but giv- 
 ing no loophole, saying that I should have 
 been delighted, &c., but that I have made 
 other arrangements which prevent the pos- 
 sibility — you understand. You may men- 
 tion that I am ofoino; to America — no, on 
 second thoughts we must let the news-
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 
 
 179 
 
 papers liave that information first; they 
 would be wild if it leaked out through pri- 
 vate sources.' 
 
 Mr. Marks bowed and retired to the 
 warm-bath, Bryan Duval lit another cigar, 
 threw himself on the divan, and taking out 
 a small gilt-edged memorandum-book, began 
 looking through its leaves, and scratching a 
 few figures upon them. ' That's it,' he said 
 to himself after a pause. 'I have three 
 hundred and eighty pounds in the bank 
 now. Pickwick's Progress, if it makes any- 
 thing like a hit, will probably be good for 
 thirty pounds a night— let's say sixty; then 
 before I sail, the returns from the provinces 
 for Anne of Austria, Varco the Vampire, and 
 the Cruiskeen Lawn— the idea of that fellow 
 wanting it for ten shillings a night— ought 
 to bring me eighty pounds— eighty ! 0, 
 more— let's say two hundred and eighty. 
 I should think that that must be something 
 like a thousand pounds that I ought to take 
 away with me. Then Van Buren's Varieties
 
 180 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 holds three thousand people at a dollar each 
 — three thousand dollars are six hundred 
 pounds — but the exchange will probably 
 have risen by the time I get there — let 
 us call it eight hundred. It costs them to 
 pull up the curtain two hundred dollars a 
 night. I will make an alteration there, how- 
 ever — great reduction — let's call it seventy 
 dollars. Seventy as against three thousand 
 — let me see,' said Bryan Duval, slowly 
 pulling at his imperial, 'I think I must 
 bring back to England in three months' 
 time at least ten or twelve thousand 
 pounds — ' 
 
 His calculations were cut short by a 
 whistle from a mouth-piece in the wall, to 
 which he applied his ear; immediately an- 
 swering with the words: 'Show her up.' 
 ' Miss Montressor below, eh ?' he muttered, 
 repeating the information which had been 
 given him through the pipe. ' Now, I think 
 I have got a card in Miss Montressor, if I 
 only handle her rightly.^
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 181 
 
 He opened a door of communication 
 with his dressing-room, disappeared for a 
 moment, and returned with his hair fresh 
 brushed, and a scented handkerchief peep- 
 ing out of his jacket pocket. Then he 
 stepped on to the staircase, and, as Miss 
 Montressor reached the landing, he took 
 her by both hands and led her into the 
 room. 
 
 Miss Clara Montressor was a woman of 
 about six-and-twenty, not tall, but what 
 Mr. Duval called ' a good stage height,' not 
 stout, but well developed. Her features 
 were anything but faultless, yet her face, as 
 a whole, was very pretty, and her expres- 
 sion quite charming. She had long lustrous 
 eyes, which, whether they were green or gray, 
 no one had ever been able to determine. 
 Lord Alicampayne of the Life Guards said 
 they were 'bwight blue,' but Miss Theresa 
 Colombo of the T.R.D.L., whose salary was 
 two pounds a week less than Miss Montres- 
 sor's, and who did not get half so many
 
 182 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 bouquets, said they were ' cat's eyes.' Her 
 nose was a little retrousse, but she had 
 rich pouting lips, sound small white teeth, 
 and her complexion was such as you only 
 see on a peach, or on a lady who uses 
 Poudre a la Bismuth^ dite Yeloutine. Her 
 hair, which was one of her chief attractions, 
 was gold-brown, and she had had the sense 
 not to attempt to change its colour. Alto- 
 gether, Miss Montressor was a very nice- 
 looking person, and very becomingly 
 dressed. 
 
 So Mr. Bryan Duval thought, as he 
 seated her on the divan and took up his 
 position in one of the high - backed arm- 
 chairs in front of her. Mr. Duval's thoughts 
 about his present visitor, and indeed about 
 most ladies, were wholly professional — his 
 time was too valuable to be taken up with 
 flirtation, and he had a free and-easy man- 
 ner with him which, while it was very 
 agreeable, obviously meant nothing. 
 
 ' It was very good of you to come here
 
 A WANDEEING STAR. 183 
 
 this morning, Miss Montressor,' he com- 
 menced, sittino^ back and wavino- his scented 
 pocket-handkerchief gently in the air — it 
 was excellent Ess. Bouquet, and he knew 
 that Patchouli and Jockey Club were about 
 Miss Montressor's mark. 
 
 'It was very good of you to send for 
 me, Mr. Duval,' said Miss Montressor, with- 
 out the slightest embarrassment, ' and I was 
 very glad to come — putting aside any ques- 
 tion of business — I was anxious to see what 
 you were like without any make-up.' 
 
 'Well,' said Duval, jumping up from his 
 seat and striking an attitude, ' and how do 
 you find me ?' 
 
 ' 0, exactly the same,' replied the visi- 
 tor ; ' there is no mistaking those raven locks 
 and those spikes,' drawing her finger across 
 her upper lip. ' You are not like old Frank- 
 lin, who is quite black, or rather quite blue, 
 at night, and a lively piebald — like a horse 
 in a circus — when he comes to rehearsal in 
 the morning. 0, it must be delightful to be
 
 184 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 made love to by you, more especially after 
 a fortnight's Juliet to Hedger's Romeo, and 
 Mr. Hedger always will take his supper be- 
 tween the acts, and he is so partial to spring 
 onions.' 
 
 ' Horrible Hedger !' cried Duval, throw- 
 ing up his hands ; ' my taste in that line, 
 my dear, don't go beyond the slightest 
 sowpopn of garlic, and I religiously deny 
 myself that when I am acting. One great 
 fault of our English actors is that they know 
 nothing of the delicacies of the cuisine^ 
 
 ' 0, but you do, and you are yourself a 
 most wonderful cook. I know all about 
 that,' she cried, clapping her hands. ' I 
 heard it from a Mr. Foster, an American 
 gentleman whom I was introduced to the 
 other day, and who knew you when you first 
 went out to New York.' 
 
 'Ah, by the way, I had a letter from 
 Foster last night. He told me he had met 
 you, and sent you a rather jolly message, 
 which I will deliver to vou later on.'
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 185 
 
 ' Why not now ?' 
 
 ' Pleasure after business, my dear. I 
 never do anything until the business which 
 I am transacting is out of hand. By the 
 way, will you have a glass of sherry ? You 
 can sip that and talk business at the same 
 time.' 
 
 ^ I think I will, please,' said Miss Mon- 
 tressor simply ; ' and is there a biscuit any- 
 where about? I am awful hungry.' 
 
 ' A^v fully hungry, my dear Clara,' said 
 Bryan Duval, touching her arm lightly with 
 his finger ; ' awfully, not a^vful — adverb, not 
 adjective — don't mind my telling you, do 
 you, dear? These little slips, you know, are 
 awkward in public. A biscuit? Hundreds ! 
 thousands ! and something better than a 
 biscuit — look here !' 
 
 He darted into the ante-room and speed- 
 ily returned with a silver waiter, covered 
 with a white cloth, which he placed before 
 her. 
 
 ' Plovers' eggs, my dear Clara,' he cried,
 
 186 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 handing her a plate ; ' shilling apiece in 
 Covent-garden. I tell you the price, not to 
 stint you, but to tickle your appetite — 
 Vienna bread from Popowaski's, the man in 
 the Quadrant ; country butter just out of 
 the refrigerator; Oloroso sherry, and a 
 bottle of Brighton seltzer. One, two, three, 
 and you're off.' 
 
 'What a ridiculous fellow you are!' said 
 Miss Montr essor, with a plover's egg be- 
 tween her pretty, jewel-laden fingers. ' I 
 have always thought of you as a Buffering 
 lover, the fiery Raoul, the heart-broken 
 Edgar, but here, at home, you are as jolly 
 as a sandboy.' 
 
 ' That's because I have to be so uni- 
 formly miserable on the stage, my dear,' 
 said Mr. Duval, taking some choice loose 
 tobacco out of the drawer, and rolling up a 
 papelito, ' and one cannot be always doing 
 the water-cart business. Are the plovers' 
 e2:2:s erood ?' 
 
 ' Divine.'
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 187 
 
 ' And the Oloroso ?' 
 
 ' Delicious — quite a nutty flavour.' 
 
 ' 0, don't,' cried Bryan Duval, putting 
 up his hand, 'that is out of the advertise- 
 ment of the Standard Sherry. However, I 
 am glad you like it ; and now to business. 
 You have considered my proposition?' 
 
 'I have.' 
 
 ' And you agree to it ?' 
 
 ' Provided the terras suit me ; you were 
 to mention them at this meeting.' 
 
 'Wisest of females,' said Bryan, puffing 
 a cloud of blue smoke through his nose, and 
 watching it waft away, ' so I was ! I don't 
 think there will be any difficulty about them 
 — sixty pounds a week, and half a clear 
 benefit in every town where we stop a fort- 
 night.' 
 
 Miss Montressor threw her egg-shell 
 into the plate, wiped her dainty fingers on 
 the napkin, and said, in a deep tragic 
 voice : 
 
 ' Selim, take me. I am yours !'
 
 188 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 ' Here/ cried Bryan Duval, in very deep 
 cliest notes, ' here and hereafter — ha ! ha ! 
 cue for prompter to ring for trap. Then we 
 may look upon that as settled.' 
 
 'That's so, colonel,' said Miss Montres- 
 sor, with a slight nasal intonation ; ' they 
 are all colonels out there, are they not ? 
 
 '• There is my hand upon it — tip us your 
 flipper,' cried Bryan Duval ; and after shak- 
 ing hands with his visitor, he hitched up his 
 trousers and danced a few steps of the horn- 
 pipe round the room. ' Marks shall draw 
 up the agreement, and we will have it pro- 
 perly signed and sealed. I will let you 
 know the date of sailing, but you had better 
 get ready at once. 0, by the way, Foster's 
 message.' 
 
 ' yes ! what was it?' cried Miss Mon- 
 tressor eagerly. 
 
 ' Foster is one of those Americans who, 
 when they crawl out of the commercial shell 
 in which they are engaged all day, find no 
 such pleasure, no such thorough change, as
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 189 
 
 the theatre affords them. He is over here 
 on commercial matters, but he is mad about 
 theatricals; and he is going to give a din- 
 ner at Richmond on Sunday, and he wants 
 you to go.' 
 
 Miss Montressor hesitated for a moment. 
 She had certain relations, of which no one 
 but herself and those in her immediate 
 household were aware, and she wondered 
 whether these ' relations' would prove a hin- 
 drance to her accepting the invitation. 
 
 Bryan Duval saw the look in her face, 
 and had a vague idea of what she was pon- 
 derino; over — vac]^ue, but still an idea — he 
 had known so many Miss Montressors in 
 his life. 
 
 ' Don't hesitate,' he said ; ' don't make 
 any mistake about it; it is going to be a 
 tremendously jolly party; lots of people you 
 know — fellows in the Guards, and fellows 
 on the press, and a good dinner, and no end 
 of fun. Say "yes."' 
 
 'I will,' said Miss Montressor. 'You
 
 190 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 can tell Mr. Foster I shall be delighted to 
 come/ 
 
 ^ Right/ said Bryan Duval. ' Then I 
 will drive you down. I will tool my chest- 
 nuts up to the villa at four p.m. pre- 
 cisely.' 
 
 Miss Montressor stepped into her neat 
 little brougham in a very complacent state 
 of mind. She had long wished to be a 
 star, but her chances in this hemisphere had 
 not been great. Here was a fulfilled am- 
 bition, accompanied, indeed, with certain 
 difficulties, which, however, the lady felt 
 disposed to treat philosophically as mere 
 points of detail. She had time to make up 
 her mind as to her mode of action on a cer- 
 tain complex line very near her hand before 
 the brougham stopped at the unpretend- 
 ing entrance to her very pretty abode at 
 Brompton. She rather expected to find 
 Mr. Dolby waiting for her, and her first 
 question to her maid was whether he had 
 yet arrived. The answer was in the affir-
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 191 
 
 mative, so she went straight into the draw- 
 ing-room, where she found Mr. Dolby occu- 
 pied in patiently examining the contents of 
 a photograph-book, with which he had been 
 long familiar. Miss Montressor skilfully 
 assumed a tone, not only of satisfaction, 
 but of girlish elation, as she ran forward, 
 exclaiming: ^ Isn't it delightful? It's all 
 settled!' 
 
