W^yE^'S SHUTTLE 
 
 mmm m\m\m mm.m
 
 3 W 
 
 '/ 
 
 / 
 
 1 IBRAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVERSITY 
 Of ILLI NOIS 
 
 8*3 
 GI4s 
 
 V.I
 
 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S 
 SHUTTLE. 
 
 A SKETCH FROM LIFE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 ft 
 
 J*
 
 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S 
 SHUTTLE. 
 
 % SKfttlj from fife. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES W. GAMBIER, 
 
 CAPTAIN ROYAL NAVY. 
 
 1 O Nature ! what hadst thou to do in Hell 
 When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend 
 In mortal Paradise of such sweet flesh ? " 
 
 " Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 SWAN SONNENSCHEIN, LOWREY & CO., 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE.
 
 D3 
 
 Gr 14* 
 v. I 
 
 C3 
 
 3 
 
 GO 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OS 
 
 o 
 
 CHAP. 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 
 £ VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 X. 
 
 : XL 
 
 XII. 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A FIRST THROW . 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 A RENCONTRE 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 THE BETTER PART 
 
 
 
 ■ 87 
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY 
 
 
 
 108 
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK . 
 
 
 
 137 
 
 STILL DARKER 
 
 
 
 • 153 
 
 CABBING IT . 
 
 
 
 183 
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN 
 
 
 
 199 
 
 LOVE'S BUBBLE 
 
 
 
 215 
 
 THE PAPYRUS 
 
 
 
 232 
 
 AN AMIABLE HUSBAND . 
 
 
 
 250 
 
 EAVESDROPPING . 
 
 
 
 286 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A FIRST' THROW. 
 
 " Geordie ! Don't stay down long — don't 
 let papa keep you here all night. Come up- 
 stairs as soon as you can." 
 
 " I will, certainly, Rosie." 
 
 The first speaker is a dazzling-looking girl 
 of nineteen or twenty, whose large half-masked 
 eyes have a dreamy habit of partly closing, 
 suggestive of the islands of the Hesperides and 
 of soft oblivion ; eyes that seem to think that 
 the breath of life should be drawn amongst 
 orange blossoms, lotus leaves, on a bed of 
 fragrant mosses, safe from storms and showers. 
 Her cheeks have that smooth rounded outline 
 so rarely seen in any after the earliest years of 
 childhood ; her lips are full and sensuous, 
 wreathed with a sweet but indecisive smile, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 2 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 apparently bestowed on her for the express 
 purpose of displaying her pearly teeth ; her 
 nose, too short for actual beauty ; her chin 
 rounded and dimpled ; whilst her arms and 
 shoulders, of which there is no niggardly 
 display, are as fair as those of Titian's Mag- 
 dalene. She moves with a swaying undulating 
 motion, her costume setting off all the bending 
 lines of her beautiful figure, the contour of a 
 Psyche, with that prodigality with which Lely 
 painted his Villierses and Stuarts. Her voice, 
 which is deep and mellow, has in it a tone 
 that tells of a passionate restless heart, and is 
 indeed a true index of her character, which 
 seems to have been moulded by her sur- 
 roundings and by the state of life in which 
 Providence has cast her lot. 
 
 The man whom she has addressed is 
 George Norton, ex-Captain of a Highland 
 regiment, but no Scotchman, and stands to 
 her in the position of her affianced husband. 
 He is ten years older than Rosalie Romeyn, is 
 tall and well-made and not without good-looks, 
 of that fair, curly-haired type common in our 
 Islands, and has about him that air, almost 
 bordering on distinction, which those acquire
 
 A FIRST THROW. 
 
 who have the honour of serving Her Majesty, 
 in a good Regiment. He is a man of no 
 particular family, being the son of a retired 
 Indian officer, who after " putting in thirty-five 
 years' service," without having seen a shot fired, 
 or ever done a stroke of work, had retired on a 
 handsome pension of some ^1,100 a year, on 
 which he had lived comfortably for two years in 
 Cheltenham, and then expired, leaving to his 
 son George the few thousands he had scraped 
 together in India. And George's father was 
 shortly followed to the grave by his uncle, 
 brother of the retired officer, who, dying with- 
 out child of his own, left his nephew a farther 
 sum of money, making the total fortune of the 
 Highland officer some ^"18,000, or ^"20,000. 
 
 "Don't stay down long," has said Rosalie 
 to him as he stands by the dining-room door, 
 bowing out the party of five or six ladies, who, 
 with a flutter of lace and frou-frou of dresses, 
 have just risen from a luxuriously spread table, 
 where the display of flowers and costly fruits 
 and the handsome gold and silver plate, to- 
 gether with the phalanx of powdered mutes 
 who stand motionless against the walls, suffi- 
 ciently indicate that they have been dining
 