 Mr. Dolby closed the photograph-book, 
 replaced it on the table, and looked up at 
 her. There was no elation nor delight in 
 his countenance as he said : ' Are you allud- 
 ino; to the eno;ao^ement ?' 
 
 ' Of course I am. What else do you sup- 
 pose I was talking about?' 
 
 'I did not presume to guess. You are 
 extravagantly delighted or inconceivably 
 distressed, in the wildest spirits or in the 
 depths of despair, so frequently, for causes 
 which my incomplete male understanding 
 is incapable of discerning, that I did not 
 know whether it might be a question of a
 
 192 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 new trimminfr, or an exchano;e of docjs be- 
 
 O ' CD Cj 
 
 tween you and Miss Campbell, which had 
 produced that very becoming animation to 
 which you have not treated me lately.' 
 
 ' 0,' said Miss Montressor, ' you are out 
 of temper. You were yesterday, you know, 
 and you have not got over it. How I hate 
 men who keep up spite ! I have a great 
 mind not to tell you anything that has oc- 
 curred to-day.' 
 
 ' I should be aghast at the threat if I 
 did not know by experience that you are 
 what you call "dying to tell me;" whereas 
 I am quite willing to hear, and I can there- 
 fore wait,' said Mr. Dolby. 
 
 All this was rather trying, and calcu- 
 lated to damp the high spirits with which 
 Miss Montressor had returned ; but she was 
 accustomed to the acerbity of Mr. Dolby's 
 humour, and she made light of it. '"What 
 an unpleasant man he would be as a hus- 
 band !' she often thought in her odd frank 
 way. ' I would not be his wife for any con-
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 193 
 
 sideration ; he would bully any one he could 
 not get away from awfully.' 
 
 This familiar reflection passed through 
 her mind on the present occasion; but it 
 did not impair the cheerfulness of her coun- 
 tenance, or the glee in her voice, as she 
 proceeded in a rather chattering style to 
 repeat to Mr. Dolby the particulars of her 
 interview with Bryan Duval, and to dilate 
 upon the thorough appreciation of her gifts 
 and powers which that prmce of dramatists, 
 actors, and good fellows had displayed. 
 'So encouraging,' she said, 'and so delight- 
 ful, to find a person really above the jealousy 
 which had hitherto led to her being so un- 
 justly treated.' 
 
 After all, the faculty for discovering and 
 utilising the powers of others to hit the 
 public taste was the great secret of the 
 great actor. 
 
 Miss Montressor did not know whether 
 Bryan Duval had been quite so judicious 
 and wise m the selection of certain other 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 194 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 members of the company whom he proposed 
 to take with him; she had her doubts on 
 that point; but one must only work with 
 the materials one has at hand. His fair 
 Clara, in the character of critic and prac- 
 tical philosopher, afforded Mr. Dolby not a 
 little amusement; and as he was not easily 
 or often amused, he encouraged her to talk 
 much more than usual.' Mr. Dolby was 
 not very communicative, nor did he, as a 
 rule, like much talking — a defect in his dis- 
 position by no means agreeable to Miss 
 Montressor's taste. He was rather given 
 to absence of mind, and that is a tendency 
 much dishked and resented by women, not 
 unnaturally. Sometimes Mr. Dolby would 
 fall into fits of musing, under whose influ- 
 ence he would rise and pace the room 
 slowly to and fro, to and fro, with an utter 
 abstraction in his face, which told Miss 
 Montressor that his mind was far away, 
 and that she was utterly banished from 
 it, that she had no place at all, not even
 
 A WANDERINa STAR. 195 
 
 as a speck on the horizon, in his mental 
 vision. 
 
 During these fits of abstraction he did 
 not talk to himself aloud, indeed, but his 
 lips moved ; and his knitted brows, and the 
 inward look of his eyes, were plain indica- 
 tions that he was not merely absent in the 
 direct sense of idle purposeless reverie, but 
 that some subject of deep, concentrated, 
 and all-absorbing interest was occupying all 
 the approaches to the citadel of thought. 
 
 Miss Montressor regarded this kind of 
 thing as tiresome, a bore, and a mistake, a 
 serious drawback to Mr. Dolby's excellence 
 as a companion; but it inspired her with 
 no further feeling, it wakened no curiosity. 
 Business was almost as occult a phrase for 
 Miss Montressor as it was for Helen Gris- 
 wold, and she invariably concluded either 
 that something had gone wrong in business 
 or that Mr. Dolby was meditating some 
 coup in business when he forgot to listen to 
 her, left off talking to her, and walked up
 
 196 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 and down her pretty drawing-room, touch- 
 ing the chairs and tables unconsciously as 
 he passed them with his finger tips, as she 
 remembered having heard some one say Dr. 
 Johnson used to touch the posts in Fleet- 
 street. 
 
 Miss Montressor would have been seri- 
 ously annoyed, however, if Mr. Dolby had 
 gone off into one of his fits of absence on 
 the present occasion. Her own business 
 was in the wind now, and she considered it 
 Yv'orthy of his undivided attention. He did 
 not try her patience on this point; he list- 
 ened with genuine interest, which received 
 a quite perceptible stimulus when Miss 
 Montressor mentioned that all the arrange- 
 ments and preparations were being greatly 
 assisted and facilitated by her American 
 friend, Mr. Foster. 
 
 'Foster!' said Mr. Dolby, stooping to 
 pick up his paper-knife ; ' the New York 
 man, I suppose?' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so ; a very pleasant agree-
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 197 
 
 able man, and very fond of theatricals. He 
 saw Bryan Duval years ago in New York, 
 and called on him as soon as he came to 
 London. He gave me a delightful sketch 
 of the reception we are certain to meet with, 
 and has promised us private introductions 
 to no end.' 
 
 'Foster!' repeated Mr. Dolby, in a pon- 
 dering tone. 'I don't think I knoAv any 
 one of the name — it is not common among 
 us. What sort of looking man is he ?' 
 
 ' Decidedly good-looking — more like an 
 Englishman than an American, I fancy, ac- 
 cording to our notions of what you call the 
 "American type.'" 
 
 Mr. Dolby laughed. 'Don't talk stuiF 
 about the American type, my child; there 
 is no such thing. There are scores of types 
 among us, the most cosmopolitan and prac- 
 tical nation in the world. I now remember 
 exactly what you mean by Mr. Foster's 
 being more like an Englishman than an 
 American. You mean that he looks healthy.
 
 198 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 cheery, and as if neither his sleep nor his 
 digestion was ever troubled by overwork 
 and anxiety. This is one of the favourite 
 delusions of suj)erficial writers and random 
 talkers. Nothing has struck me, since I 
 have been in London, more forcibly than 
 the absence of the so-called English type 
 among Englishmen. The rosy complexions, 
 the stalwart forms, the unembarrassed open 
 countenances, are just as scarce in London 
 city as in New York ; everybody looks anx- 
 ious, it seems to me, and most people look 
 tired. What is Foster?' 
 
 He asked the question with a strange 
 suddenness. One would have thought by 
 his manner he had forgotten Miss Montres- 
 sor's mention of her friend in the dis- 
 cussion of the abstract question; but he 
 had not. 
 
 ' What is he ? I don't know ; I did not 
 hear; but I presume he is over here on 
 business of some kind. 0, yes, by the bye, 
 he must be, for Bryan Duval told me Mr.
 
 A WANDERING STAR. 199 
 
 Foster liad come against his will, and wants 
 to get back. That doesn't look like plea- 
 sure, does it?' 
 
 ^ Not particularly. However, Mr. Foster 
 is no concern of mine, only your meeting 
 any New York man reminds me to impress 
 upon you that you must not talk about me. 
 Are you attending to me, Clara?' 
 
 ^ 0, yes, I am attending to you ; and I 
 am sure you need not be afraid of my tell- 
 ing anything you don't want to have known. 
 I have kept you dark everywhere, and it is 
 rather dull, I can tell you.' 
 
 ' Rather dull, is it ?' said Mr. Dolby, with 
 a smile. ^ You would like a little more dash 
 about our cosy little arrangements, wouldn't 
 you? You would like me to do the dinner- 
 at-Eichmond and drag - to - races business. 
 Mr. Foster has been putting that into your 
 head. No, no, my dear, that is not my line 
 at all ; and you must take me as I am, you 
 know. You are going to star it besides, and 
 you will have plenty of fun and frolic when
 
 200 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 away from me ; and I am all alone by my- 
 self in this big place.' 
 
 Miss Montressor gave her head a toss, 
 half disdainful, half incredulous. She re- 
 membered the ease with which Mr. Dolby 
 had made her acquaintance, and she be- 
 lieved in his constancy as little as she va- 
 lued it. 
 
 'I shall not inquire too minutely into 
 your sources of consolation,' she said; 'and 
 if I were discontented with the present 
 state of things, you may be quite certain 
 that I should let you know it. It is only 
 men's wives, remember, who have to put 
 up with the style of life they don't like, be- 
 cause their husbands do like it ; as for us, 
 Vive la liberie P 
 
 ' By all means,' said Mr. Dolby. ' I echo 
 the sentiment which you have declaimed so 
 prettily.' 
 
 She had advanced her right foot, tossed 
 her arm over her upreared head, and made 
 believe to wave a flao^ with a o-esture full of
 
 A WANDEKING STAK. :^0l 
 
 spirit. She often produced effects in private 
 life of which her stage performances fell very 
 far short. 
 
 ' And since you have mentioned dinners 
 at Richmond,' said Miss Montressor, with 
 characteristic inconsequence, 'I may as well 
 tell you at first as last that I am going to 
 dine at Richmond with Duval and the whole 
 lot. It is Mr. Foster's dinner, and he has 
 sent me an invite through Duval, so I said 
 I should be delighted. Duval drives me 
 down — he is to call for me at four.' 
 
 She spoke with considerable volubility, 
 which Mr. Dolby correctly interpreted. 
 
 'AH right,' he replied; 'have we not 
 just agreed Vive la liberie? and especially 
 the liberie which brings such pleasant things 
 in its train by its prolonged life. I am par- 
 ticularly grateful to my hospitable com- 
 patriot with a taste for theatricals, for I am 
 obliged to go to Brighton to-morrow, and I 
 shall not get back until Monday morning.' 
 
 ' I was just about to tell you I should
 
 202 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 not see you again till then, so it all hap- 
 pens most conveniently. He doesn't like 
 it a bit/ thought Miss Montressor, ^ but he 
 carries it off pretty well — rather a clever 
 invention, that Brighton business ; but it 
 doesn't impose on me.' She remarked aloud 
 simultaneously, with great good humour, 
 'This is really fortunate, as it turns out; 
 but you might have come, you know, if 
 you hadn't any objection to meeting Mr. 
 Foster — Bryan Duval would have got an 
 invite for you directly.' 
 
 'Thanks,' said Mr. Dolby, with perfect 
 gravity ; ' such a kindness would have been 
 invaluable under other circumstances; but, 
 as you have just said, I have no fancy for 
 meeting Mr. Foster.' 
 
 ' That is lucky,' thought Miss Montres- 
 sor, as Mr. Dolby bade her adieu, ' for I 
 have.'
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 
 
 Mr. Duval, punctual to his appoint- 
 ment, pulled up the spanking chestnuts on 
 to their haunches at Miss Montressor's door 
 exactly at four o'clock on Sunday after- 
 noon. They were very spanking chestnuts 
 indeed, and the mail-phaeton glistened with 
 varnish, and on every place on the harness 
 where it was possible massive pieces of 
 silver-plate had been put. All this was, 
 of course, exaggerated and outre^ and quite 
 foreign to Bryan Duval's good taste; but 
 that good taste had been swamped by a 
 long connection with theatricals, and the 
 wondering stares of the pubHc, which he 
 would formerly have shrunk from, he now 
 took dehght in, and disdained no method 
 by which they might be attracted.
 
 204 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 The phaeton, the horses, and the har- 
 ness ; the huge bearskin rug, with the 
 French viscount's coronet, in red, elabo- 
 rately displayed in one corner of it, which 
 enwrapped his legs; the very costume of 
 Mr. Duval himself, far more French than 
 English, in its curly-brimmed hat, its bril- 
 liant necktie, its small jean boots with 
 glittering tips, and its faultless peau de 
 Suede gloves — all these were merely so 
 many component parts of the general ad- 
 vertisement. 
 
 When people stopped in the street and 
 nudged each other, muttering, as he could 
 plainly see by the motion of their lips, 
 'That's Bryan Duval!' the actor -author 
 inwardly winked, chuckling at the noto- 
 riety, and recognising the success of the 
 performance — inwardly only, for he knew 
 what a mistake it would have been to do 
 away with the mysterious interest with 
 which he was regarded by dropping into 
 the comedian or buffoon, and therefore,
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 205 
 
 when any public eye was on him, his face 
 preserved the look of suffering earnestness 
 which it was accustomed to wear on the 
 stage. 
 
 When the garden-gate was opened, at 
 the ring of the very elaborate groom who 
 had slid himself into the road before the 
 horses stopped, Miss Montressor appeared 
 at the inner door of the villa ; and very 
 pretty and picturesque she looked in her 
 velvet skirt, and her upper dress of fine 
 gray cloth velvet, bound and buttoned, and 
 her small chic bonnet to match. 
 
 'How good of you to be so punctual!' 
 she said, with a bright smile. 
 
 ' And how noble of you to be ready at 
 the ajDpointed time !' he cried, from the 
 phaeton. ' I will give you two extra sobs 
 in your next tragic part as a reward.' 
 
 'You are a horror,' she said, shaking 
 her handsome parasol at him, ' to speak of 
 your own genius in that way — won't you 
 come in?'
 
 206 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 'No, thanks/ said Bryan, with a smile, 
 which was so peculiar that Miss Montres- 
 sor flushed slightly, and said in reply : 
 
 ■There is no one here.' 
 
 ' 0, 1 don't mean that,' said Duval; ' and 
 I should not have minded in the least if 
 there had been; but we may as well take 
 advantage of the brightness of the day, 
 and have a stroll in Richmond - park be- 
 fore dinner.' 
 
 '0, that will be delightful!' said Miss 
 Montressor. ' I am perfectly ready to start 
 at once. Justine, have I got everything ?' 
 
 Justine, who was really Jane Clark, but 
 who had adopted her present appellation 
 from the name of a soubrette in a melo- 
 drama, replied in the affirmative, and Miss 
 Montressor having taken her place by 
 Bryan's side, they drove away. 
 
 The wind was cool, but there was a 
 bright sun, and the road was enlivened 
 with crowds of people making the most of 
 this, the first day of anything like fine wea-
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 207 
 
 ther, to escape from the dark streets to 
 which they had been so long confined. 
 They were off to the river -side public- 
 houses of Putney and Mortlake, where they 
 would talk over the details of the race be- 
 tween Oxford and Cambridge, which had 
 recently been decided, or to the gardens 
 of Kew, where they would pant in the 
 tropical houses, and examine with intense 
 interest the prospects of the budding trees 
 and shrubs. They were pleasure - going 
 people for the most part, who were accus- 
 tomed to rank the theatre as one of their 
 chief amusements, and who, from their hard 
 benches in the pit, made a point of seeing 
 any play which had a successful run at 
 least once. So that Bryan Duval was well 
 known by sight to most of them, as well as 
 to the omnibus drivers, who would lean back, 
 and roar in a hoarse voice behind their 
 wash-leather gloves to the conductor: 'Know 
 him? Dooval, the hactor!' 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Mr. Duval
 
 208 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 was unmindful of the sensation he caused. 
 When the omnibus men touched their hats 
 to him, he raised his own with a grave 
 graceful bow; but even when he spoke to 
 his companion he still preserved the same 
 impressive look upon his face. 
 
 'You see, Clara, my dear,' he said, with 
 easy familiarity, though his lips never re- 
 laxed one whit, 'you see how very effective 
 this is. People often ask me why I keep a 
 mail-phaeton, and a brougham, and these 
 chestnuts, and all the rest of it ; they won- 
 der I don't go about in a hansom cab ; they 
 say I should be much more independent, 
 and it would be so much cheaper ; but in- 
 dependently of the fact that I prefer my 
 own handsome phaeton and comfortable 
 brougham to any hansom cab, I find that 
 the expense of them is almost met by the 
 purposes they serve as an advertisement. 
 Now this drive to-day is worth to me con- 
 siderably more than a half column over the 
 clock in the Times, These people would
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 209 
 
 glance at that — they wouldn't read it; they 
 never do read long advertisements — and 
 forget all about it the next minute; but 
 when they go home to-night, they will say 
 to the children who are sitting up for them, 
 or to the old man for whom it was too long 
 a walk, "Who do you think we saw to-day? 
 Why, Dooval, the performer — him that 
 makes love so well — and driving such a 
 swell trap !" and then one or the other of 
 them will say they haven't seen me on the 
 stage for some time, and wonder what I am 
 doing, or what new piece I have written; 
 and then they will look out the advertise- 
 ment in the Aveekly paper, and you may 
 take your oath that the money for a couple 
 of hundred pit seats is as good as in my 
 pocket at present.' 
 
 As they turned into Richmond-park they 
 saw approaching them, by another road, a 
 well-appointed drag, with four splendid roan 
 horses, and driven by a tall gentlemanly- 
 looking man, with a wonderfully woe-be- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 gone countenance. On the box beside him 
 sat an over - dressed young person with 
 blonde hair, and a face that was blue in the 
 sun and streaky in the shade. She was 
 talking volubly to her companion, but none 
 of her sallies seemed to have the slightest 
 effect in roitsing him. 
 
 ' That's Laxington,' said Duval, as the 
 two vehicles neared each other, ' and Patty 
 Calvert by his side, of course. You know 
 Laxington, don't you ? ' Ah, then don't be 
 surprised if the bow which he gives you is 
 a very cool one ; it is as much as his life is 
 worth to take notice of any other woman 
 when the fair Patty is by him. He is too 
 much of a gentleman not to be courteous to 
 everybody, but my idea is, that he has a 
 very bad time of it. And now just look at 
 those fellows on the top of the drag. Two 
 or three of them can trace their descent 
 back to the Conqueror — though they would 
 have no pull over me there ; there is no 
 better blood than that of the Duvals in all
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 211 
 
 France, my dear Clara, though that, per- 
 haps, does not interest you — and the rest 
 are the sons of fellows who have made their 
 money by brewing, or mining, or carrying 
 goods by railway, or some other gentle- 
 manly occupation of the same kind, and yet 
 there is not a ghost of an idea among the 
 whole lot ! I assure you, beyond telling a 
 broad story and retailing the gossip of the 
 backstairs, they have not a word to say for 
 themselves. Dining in their comj^any is 
 the hardest work I know — harder even than 
 it must be for you to listen to the odorifer- 
 ous protestations of Mr. Hedger's Romeo.' 
 
 ' I can fancy it,' she said, ^ from my lit- 
 tle experience in that line. But,' she added, 
 looking saucily up at him, 'what do you do 
 it for ? I am always seeing your name in 
 the papers as dining with swells — if you 
 dislike it so, why do you do it?' 
 
 ' As a matter of business, my dear,' said 
 he, bending down, and speaking to her 
 quietly, 'because the Duvals lost all their
 
 212 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 property in the first revolution, and because 
 the beautiful estate of Knochnabocklish, 
 County Tipperary, which belonged to my 
 mother's family, was long since sold in the 
 Encumbered Estates Court; because I have 
 my o^vn way to fight in the world, and to 
 do that, I must take whatever weapon 
 comes ready to my hand. Do you imagine 
 that I like oroing^ to these dinners ? Do you 
 think I don't know the terms on which I 
 am received — as a superior Jack Pudding, 
 a table buffoon, a breaker of that dead dull 
 silence, which without me, or some one 
 equivalent to me, would reign unrelieved 
 throughout the whole dreary banquet? By 
 Jove, when the thought comes over me 
 sometimes, I am ready to start up and rush 
 out of the place, I am so ashamed of myself 
 for having descended to such depths ;' and 
 Mr. Duval sent his vvdiip curling over the 
 lieads of the chestnuts, causing them to 
 plunge and dart off into a mad gallop. 
 
 Miss Montressor neither felt nor showed
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 213 
 
 the smallest fear. Had Lord Laxington or 
 any of his friends been her charioteer on 
 the occasion, she might possibly have 
 speedily arranged an impromptu little 
 scene ; but she knew that any such device 
 would be throAvn away upon Bryan Duval, 
 so she merely said : 
 
 ' How a burst of passion suits you ! You 
 look remarkably well when you are in a 
 rage.' 
 
 ' Thanks, generous stranger,' said Bryan, 
 conscious that the deer were his sole audi- 
 ence, and therefore permitting himself to 
 laj)se into a grin. ' It is ages since I have let 
 out in that way, and it will be ages before I 
 do so again. Thank Heaven, we shall have 
 none of that sort to-day. Foster left the 
 invitations in my hands, and I think I have 
 got together rather a good party.' 
 
 As he spoke, they drew up to the door 
 of the Star and Garter. Patricians as well 
 as plebeians had taken advantage of the 
 brightness of the day ; there was a goodly
 
 214 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 show of drags and private carriages, from 
 which the horses had been removed, and 
 the hall was filled with persons who had 
 either just arrived, or who were waiting for 
 other members of their party. The groom 
 was moving slowly off with the spanking 
 chestnuts, and Bryan Duval, with Miss Mon- 
 tressor on his arm, was just ascending the 
 steps, when a gentleman, separating himself 
 from a knot of persons with whom he had 
 been in conversation, advanced towards him 
 — a man about the middle height, and a 
 little under middle age, with a thick dark 
 moustache and frank honest eyes. 
 
 ' What, Foster, arrived already ?' cried 
 Bryan Duval. 'This is delightful. You 
 know Miss Montressor, I believe?' 
 
 ' Miss Montressor's reputation was fami- 
 liar to me before I left my own country,' 
 said Mr. Foster, raising his hat, ' and /have 
 had the pleasure of becoming personally 
 acquainted with her since my arrival 
 here.'
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 215 
 
 'Very prettily said, Foster,' said Bryan 
 Duval, as they shook hands. ^We came 
 down early, in order that we might have a 
 stroll in the j^ark before dinner, and get an 
 appetite for all your good things.' 
 
 ^ That's just what I proposed myself,' 
 said Mr. Foster. ' I was naming it to our 
 friends when you drew up. Let's join them, 
 and all go together.' 
 
 They passed through the house into the 
 garden, where some ten or a dozen people 
 were gathered together on the lawn. There, 
 in a loose brown overcoat, with heavy fur 
 collar and cuffs, bell-crowned hat, fashion- 
 ably-cut trousers, and patent-leather boots, 
 was Pierrefonds, the celebrated dramatist, 
 the man who had first introduced bur- 
 lesques to the English stage — not the mu- 
 sic-hall and breakdown ribaldry of the pre- 
 sent day, but a combination of polished 
 verse, of Attic wit, and French allusion 
 which, some years ago, had made the for- 
 tunes of the Parthenon Theatre, and mainly
 
 216 THE IMPE^^DIIS^G SWOED. 
 
 helped to establish the great reputation of 
 Madame Vaurien, its directress. Pierre- 
 fonds's bodily strength is not so great as in 
 those days; his back is a little bowed, and 
 his walk is somewhat shaky; but he is as 
 quick-brained in his work, and as clever at 
 tongue fence, as when the public thronged 
 the pit to roar at his puns, and the bright- 
 est spirits of the day gathered in the green- 
 room to revel in his repartee. 
 
 The heavily-built, heavy-browed man in 
 the dark-red beard, dressed in a suit of dark 
 gray, Avith his hands in villanous mauve- 
 coloured gloves, clasped behind his back, is 
 Bob Spate, whose sparkling little comedies 
 have in the last few years made the fortune 
 of the little Imperial Theatre, and who is, 
 perhaps, at the present time the most popu- 
 lar dramatist in England. He is a sad man, 
 sparing of his speech and more sparing of 
 his smile, giving one the idea either of be- 
 ing fond of solitude, or unaccustomed to 
 and uncomfortable in the style of company
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 217 
 
 in which he found himself. People Avho 
 did not know his story wondered at such a 
 successful man, wondered how one on whom 
 the world's favour shone so brightly could 
 be so melancholy, almost so morose. 
 
 They did not know that years ago, when 
 the Imperial Theatre was called ' Higg's 
 Hall of Amusement,' Bob Spate, then a 
 young man, had written several of the co- 
 medies which had since so entranced the 
 world, and had hawked them about here 
 and there to London and provincial man- 
 agers, always receiving them back upon his 
 hands with a half civil, half contemptuous 
 refusal. How was he, they argued, who 
 was only a fifth-rate actor at a pound a 
 week, to be able to write a comedy, or even, 
 could he do so, what benefit could they 
 reap by the production of the work of an 
 unknown man ? So Bob Spate struggled 
 and struggled in poverty, in sickness, and 
 ofttimes in hunger; struggled on, and saw 
 his wife die, and his children shrunken and
 
 218 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 wan and ailing, with the bitter knowledge 
 that what he had written was better than 
 nine-tenths of what he saw so highly paid 
 for, but with the conviction that Fate was 
 against him. 
 
 When bright little Lotty Bennett made 
 her first attempt at establishing herself in 
 life, and taking the dirty old Higg's Hall, 
 changed it into the bright Imperial, she 
 thought that as she herself was new in man- 
 agement, and she had a new company of 
 actors, she might try a new author ; and 
 remembering Bob Spate, who had been an 
 old friend of hers, and in whose energy and 
 talent she had always faith, produced one 
 of his comedies on her opening night. The 
 success was immense, and from that time 
 Bob Spate's fortune was made; wealth is 
 his now, and honour, and such position as 
 he chooses to take. What are they to him ? 
 Can they bring back to him the mfe of his 
 youth, whom he saw die by his side, not 
 from actual starvation, indeed, but from
 
 A DINNER OP CELEBKITIES. 219 
 
 lack of such necessaries as her delicate con- 
 dition required ? Can they efface from his 
 mind the privations suffered by his chil- 
 dren and himself? Can they bring back to 
 him the youthful energy, the sanguine hope, 
 the bright happy view of life so long since 
 fled? I trow not. It is no wonder to me 
 that Bob Spate is grave and reticent. 
 
 Anything but grave and reticent, how- 
 ever, is the gentleman standing next to 
 him. Mr. Orlando Bounce is the youngest 
 of elderly gentlemen, the brightest, chee- 
 riest, emptiest rattletrap who for a half 
 century has been acting light lovers and 
 dashing roues, and who, if rumour is to be 
 believed, has, during the same period, 
 played the very same parts in private life. 
 Old-fashioned is a sad epithet, but it is 
 really applicable to Mr. Orlando Bounce; 
 the peculiar roll of his blue-black hair, the 
 peculiar side-cock of his shiny hat, his 
 swinging gait, the elaborate motions of his 
 arms — all these are essentially old-fashioned ;
 
 220 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 and when he bends in his back, and throws 
 out his right arm and right leg with studied 
 grace, you are reminded of Charles Surface, 
 Captain Absolute, and all the riotous, swag- 
 gering young heroes of the comedies of those 
 days. Before the arrival of Miss Montressor 
 he has been paying great attention to the two 
 ladies between whom he was standing, but 
 they neither of them seemed to be much 
 impressed by his attention. ' Get along, 
 'Lando, you are always talking such stuff,' 
 is what one of them says to him. These 
 are Eose and Blanche Wogsby, daughters 
 of old Wogsby, manager of the northern 
 circuit, and prime favourites in London. 
 There is an extraordinary difference in their 
 appearance : Blanche is very fair, with light- 
 blue eyes and delicate skin, and a pretty 
 bud of a mouth; Rose is tall and angular 
 and swarthy, with dark hair, a strong jaw, 
 and an underhanging lip — Blanche is a fool, 
 Eose a remarkably clever girl. 'Blanche 
 Wogsby is a fool,' frankly remarks Mr.
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 221 
 
 Wuff, the f^reat theatrical impresario, 'but 
 she is always safe for a dozen stalls a night 
 from the young fellows who are spoony 
 about her; but when it comes to the ques- 
 tion of the tear-and-tatters fakement, when 
 you want the real grit and no mistake about 
 it, you must go to Rose. She will turn out 
 a regular Rachel, you may depend upon it !' 
 Mr. Wuff pronounced this word like the name 
 of the lady who refused to be comforted, but 
 meant to allude to the great French actress. 
 All present, both ladies and gentlemen, 
 were, or seemed to be, greatly delighted at 
 the new arrival. Bryan Duval was a gene- 
 ral favourite. He was so kind and good- 
 natured, so ready to lend any of his col- 
 leagues a helping hand, that they even 
 forgave him his success. Miss Montressor 
 was popular too, considering her prettiness 
 and the position she had won for herself, 
 more especially popular just at this mo- 
 ment, for the news of her American engage- 
 ment had got wind, and it was felt that she
 
 222 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 would be out of all competitors' way for 
 some time to come. 
 
 When the first greetings were over, 
 Bryan Duval proposed that they should 
 stroll towards the park, and thither they all 
 repaired; Mr. Foster offering his arm to 
 Miss Montressor, and remaining at some 
 little distance behind the others. 
 
 * Do you know,' said he, ' that I am 
 really very glad to have made your ac- 
 quaintance — no, no,' he added quickly, as 
 she looked up in his face and smiled ra- 
 ther maliciously; 'when I say so, it is not 
 the ordinary compliment which you evi- 
 dently imagine it to be. When you know 
 me better, you will find I am not given to 
 paying compliments, and that I invariably 
 mean what I say.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it in this case, at all 
 events,' said Miss Montressor, with a little 
 bow. 
 
 ' It is the case,' he said. ' I felt in- 
 terested in you long before I saw you. The
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 223 
 
 fact is, Miss Montressor, I am a very busy 
 man, far more immersed in business, envi- 
 roned by it, and tied down to it, than any 
 of the gentlemen whom I have met here, 
 and who are called your " City men," and 
 when I am at home in New York the one 
 relaxation I allow myself is the theatre.' 
 
 This man was a new experience to Miss 
 Montressor, so far more earnest and digni- 
 fied than the usual run of her associates. 
 She tried to fall into his vein, and said 
 quietly : 
 
 ' I can understand its being a great re- 
 source to you.' 
 
 ' It is a great relief,' he replied, ' in en- 
 abling me to throw off, for a time at least, 
 the dull cares and worries, and to fill my 
 mind mth pictures and stories sufficiently 
 absorbing to prevent its straying to Wall- 
 street and its ties. I have the pleasure of 
 acquaintance with Mr. Leonard Serbski; 
 you have heard of him ?' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said Miss Montressor ; ^ he
 
 224 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 is the son of old James Serbski, who was so 
 great in the Bandit^ and whose portrait 
 hangs in all the theatrical printshops, is he 
 not?' 
 
 '■ The same,' replied Mr. Foster; 'a very 
 handsome and gentlemanly fellow, and a 
 very good actor. He has heard of you too, 
 not merely through the medium of the Eng- 
 lish theatrical newspapers, but from people 
 who have seen you, and has more than once 
 mentioned your name to me.' 
 
 Miss Montressor was delighted with the 
 compliment, under which she purred like a 
 cat. 
 
 ' I had no idea,' she said, raising her 
 eyebrows, and throwing an expression of 
 childish incredulity, which she knew was 
 very becoming, into her face — 'I had no idea 
 that anybody in America had ever heard of 
 poor little me ; I thought I was going out 
 there entirely unknown, and that I should 
 have great difficulty in making my way.' 
 
 ^ You will find that you have happily
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 225 
 
 deceived yourself/ said Mr. Foster, with a 
 smile. ' You will find that we Americans 
 have a much livelier and deeper interest in 
 all matters appertaining to literature and 
 art than our more sober cousins on this 
 side the Atlantic, that all artists of any re- 
 putation are known to us, and that when 
 they come to our shores, they may be cer- 
 tain of a right hearty Avelcome.' 
 
 ' I am very glad to hear you say so,* 
 said Miss Montressor; 'and I only wish — 
 it is a selfish thing to say, is it not ? — that 
 chance had sent you back to New York be- 
 fore our arrival, that I might be certain of 
 having at least one personal friend.' 
 
 ' It would have delighted me to have 
 been of service to you, and perhaps I may 
 even yet have the opportunity. When da 
 you sail?' 
 
 ' I think Mr. Duval mentioned the Cuba 
 as the name of the vessel in which our pass- 
 age was engaged.' 
 
 'The Cuba!' repeated Mr. Foster. 'I 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 am almost afraid tliat I shall be unable to 
 get back by her, although I have made such 
 progress in the business which brought me 
 over here — business, you see, again. Miss 
 Montressor — that I think it will not be ne- 
 cessary for me to remain in England so long 
 as I at first anticipated.' 
 
 * If you were a married man, Mr. Fos- 
 ter, that would, I imagine, be very pleasant 
 news to some one who is, what you call, 
 "• on the other side." ' 
 
 ' If I were a married man P he ex- 
 claimed, with a laugh. ' Why, do you mean 
 to say. Miss Montressor, that you have any 
 doubt on the subject.' 
 
 ^ Well, you certainly have what I may 
 call a family look about you,' she said, cast- 
 ing a careless glance over him ; ' but as I 
 have never heard you mention your wife, I 
 concluded you were a bachelor.' 
 
 'I take it as a compliment,' he said, \\dtli 
 another laugh, but this time more nervously 
 and more seriously than before, ' or rather
 
 A DINNEE OF CELEBRITIES. 227 
 
 as a credit to myself, that even in the two 
 short interviews which we have had since 
 I made your acquaintance, I have not 
 said something about my wife. It is the 
 humour of most of my friends in New York 
 to say that — excepting business matters, of 
 course, where I never permit any domestic 
 thoughts to intrude — that Helen's name is 
 scarcely ever out of my mouth.' 
 
 ' And quite right too,' said Miss Mon- 
 tressor. ' I detest a man who is married and 
 ashamed of it, and who, when away from 
 home, goes about, as it were, sailing under 
 false colours. And so Mrs. Foster is called 
 Helen ? It is a very pretty name.' 
 
 ' And she is a very pretty woman,' said 
 Foster enthusiastically ; 'and not merely 
 that, but the best and dearest little woman 
 in the world. Here,' he added, plunging 
 his hands into his waistcoat -pocket, and 
 taking out from thence his watch, ' here is 
 her portrait.' As he spoke, he placed the 
 watch in Miss Montressor's hand.
 
 228 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 Miss Montressor took tlie watch, and 
 looked at its back, which was merely of 
 engine -turned gold; then she pressed her 
 finsrers all round in search of some hidden 
 spring, but finding none, shook her head 
 blankly, and gave it back to her companion. 
 
 'I can see no portrait,' she said half 
 pettishly. 
 
 ' Of course not,' said he, with a laugh. 
 ' You would not have me carry such a trea- 
 sure as that for every one to see whenever 
 I wanted to know the time. There,' he 
 added, as the spring flew back and re- 
 vealed the miniature, 'now you see my 
 darling.' 
 
 'What a sweet face!' cried Miss Mon- 
 tressor, clapping her hands ; ' so soft and 
 pensive and loving ! I don't wonder at your 
 being fond of her, Mr. Foster, or being anx- 
 ious to get back to her.' 
 
 ' She is all that you say,' cried Mr. 
 Foster, ' and more, God bless her !' 
 
 ' It is quite refreshing, in these times of
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 229 
 
 separation and divorce courts, and all that 
 sort of thing,' said Miss Montressor, ^ to 
 find such regular spooniness existing be- 
 tween a married couple. But if you are so 
 fond of each other, why on earth didn't you 
 bring her with you ?' 
 
 ^ Didn't I tell you that I came over here 
 on business, and that I never allowed even 
 Helen to interfere with me when I am so 
 engaged? Besides, she could not leave the 
 child, which is indeed,' said Mr. Foster, ' the 
 sweetest and most engaging — ' 
 
 '' Yes,' interrupted Miss Montressor ; 'you 
 may spare your rhapsodies about him, or 
 her, or it. I don't go in for babies.' 
 
 ' I am sure you would feel interested in 
 her, if you only saw it; not merely is she 
 the prettiest, tiniest mite, but she would 
 move your sympathy for her bad health.^ 
 
 'It has bad health, has it?' asked Miss 
 Montressor carelessly. 
 
 ' Yery bad,' replied Foster. ' My wife's 
 strength is scarcely equal to the discharge
 
 230 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 of her maternal duties, and she has had to 
 engage a wet-nurse for the little one/ 
 
 'I hate wet-nurses,' said Miss Mon- 
 tressor shortly. 
 
 ' They are not generally very trust- 
 worthy,' said Foster, ' but from a letter I 
 have here' (producing one from his breast- 
 pocket, and opening it), ' we seem to have 
 found an exceptional treasure. Helen writes 
 me in the strongest terms of the respect- 
 ability of Mrs. Jenkins.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Jenkins ?' replied Miss Montressor, 
 pricking up her ears. ' Who is she ?' 
 
 'The wet-nurse of whom I have just 
 spoken to you. You ought to have a kindly 
 feeling towards her, for Helen tells me that 
 she is an Englishwoman, and married to an 
 Englishman for some time settled in New 
 York.' 
 
 An instantaneous gloom spread over 
 Miss Montressor's face, and she walked on 
 by her companion's side in silence. Mrs. 
 Jenkins? The name was common enough
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 231 
 
 among English people, and yet a horrible 
 feeling of fear crept over the young woman 
 who chose to call herself Clara Montressor 
 — a feeling of fear lest this Mrs. Jenkins, 
 now occupying the situation of wet-nurse 
 in Mr. Foster's family, should be none other 
 than her own sister Bess. 
 
 She had not heard from Bess for months, 
 but the last letter was dated from New 
 York, and spoke of the shifty, hand-to-mouth 
 existence which she and her husband were 
 leading. Could it be possible that they 
 could have fallen so low, that poverty could 
 have come upon them so rapidly, as to in- 
 duce her to undertake such a menial posi- 
 tion? Was her husband dead? could he 
 have deserted her ? or what was the cause 
 of her sudden collapse ? 
 
 The more she thought over this matter, 
 the more angry and impatient she grew; 
 and Mr. Foster, noticing her preoccupation^ 
 thought it best not to attempt to renew the 
 conversation just then.
 
 232 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 Did ever anything happen so unfortu- 
 nately ? At any other time it would not 
 have mattered in the least. Between Bess 
 Jenkins, the wet-nurse in New York, and 
 Clara Montressor, the theatrical star in Lon- 
 don, there was a great gulf fixed ; but when 
 the theatrical star shifted its orbit to the 
 city where her humble relation was living, 
 the latter would naturally and undoubtedly 
 proclaim to the world the family tie existing 
 between them, and endeavour to make the 
 most of it to aid her fallen fortune. 
 
 What should she do? what should she 
 do ? The saturnine face of Mr. Dolby rose 
 before her mind in a minute. How should 
 she treat him in regard to this matter? 
 Certainly not tell him, for more reasons 
 than one. He would be the last man in the 
 world from whom she would receive any 
 sympathy, and, besides, she does not choose 
 to let him know the fact of the relationship. 
 Towards him, then, she would preserve ab- 
 solute silence; and a little further reflec-
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 233 
 
 tion decided her that her best plan was to 
 wait, become better acquainted with Mr. 
 Foster, and if she found him the good and 
 honest man which, from her slight acquaint- 
 ance with him, she fancied him to be — for 
 even with her associates^ and her experience 
 of the world, she still believed in goodness 
 and honesty — perhaps tell him the truth, 
 and get his help in suppressing it. Yes, 
 that was the course she would take ; and 
 having determined on it, she put the subject 
 aside, and looked up at her companion, as 
 though to say she were ready to renew the 
 conversation. 
 
 'How pensive you have been!' said 
 Foster earnestly. ' I did not like to break 
 in upon your reverie.' 
 
 ' I am very much obliged to you for 
 leaving me to myself for those few mo- 
 ments,' she said, with a laugh; 'it doesn't 
 sound complimentary, but it is true. You 
 see, I am about to take what may be a 
 rather serious step in my life, for if I sue-
 
 234 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ceed in America, my career is certain, and if 
 I fail it may be wrecked, not merely there, 
 but here; ill news travels apace, and it 
 would soon be known that the London star 
 had made a fiasco.' 
 
 ' Even then, former experiences prove 
 that your compatriots would retain their 
 opinion of their favourite, and decline to 
 accept our verdict,' said Mr. Foster. 'How- 
 ever, you need not be imder any appre- 
 hensions of the sort; as I have told you be- 
 fore, you are sure to succeed.' 
 
 ' I have great faith in Bryan Duval,' said 
 Miss Montressor, ' and full reliance upon his 
 generalship — he is popular too in New York, 
 I understand.' 
 
 ' Yery popular indeed,' said Mr. Foster; 
 'he has achieved what is rather difficult 
 there, a society reputation. This reputation 
 he apparently wants to extend, for he has 
 asked me for an introduction to my wife.' 
 
 ' And you have given it to him T 
 
 'Well, no,' said Mr. Foster, rather con-
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 235 
 
 fusedly. * There are — there arc some reasons 
 why I could not do so conveniently — in 
 writing, I mean. Of course, I should be only 
 too glad that both he and you should know 
 Mrs. — Mrs. Foster, but I prefer waiting to 
 introduce you personally on my arrival in 
 New York ; in case I cannot, there is yet a 
 chance of my leaving by the same steamer. 
 I see the others are making for the hotel^ 
 and I suppose, in my capacity of host, I 
 ought to be the first there.' 
 
 It was a very good dinner, and went off 
 remarkably well. In addition to the com- 
 pany already named, there were present 
 Mr. Wuff, the celebrated manager of the 
 Great Xational Theatre, who was supposed 
 to be devoted to the legitimate drama, and 
 where the performances at present con- 
 sisted in a short farce, followed by a long 
 ' oriental spectacular burlesque,' introduc- 
 ing horses, elephants, camels, and dancing 
 women; Viscount Koolese, who was sup- 
 posed to be ruining himself for Mademoi-
 
 ^36 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 selle Petitpois, who brought with him his 
 friend Captain Clinker, the well-known gen- 
 tleman rider, who said nothing, but when- 
 ever he was amused hissed loudly through 
 his teeth as thousjh he were cleanino; a 
 horse; a sound which seemed very unplea- 
 sant to the theatrical people present. There 
 was another manager too — Mr. Hodgkinson 
 of the Varieties — who kept up a running 
 fire of argument throughout the dinner 
 with Bryan Duval; the actor-author, whe- 
 ther he believed in it or not, maintaining 
 that the drama should be the school of 
 poetry and refinement, and that all the 
 theatrical managers should be made with 
 a view to that end — sentiments which Mr. 
 Hodgkinson violently pooh-poohed, declar- 
 ing that his chief aim was to give what- 
 ever amusement paid the best. 
 
 'Let 'em have it,' said Mr. Hodgkinson, 
 who prided himself on being an eminently 
 practical man, striking his fist upon the 
 table; ' dogs and monkeys, Shakespeare, the
 
 A DIJ^NER OF CELEBRITIES. 237 
 
 " Perfect Cure," Tom Mugger in four farces 
 a night ; or old Bounce here as Charles Sur- 
 face, and all the rest of the Sheridan fake- 
 ment — and the public is always wanting 
 one or other of them, and my notion is, give 
 them all a turn.' 
 
 Mr. Foster had placed Miss Montressor 
 on his right hand, and though there was, of 
 course, no opportunity and no occasion for 
 returning to the subjects which they had 
 touched upon in the park, he kept up a con- 
 stant conversation with her. When the 
 party was about breaking up, he proposed 
 that she should return to town in his Vic- 
 toria, wherC) as the night was somewhat 
 cold, she would be warmer and more com- 
 fortable than in Bryan Duval's phaeton. 
 Miss Montressor gladly accepted the offer, 
 and, of course, Mr. Duval made no difficulty. 
 He would, he thought, propose to drive 
 Blanche Wogsby home, and take the oppor- 
 tunity of finding out whether she was really 
 such a fool as she looked, or whether there
 
 238 THE IMPE]^IN'G SWOED. 
 
 would be any use in writing a part for 
 her. 
 
 So the party broke up and the guests 
 dispersed, and Bryan Duval, in taking fare- 
 well of Miss Montressor, told her that if the 
 letters which he expected in the morning 
 arrived, he should be able to let her know 
 for certain the day of sailing for New York. 
 
 ' It has been a delightful day, Mr. Fos- 
 ter,' said the actress, as they drove home- 
 wards, 'and I have enjoyed it immensely. 
 Will you be able to give us any such out- 
 ings in America ?' 
 
 'I hope many such,' said Mr. Foster; 
 ^ but unless you take more care of yourself, 
 I fear you will not be there to enjoy them. 
 Seriously, your English spring weather is 
 proverbially treacherous, and the wind to- 
 night has a touch of east in it, which should 
 induce you to wrap your shawl more closely 
 round you.' 
 
 ' I want to wrap myself up,' said Miss 
 Montressor, justly estimating the truth of
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 239 
 
 his words, ' for I am particularly susceptible 
 to cold, but I cannot for this bothering pin.' 
 
 ' What is the matter with the pin ?* said 
 Mr. Foster, lauorhino;. 
 
 ' It is not half strong enough to hold the 
 shawl together. I cannot imagine how Jus- 
 tine sent me out with such a stupid thing.' 
 
 'Perhaps this will prove more effectual?' 
 said Mr. Foster, taking the breast-pin from 
 his cravat and offering it to her. 
 
 ' Thanks very much,' she cried, accept- 
 ing it with great readiness. ' What a very 
 pretty pin ! I love these cameos, and this 
 is such a good-looking boy, with a straight 
 nose and a queer cap on his head.' 
 
 ' A Phrygian cap,' said Mr. Foster, laugh- 
 ing. ' It is a head of Ganymede. I had it 
 set as a pin, I thought it so handsome.' 
 
 'Do you mean to say you brought it 
 with you from Phrygia, or wherever it is ?' 
 asked the actress, who was vague in her 
 geography. 
 
 ' No, no,' said Mr. Foster, laughing still
 
 240 THE IMPENDING STTOBD. 
 
 more ; ' but it was a sleeve-link when I first 
 found it among my clothes when I opened 
 my portmanteau in London. I suppose it 
 belonged to my wife, as she is fond of such 
 things, and that it was put up with my things 
 by accident.' 
 
 The shawl comfortably pinned round 
 her, Miss Montressor settled herself down 
 to her corner, and neither she nor her 
 companion spoke much more, being occu- 
 pied with their own reflections. But when 
 Mr. Foster took leave of her, he reminded 
 her of Bryan Duval's last words, and told 
 her that if he were prevented from sailing 
 in the Cuba, he should certainly accompany 
 the theatrical party down to Liverpool, and 
 take leave of them on board. 
 
 Miss Montressor had been in very good 
 spirits all day, notwithstanding the annoy- 
 ance which, as we have seen, one portion of 
 Mr. Foster's communication had caused her. 
 She was agreeably conscious that her looks 
 had been at their best. She was sufficiently
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 241 
 
 refined, more by nature than by education, 
 to recognise a gentleman when she met one, 
 and to enjoy the ease and security conveyed 
 by association with gentlemen. Mr. Foster 
 had struck her from the first as a gentle- 
 man; not very brilliant indeed, but kind, 
 courteous, and considerate — the sort of man 
 who did not make women uncomfortable by 
 either his looks or his language — and Miss 
 Montressor appreciated this. She did not 
 belong in the least to the reckless class 
 amonof her order, and she had an almost 
 morbid longing to be treated like a lady, 
 as she expressed it, without the stately 
 flattery on the one hand, or the freedom and 
 easiness of the other, which ordinarily char- 
 acterises the manner of the men with whom 
 she_ habitually associated, and which were 
 just as equally distasteful to her. Mr. Fos- 
 ter;; [had gratified this longing; he had 
 treated her with all the courtesy which he 
 could have extended to the highest social 
 position, and with a confidential fearlessness 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 that had gone to the heart of the woman, 
 who had always been poor in friends. When 
 the pleasant day came to an end, Miss Mon- 
 tressor entered her pretty little house with 
 a light step and a light heart, notwithstand- 
 ing a vexation about Bess. By this time 
 she had come to think of some means of 
 getting over what would turn up. The day 
 had seemed very short, and yet almost 
 every minute of it had been full of pleasure. 
 She was a little tired — those long pleasant 
 days do tire one, after all — but she was not 
 so cross as usual when, the feverishness of 
 amusement having passed away, she re- 
 turned to the home enlivened by no kin- 
 dred presence. She answered her maid 
 cheerfully, as the girl tripped down to the 
 garden-gate at the summons of the bell, and 
 let her mistress in. 
 
 ' Yes, thank you, Justine, I am all right 
 — rather tired; but we have had a delight- 
 ful day.' 
 
 Justine removed the dainty bonnet and
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 24^ 
 
 the filmy lace mantle, folded the absurd 
 parasol, which looked like a summer cab- 
 bage on a stalk, so flounced and furbelowed 
 was the little silken dummy utterly useless 
 as a sunshade, and while her mistress undid 
 the buttons of her silver-gray silk gown, 
 fetched a white morning robe, in which she 
 clothed her tall full form. During these 
 preliminary operations of her night toilette 
 Miss Montressor talked away gaily — not 
 about the day's proceedings, but about nu- 
 merous trifles connected with her approach- 
 ing journey and her sojourn in America. 
 But when her hair had been brushed and 
 the maid's duties were nearly completed, a 
 trifling circumstance occurred which dis- 
 turbed Miss Montressor's serenity. Her 
 draped dressing-table stood in front of the 
 large window of her bedroom, a French 
 window opening to the floor, and looking 
 out upon the trim little grassy terrace 
 which ran along the back of the house, and: 
 from whence the garden, very pretty and
 
 244 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 effective for its extent, was reached by two 
 steps. On this dressing-table stood her 
 tolerably well- stored jewel-box. Miss Mon- 
 tressor was replacing some ornaments she 
 had worn that day in the satin-lined tray of 
 the casket when she perceived that the win- 
 dow was open, and asked Justine angrily 
 whether she had been aware of this. 
 
 ' No,' Justine replied ; ' she hadn't no- 
 ticed it.' 
 
 ^Then you ought to have noticed it,' 
 said Miss Montressor ; ' such carelessness is 
 abominable. Any one who pleased might 
 have taken my jewel-box off the table with- 
 out the least difficulty. The idea of leaving 
 the window open on a Sunday, with no one 
 in the house but yourself and such a lot of 
 tramps about !' 
 
 Justine stood convicted, and could only 
 promise that she would be more careful for 
 the future ; she was rather saucy sometimes, 
 and ready with an answer to a rebuke, but 
 on this occasion she said very little. There
 
 A DINNER OF CELEBRITIES. 245 
 
 had been no one about the place, and though 
 she had been the only person in the house 
 — the cook and the page having had a holi- 
 day—she had hardly left Miss Montressor's 
 room, had indeed been reading at the open 
 window the greater part of the day. But 
 Justine, after her mistress was in bed, while 
 folding up the shawl she had worn that day 
 in so preoccupied a mood that she did not 
 observe the pin with the carved gem for its 
 head which was stuck into the soft woollen 
 fabric, remembered, with a great sense of 
 relief for the escaped danger, how there 
 had come to the house late in the afternoon 
 a man in the dress of a sailor who spoke 
 like an American. This man had been 
 rather hard to get rid of He had pertina- 
 ciously pressed his claim for a little assist- 
 ance, and had been hard to persuade that 
 the lady was not really at home. ^Just 
 fancy,' thought Justine, ' if he had slunk 
 round to the back of the house and seen the 
 window open, and made off with the jewel-
 
 246 THE IMPENDING SWOED. 
 
 case ; and I only wonder he didn't get liold 
 of that or of something, for he was as ob- 
 jectionable a tramp as ever I saw.' 
 
 But that she had ever seen this objec- 
 tionable tramp before, or heard his voice in 
 any other capacity, Justine was totally un- 
 conscious ; of which testimony to the effi- 
 cacy of the change of costume the man in 
 the sailor's dress was complacently aware. 
 If Justine's quick eyes were deceived, it 
 would deceive those of other people. A 
 preliminary risk had been successfully run, 
 and the omen was good.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 
 
 On the day following the dinner at Rich- 
 mond, Mr. Dolby presented himself at Miss 
 Montressor's abode somewhat later than she 
 had looked for his coming. 
 
 He did not find the fair lady in a very 
 serene mood— she was tired ; several small 
 domestic occurrences had ruffled her tem- 
 per — which, to say the truth, was not a bad 
 one — during the early part of the day, and 
 when they met there was in the manner of 
 both those latent symptoms of ill-humour 
 which arise so often between persons in the 
 habit of being much in each other's society, 
 and who have, therefore, cast off the self- 
 restraint which occasionally tends to hypo-
 
 248 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 crisy, but has, nevertheless, a wholesome in- 
 fluence in human intercourse. 
 
 Mr. Dolby omitted to tell Miss Mon- 
 tressor that she was looking beautiful — and 
 that was a grave oiFence. He, moreover, 
 omitted to exhibit any very lively curiosity 
 as to the proceedings of the previous day, 
 and though Miss Montressor did not care a 
 straw where he had passed the interval be- 
 tween their last and their present meeting, 
 or would not think of troubling herself to 
 make an inquiry about his proceedings, she 
 was not prepared to find him equally philo- 
 sophical. 
 
 ' I suppose you forgot all about the 
 Kichmond dinner?' she said to him, when a 
 few phrases, of course, had passed between 
 them. 
 
 ' no, I didn't forget it,' he said, ' but 
 I suppose one dinner at Richmond resem- 
 bles another very much, except in point of 
 talk. People eat the same things, drink 
 the same things, wear the same things, and
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 249 
 
 get intensely bored earlier or later in the 
 evening, such as the case may be.' 
 
 ' It was considerably later last evening,' 
 replied Miss Montressor, with an aggra- 
 vating smile, which, however, failed to ag- 
 gravate Mr. Dolby, or to tempt him into 
 an inquiry as to the vivifying principle of 
 the previous day's entertainment. A more 
 acute observer than Miss Montressor might 
 have discerned in Mr. Dolby's manner pre- 
 occupation rather than indifference ; but 
 she was not an acute observer, and she was 
 so honestly and unaffectedly interested in 
 herself, and not interested in other people, 
 that she resented his indifference. It would 
 never have occurred to this woman — who, 
 after aU, was simple-minded — that any one 
 who came to see her could think of any- 
 thing but her, at least during the visit ; and 
 she therefore promptly resolved to punish 
 Mr. Dolby for his departure from the laws 
 laid down by her code of what was due to 
 her. He did not seem inclined to take up
 
 250 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 the challenge she had flung down to him, 
 and she found herself obliged to put an 
 aggressive question. 
 
 ' I suppose you don't care to know about 
 the party yesterday,' she said, ' because it's 
 quite clear I enjoyed myself, though jon 
 were not there ; and men always resent that, 
 though they can get away from us and be 
 as jolly as possible.' 
 
 ' My dear girl,' said Mr. Dolby, taking 
 the inevitable photograph-book off the table, 
 and carefully opening its ormolu clasps, as 
 if the investio^ation of its contents offered to 
 him a mental prospect of the most charm- 
 ing description, 'your theories about men 
 are utterly absurd! I have told you so 
 more than once, and I am not disposed to 
 discuss the subject. I am very glad you 
 had a pleasant day at Kichmond, and — 
 though I don't care for rechau^es in general, 
 and you told me on Saturday who was to 
 be there and all about it — I really didn't 
 suppose you had any new or startling de-
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 251 
 
 tails to communicate. However, I don^t at 
 all mind hearing about the day if you are 
 disposed to tell me. What did you wear ? 
 who did you go with ? Avas the wine good ? 
 what hour did you get back ?' 
 
 He had spoken in a monotonous tone of 
 voice, with his eyes cast down, and turning 
 over the clicking leaves of the photograph- 
 book with one finger. Miss Montressor 
 snatched it out of his hand with a sudden- 
 ness which obliged him to look up, and he 
 saw in her face that she was downright 
 angry, which he had not intended her to 
 be at this stage of the proceedings. A little 
 later anger would be a wholesome senti- 
 ment, which he proposed to awaken; so he 
 smiled, took her hand, and said, with an 
 attempted playfulness : 
 
 ' Come — come, Clara, let us be friends ; 
 we're both a little bit out of sorts. I don't 
 know what cause you may have ; probably 
 nothing more serious than your day yester- 
 day having been too pleasant and having
 
 252 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 lasted too long. By the bye, what hour 
 did you get back ?' 
 
 ^ 0, it was very late/ said Miss Mon- 
 tressor, withdrawing her hand, but not cap- 
 tiously, and arranging her bracelets. ' It 
 was, in fact, awfully late, and Justine had 
 got into the horrors under the influence of 
 a solitary Sunday, and was full of possible 
 robbers and tramps with a taste for mur- 
 der; so I went to bed in rather an ill-tem- 
 per, and several things which have happened 
 to-day have not improved me. I have not 
 seen you so disagreeable for an age; what's 
 wrong ?' 
 
 *I am excessively disappointed, Clara, 
 and I am afraid you will be so too ; but it 
 cannot be helped. I find I shall not be 
 able to go with you to Liverpool.' 
 
 ' Not able to go with me to Liverpool, 
 after promising that you would ?' said Miss 
 Montressor, with a good deal of vehemence. 
 ' I never heard such a thing. That's really 
 too bad, and I'm quite certain there is no
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 253 
 
 real reason for it. I never knew you to be 
 prevented doing a thing that you really 
 cared to do. You are throwing me over, 
 sir.' 
 
 ' I am not throwing you over/ said Mr. 
 Dolby coolly, ^ and your suspicions are 
 equally unjust to me and uncomplimentary 
 to yourself. I told you I should see you 
 off, and I not only wished to do so, but did 
 not foresee the slightest difficulty about it; 
 the difficulty has arisen, however. There 
 is a man coming from New York whom I 
 must see, and I can only see him on this 
 day week, the day you leave.' 
 
 ^ How did you know ?' said she quickly. 
 ^ There is no mail in.' 
 
 'And you never heard of the Atlantic 
 cable, I suppose? A message cabled this 
 morning, my child ; and though I am your 
 slave, you know, I have troublesome busi- 
 ness for my second master, whom I am 
 obliged to serve, and this time his claims 
 are paramount. Don't get angry — don't
 
 254 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 spoil the last few hours we shall have to- 
 gether for some time by causeless pique and 
 silly petulance — that sort of thing does not 
 attract me, and you don't look handsome 
 when you are out of temper. I would go 
 if I could. I cannot go, and there's an end 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Please keep your comments on my 
 temper to yourself,' said Miss Montressor, 
 with an air of steady and determined ill- 
 humour, which, as Mr. Dolby had truly 
 remarked, did not become her. Like all 
 under-bred women, she could not venture 
 on anger ; that most disfiguring of passions 
 was destructive to her dignity. She stood 
 ■up, brought both hands resolutely down 
 upon the table before her, and said, with a 
 slight stamp of her foot : 
 
 '■ It is not business that j^i^events you, 
 and I don't believe a word of it ; it is be- 
 cause you are afraid of being seen with me. 
 You have always been playing a game of 
 hide-and-seek— you are no better than other
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 255 
 
 people, and I am no worse, and I hate such 
 hypocrisy. Who are you keeping up a cha- 
 racter for, or with, a character that is to 
 suffer because you are civil to an actress, 
 who was going by herself to the other side 
 of the world ? I suppose you think there 
 is more chance of your being seen in Li- 
 verpool than London by some ^' goody" 
 acquaintance, who would be excessively 
 shocked.' 
 
 ' Please don't talk in that tone, Clara. 
 Ifs rather shocking — though I don't expect 
 you to understand w^hy. However, I don't 
 mind telling you that you are not altoge- 
 ther wrong, though you put my objection 
 to being seen with your pleasant associates 
 on a totally mistaken footing ; and as I don't 
 like to part with you in a fit of offence, I 
 shall take the trouble of explaining to you 
 again that it is a matter of great importance 
 to me not to be seen at present by any 
 New York people, and not to have my 
 name mentioned in the hearing of such. I
 
 256 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 have told you that the business I am en- 
 gaged upon in London might be seriously 
 compromised by manoeuvring friends from 
 the other side, that my whole fortune is in- 
 volved in it — an argument whose strength 
 you might very fairly comprehend, though, 
 mind, I do not mean to say you are as mer- 
 cenary as most women, or more expensive 
 than others ; but after all, a very little im- 
 prudence on your part, you see, might make 
 a considerable difference to you, and all the 
 difference to me. The truth is, I have the 
 appointment in London I have told you of, 
 and I could not go down to Liverpool and 
 run the risk of being seen there by the set 
 who I am advised are coming from New 
 York by the mail that will arrive just be- 
 fore the Cuba goes out; so now you know 
 all about it. You will take my word, won't 
 you, that I am very sorry; and you will 
 take that frown off your face, for I really 
 want to talk to you seriously, and this is 
 childish, however pretty.'
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 257 
 
 Miss Montressor was endowed with very 
 <TObd sense, and it showed her at once that 
 Dolby was speaking the truth. She did 
 not understand much about his business- 
 she had never cared enough about him to 
 try; — but she was alive to the reasonable- 
 ness of his refusal to gratify her wish — a 
 wish dictated a good deal more by amour 
 pi'opre than any sentimental longing to 
 enjoy his society to the last possible mo- 
 ment. She according^ recovered herself; 
 and with no more protest than a dubious 
 shake of the head, resumed her seat and 
 prepared to listen to Mr. Dolby. 
 
 ' Well,' she said, ' go on ; what have 
 you got to say to me ?' 
 
 ' That,' said Mr. Dolby seriously, ' I 
 have always found you trustworthy. Nine 
 women out of ten, on being told that it 
 was a matter of importance to me that no 
 American in London should know that 1 
 am in London, would have betrayed the 
 fact to every American of her acquaintance, 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 from an amiable desire to penetrate the 
 motive of my injunction. lam quite sure 
 that you have scrupulously observed it.' 
 
 ' Certainly,' said she ; ' it don't matter 
 to me. Why should I go and talk about 
 you when you ask me not? That would 
 be simply perverse.' 
 
 ' Nine women out of ten, my dear,' said 
 Mr. Dolby, ' are perverse. I esteem myself 
 very fortunate to have found the excep- 
 tional tenth.' 
 
 ' I hate men who are always sneering 
 at women,' said Miss Montressor; 'it's a 
 bad sign.' 
 
 ' For the women ?' 
 
 ' No, sir, for the men. But I daresay 
 you have been very ill-treated in your time ; 
 only it doesn't matter to me what women 
 you think ill of, provided you think well of 
 me, so I will take the compliment. I assure 
 you once again that I never mentioned 
 your name to any American — or rather, 
 I should say, to the onl}^ American I know.
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 259 
 
 'That is Mr. Foster,' said Mr. Dolby, 
 with a slii>ht effort. 
 
 ' Yes/ said Miss Montressor, ' to Mr. 
 Foster. I like him so much,' she added in 
 a brisk parenthesis. ' Do you know him?' 
 
 'No/ said Mr. Dolby; 'never heard of 
 him. What's his business ?' 
 
 ' 0, I am sure I don't know. You don't 
 suppose he talked of business yesterday, 
 or would bother me about it under any 
 circumstances. He was much too jolly for 
 that. I hate your concentrated men who- 
 cannot think of anything but money-mak- 
 ing, and cannot talk of anything except 
 the way they make it.' 
 
 ' You like the money though,' said 
 Dolby. 
 
 ' yes, I like the mioney ; but I like it 
 as a result, just as one likes dinner. Din- 
 ner would be a nuisance if one had to see it 
 cooked and know how it is done ; so would 
 money if one had to superintend the getting 
 of it. Mr. Foster never alludes to business.""
 
 '260 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 ^ Ah, well,' said Mr. Dolby, ' that is no 
 proof that he may not be in something that 
 would clash with me, and it is highly im- 
 portant that he should not know of my 
 existence, — here at least. Was there any 
 one with him yesterday?' 
 
 ' No ; he came alone — I mean not with 
 Duval and me in the mail phaeton — and 
 was the life of the evening — such a charm- 
 ing man !' 
 
 ^Married?' asked Mr. Dolby. 
 
 ' Yes, married ; and to a charming wife, 
 if one may judge by the way he talked 
 about her.' 
 
 ' What wretched taste!' said Mr. Dolby. 
 ' You hate a man who talks about business. 
 I hate a man who talks about domesticities. 
 I go so far with the Orientals as this, that 
 men should not talk about their woman- 
 kind or suffer them to be mentioned to 
 them in general, except by very intimate 
 friends, who ought to be mutual.' 
 
 * How do you know that we are not
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 261 
 
 very intimate friends?' said Miss Montres- 
 sor, suddenly assuming an air of coquet- 
 tishness. The serious tone of the interview 
 had been unduly prolonged for her taste, 
 and she had no capacity for ethics. 
 
 ' It must be a very sudden intimacy if 
 it exists,' said Mr. Dolby angrily. 
 
 ' I didn't say it was not ; one doesn't 
 take a lifetime to like a man, to find it out, 
 and let him know the fact.' 
 
 ' No,' said Mr. Dolby, ' one doesn't ; 
 nor does he take a lifetime to reciprocate, 
 even though he has this charming wife, 
 and talks the most arrant nonsense about 
 her.' 
 
 'Mr. Foster talks no nonsense,' said 
 Miss Montr essor, ' about her or about me, 
 which is what you mean to imply. He 
 made himself exceedingly agreeable — shall 
 I tell you how?' (There was a sudden 
 depth in her voice and a sudden depth in 
 her eyes which would have had pathetic 
 meaning to any one capable of reading it.)
 
 262 THE IMPENDING SWOHD. 
 
 ' You don't answer ; well, then, I will. By 
 treating me exactly like a lady, with the 
 respect he might have paid to his wife or 
 his sister, and without the smallest inti- 
 mation, except when I turned the conver- 
 sation in that direction, that he remembered 
 that I was only an actress.' 
 
 'Pooh!' said Dolby, in a tone of exag- 
 gerated contempt, and watching her closely 
 as he spoke ; ' that is the stalest trick. A 
 man gets introduced to you because you 
 are an actress simply, and ingratiates him- 
 self with you by pretending to forget it. 
 You ought to be too sharp to be done by 
 such an artifice as that, and have too much 
 respect for your profession to be pleased 
 by it. After all, my dear, what's your 
 claim to consideration and admiration ? 
 First, that you are a pretty woman, which 
 is always the first claim that any woman 
 can have ; secondly, that you are a popular 
 actress. When a man atttempts to put 
 either admiration or consideration on any
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT IIER. 2Go 
 
 other footing, he is in reality flattering you 
 with an additional assumption that you are 
 a fool. I was more honest than your new 
 admirer, Miss Montressor.' 
 
 ' My new admirer, as you choose to call 
 him, Mr. Dolby, is at least more courteous 
 than you are. I heard him tell Duval, to 
 whom he does not speak on business mat- 
 ters, that he would postpone an important 
 one, for the purpose of accompanying us to 
 Liverpool.' 
 
 Mr. Dolby drew a long breath, and his 
 nostrils expanded slowly — a symptom of 
 emotion with which Miss Montressor was 
 acquainted. 
 
 ^ I have roused him now in earnest,' she 
 said to herself; 'we shall have a storm.' 
 
 But she either misinterpreted the source 
 of this manifestation, or Mr. Dolby exhi- 
 bited great self-control. Instead of the 
 passion with which she expected to be re- 
 buked, he simply replied, leaning back in- 
 dolently in his chair, and clasping his hands
 
 264 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 over his head, with an air of absolute lei- 
 sure, 'Lucky dog who can postpone busi- 
 ness for pleasure/ 
 
 ' He regards it as a very great pleasure, 
 I assure you, Mr. Dolby. He said he would 
 not lose the last sight of us for any con- 
 sideration, and deeply regretted his absence 
 from New York during cur stay.' 
 
 ' Of course he introduced you to his 
 charming wife.' 
 
 ' Not just yet — not by letter, I mean. 
 He hopes to be able to return before our 
 engagement terminates; and to have, as he 
 expressed it, *' the pleasure of making the 
 introduction in person." ' 
 
 Mr. Dolby laughed an exceedingly inso- 
 lent laugh. 
 
 ' And you believe that ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said. ' Don't you?' 
 
 'Certainly not. I believe he has not 
 the slightest intention that you should know 
 his wife — it might not be convenient; he 
 might not have quite so strong an opinion 
 
 (
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT IIER. 265 
 
 (^f your discretion as I have — he has not 
 liad so much time to found one, you know 
 — and circumstances may defeat his hope 
 of getting back during your stay. I don't 
 think you will make Mrs. Foster's acquaint- 
 tiuce, but I suppose you will find Mr. Fos- 
 ter waiting to receive you at Liverpool on 
 your return.' 
 
 'He says so,' she answered, 'if he does 
 not come to New York. It is all very well 
 your sneering at a man you know nothing 
 about, but I believe in Mr. Foster, and 
 you shall not sneer me out of it.' 
 
 ' I have no wish to interfere with your 
 faith in him or in time,' said Mr. Dolby ; 
 • but with reference to this same coming 
 Ijack, have you anything to say about me ?' 
 
 Miss Montressor blushed violently. The 
 cold cynicism of his tone hurt her. She 
 Avas not sensitive, and she did not care 
 .ibout him, but she was proud in her way, 
 and he had offended her. 
 
 'I do not understand your meamng,'
 
 266 THE IMPENDING SWOllD. 
 
 she said. ' I do not know what you are 
 drivhig at.' 
 
 ' Not at an enigma, my dear. I do not 
 want you to go away with any notion 
 of acting a little private drama in addition 
 to those in which I have no doubt you will 
 make a stunning success in my country. 
 You know well enough Avhat a matter-of- 
 fact fellow I am, how entirely averse to 
 acting off the boards. I am not jealous, it 
 is too much trouble, and I like to leave 
 people as much freedom of action as I 
 claim for myself; still I like things on the 
 square, you know; and it strikes me very 
 forcibly that it might suit your book to put 
 our future relations upon a tolerably liberal 
 footing.' 
 
 ^ Do you mean to say you want to get 
 rid of me ?' said Miss Montressor, surprised 
 for the moment out of her coquetry into 
 very real disgust. 
 
 ^Certainly not; but, unless I am very 
 much mistaken, it might be convenient to
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 267 
 
 you to be aware that you cail get rid of 
 me, without any inancGuvring on the sub- 
 ject, without making an enemy of me, and 
 without incurring any grave risk of break- 
 ing my heart.' 
 
 ' I don't believe you have any heart to 
 break,' said she. 
 
 ' yes, I have ; quite as much as is con- 
 venient to myself, or pleasant for you. 
 Look here, Clara, there is a long parting 
 before us — at all events, a parting you have 
 chosen to make, in the interests of your 
 professional career. I think you are quite 
 right, and I don't want to hamper your 
 action with any consideration for the fu- 
 ture. When you return, I shall be very 
 glad to see you, but you can choose for 
 3'ourself, without any reproach from me, 
 whatever may be the end of your choice, 
 the exact character of our future relations. 
 You can take them up at their present 
 point, if you please ; you can reduce them 
 to simple friendship. I don't believe in
 
 268 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 platonics, remember, as a starting-point, 
 but I believe in them as a terminus. You 
 know where I am always to be heard of. 
 I presume I shall hear from you during 
 your stay in America, but if it bores you to 
 write, I shall not tie you to a correspond- 
 ence; on your return to England, any com- 
 munication you may choose to make to me 
 shall, as we say in business, " receive my 
 prompt consideration." ' 
 
 With these words Mr. Dolby rose, but- 
 toned his coat, took up his hat and gloves, 
 and offered Miss Montressor his hand, with 
 the cool ease of an ordinary morning visitor. 
 She was so thoroughly taken aback by his 
 demeanour, that for once in her life nature 
 and training alike failed her. She was en- 
 tirely unequal to the emergency, so she 
 stood perfectly still and perfectly silent, 
 without making any movement in answer 
 to the gesture by which he invited her to 
 shake hands. In another instant Mr. Dolby 
 had left the room, and she heard him walk
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 269 
 
 quietly down-stairs and out of the house, 
 before she recovered herself 
 
 For a good hour Miss Montrcssor sat in 
 her drawing-room, under the impression of 
 this extraordinary parting scene. It was a 
 demonstration not only unlike but entirely 
 opposed to anything which she had pre- 
 viously remarked in Mr. Dolby's character. 
 If this woman had been naturally very cle- 
 ver — or had learned by education to deci- 
 pher the relations between cause and effect, 
 as they are. indicated by the actions of hu- 
 man beings — she would probably have hit 
 upon the truth; she would probably have 
 discerned that Mr. Dolby had for the nonce 
 assumed her profession, that she had seen 
 him in the character of an actor, performing 
 a part as carefully rehearsed as any that 
 she had ever played, and with far more se- 
 rious meaning. 
 
 Durinof her confused meditations it had 
 crossed her mind vaguely that there might 
 be a motive for his extraordinary conduct ;
 
 270 THE IMPENDING SWOllD. 
 
 for the senseless outburst of jealousy Avhich, 
 though he strenuously denied it, his line of 
 action betrayed. 
 
 'What can he mean by it?' she asked 
 herself a score of times, something within 
 her heart contending with the natural and 
 somewhat flattering interpretation which 
 she placed upon his behaviour. She re- 
 membered his ill-humour when they first 
 met, and it flashed across her mind as a 
 possibility that he might have come with 
 the predetermination to quarrel with her. 
 But why ? She had given him no ofl'ence, 
 their last interview had been conducted on 
 the footing of a perfectly good understand- 
 ing ; and the mention of Mr. Foster, to 
 w^hich his present freak manifestly re- 
 ferred, had only arisen on the present oc- 
 casion. 
 
 Miss Montressor was lost in a maze ; but 
 among its bewilderments love had no place, 
 as she was quite conscious that she could 
 be perfectly happy without Mr. Dolby,
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 271 
 
 could it be proved that lie had made up 
 his mind to do without her. And she was 
 not vehemently impatient to emerge from 
 the maze. 
 
 The cogitation of an hour ended, after 
 all, in the contented conviction on her part 
 that the sole motive of Mr. Dolby's conduct 
 was jealousy, mingled with a perception 
 that he was a stronger - willed and worse - 
 tempered man than she had hitherto be- 
 lieved him to be. 
 
 The practical conclusion at which she 
 arrived was that she would leave Mr. Dolby 
 to himself for a day or two. He had spoken 
 of 'faith in time,' and though Miss Montres- 
 sor was not apt in poetry, she was capable of 
 prosaic adaptation of the adage. She would 
 try the effect of time at very little cost to 
 herself It was a matter of comparative 
 indifference whether she saw Mr. Dolby 
 the next day, or the next day but one, or 
 the next day but two ; he should have a 
 wholesome interval to come to his senses,
 
 272 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 and she really had a great deal to do in pre- 
 paring for her voyage to America. 
 
 Within an hour and a half after Mr. 
 Dolby's precipitate exit from Miss Montres- 
 sor's abode, that lady was engaged in the 
 prosaic occupation of making out, with 
 Justine's assistance, an inventory of the 
 finery which, apart from her stage ward- 
 robe, she considered it necessary to take to 
 New York; then an inventory of that which 
 she was leaving behind. These grave mat- 
 ters of business were of sufficient import- 
 ance to shroud in temporary oblivion any- 
 thing so insignificant as a quarrel with Mr. 
 Dolby — which might, perhaps, be called a 
 lover's quarrel on his side, but which, to 
 Miss Montressor, had simply the common- 
 place aspect of a fit of unqualified ill- 
 temper. 
 
 ' He is a surly brute !' was her summary ; 
 ' and I will just leave him to come out of 
 his sulk.' 
 
 *****
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. Zi 6 
 
 The next day bat one went over, the 
 first stage in the process of Mr. Dolby's 
 coming to his senses in Miss Montressor's 
 mental time-table. The hours did not 
 drag; there was plenty to do, there were 
 many people to see; and the more Miss 
 Montressor dwelt upon the prospect of her 
 Transatlantic trip, higher rose the hopes of 
 reaching her ambition — the expectant star 
 about to get a real opportunity of shining 
 for the first time could not trouble her 
 head with such mundane matters as a sul- 
 len admirer. 
 
 The next day but two went over, and 
 Mr. Dolby neither came nor wrote. No con- 
 ciliatory bouquet, no reconciliatory brace- 
 let, came as a token of regret and repent- 
 ance. Things were looking serious, and 
 Miss Montressor was sorry — sorr}', not with 
 the interested annoyance of a woman of her 
 class who has awakened to the fear of losing 
 a rich lover, but sorry with a genuine kind- 
 heartedness, reluctant to part with an old 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 friend on bad terms ; and with somethino: 
 of the irresistible tenderness which all but 
 a thoroughly heartless woman must feel 
 towards one whose feelings she believes 
 lierself to have miscalculated and wounded 
 unawares. 
 
 'Who could have thought,' she said to 
 herself on the morning of the third day, 
 'that he cared about me so much?' A 
 shallow generalisation ; but somehow one 
 would have liked Miss Montressor less if 
 she had been more clear-sighted — if she 
 had been able to read between the lines on 
 this occasion. 
 
 At noon of the third day Miss Montres- 
 sor took a resolution and a sheet of her 
 very best note-paper, with a very dainty 
 monogram in rose-colour and silver, and 
 scrawled upon it just two of those charac- 
 teristic lines which mean so much and say 
 so little, which are full of apology without 
 humiliating concession, and full of attraction 
 without formal invitation.
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 275« 
 
 This letter she despatched by her page^ 
 who returned considerably before she looked 
 for him, bringing back the letter, with the 
 unexpected intelligence that Mr. Dolby had 
 left his lodgings at Queen-street, Mayfair, 
 ' for good ;' and also that the people at the 
 house had no address and no instructions 
 for the forwarding of communications in- 
 tended for him. 
 
 Miss Montressor had literally never been- 
 so taken aback in all her life. 
 
 ' What could it mean ?' she again asked 
 herself, this time without the vaguest indi- 
 cation of an answer; and now she was 
 alarmed as well as sorry. Was this indeed 
 to be a fatal and irreparable breach? 
 
 Rather late on the same evening a four- 
 wheeled cab drove up at the door of No. 
 192 Queen-street, Mayfair. Two females 
 occupied the vehicle, one of whom was pre- 
 sumably, by her dress and appearance, a 
 respectable upper servant, perhaps a lady's- 
 maid. Her dress was plain, but suitable to
 
 276 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 such an assumption, and she was closely 
 veiled. Leaving her companion, who was 
 somewhat similarly attired, in the cab, this 
 person rang the bell and requested to see 
 the mistress of the house. A respectable- 
 looking middle-aged woman, with a coun- 
 tenance exhibiting that peculiar mixture of 
 conventional complacency and ever-present 
 anxiety which characterises the London 
 lodging-house keeper, j)i'esented herself in 
 answer to this request, and begged that the 
 lady would step into her little room. The 
 visitor explained at once, to avoid disap- 
 pointing the expectation w4iich was very 
 plainly written in the landlady's anxious 
 face, that she had not come to engage rooms, 
 that she had merely called to make inquiry. 
 This announcement was met Avith no de- 
 crease of civility, and the invitation to w^alk 
 in was repeated. 
 
 It then appeared that the visitor had 
 called to inquire about the lodger who had 
 recently left No. 192, and the interview be-
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 2 7 
 
 tween the two women very rapidly assumed 
 the aspect of a gossiping chat. Mrs. Watts 
 was very sorry to part with her lodger, 
 'which he was quite the gentleman,' and 
 had gone away with his luggage in a cab, 
 and himself in a hansom. There was a deal 
 of luggage ; them big boxes as come from 
 Xew York, and looks like ladies' boxes 
 mostly. Mrs. Watts could not say where 
 he had gone to — certainly she had seen the 
 labels ; but they were two brass labels 
 slipped into the ticket grooves, with New 
 York in black letters upon the metal. 
 
 'Was there any name upon the trunks?' 
 asked the visitor. 
 
 Mrs. Watts was quite sure there was no 
 name anywhere, nor upon the strapped-up 
 package of railway rugs, canes, and um- 
 brellas. 
 
 'Did Mrs. Watts,' asked the visitor, 
 ' entertain any doubt whatever upon the 
 subject?' 
 
 ' He had left in the evening, and she
 
 278 THE IMPENDING SWORD. 
 
 had heard the driver of the hansom directed 
 to Euston Station, to catch the Liverpool 
 mail.' 
 
 This was conclusive, and the visitor, 
 taking a polite leave of Mrs. Watts, got 
 into the cab and drove home Avithout ex- 
 changing a single word with her companion. 
 
 'He is mad,' thought Miss Montressor 
 during that silent drive, and there was a 
 strange complacency in her mind at this 
 conclusion — ' he is stark mad with jealousy 
 — who would have thought it ? Well, he 
 will get over it, I suppose, and it don't mat- 
 ter to me.' 
 
 A reader of Miss Montressor's thoughts 
 and an observer of Miss Montressor's ways 
 would have been struck by the extraordi- 
 nary frequency with which that little phrase, 
 ' it don't matter to me,' turned up in Miss 
 Montressor's meditations, and found utter- 
 ance in Miss Montressor's speech. ' It don't 
 matter to me, but it is better than any play 
 I ever had a part in, or any play I know
 
 NO NONSENSE ABOUT HER. 279 
 
 any thin c^ about, for I firmly believe he has 
 gone to New York beforehand to watch 
 me.' 
 
 It Avas not, on the Avhole, an unnatural 
 conclusion ; it only lacked one element of 
 probability. Mr. Dolby's unexpected access 
 of jealousy had come on apropos of Mr. 
 Foster. ]\Ir. Foster was not o'one nor o^oino; 
 to New York. This circumstance struck 
 Miss Montressor after some time, but she got 
 over the little difficulty by reasoning from 
 the particular to the general, and making up 
 her mind that Mr. Dolby had suddenly ar- 
 rived at the conclusion that she was not to 
 be trusted either here or there. There was 
 something flattering in this conclusion, even 
 to a woman who did not care a straw about 
 him, and who was in her way, and accord- 
 in o* to her li^fht, frank and honest. Miss 
 Montressor liked the flattery, accepted the 
 conclusion, did not trouble herself to re- 
 concile it with Mr. Dolby's story of his ap- 
 pointment in London, and supposed they
 
 280 THE IMPENDING SWOKD. 
 
 should meet over there, and it would be all 
 
 good fun. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Only one incident remains to be re- 
 corded with regard to Miss Montressor's 
 visit to Mr. Dolby's former abode. It was 
 not under that familiar name that she 
 inquired for him; it was not in that name 
 that Mrs. Watts praised the amiability, and 
 lamented the departure of her late lodger, 
 nor had that been the name inscribed upon 
 the note with the rose-and-silver mono- 
 gram. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 EOBSON AND SONS, PRINTERS, PANGEAS EGAD, N.W.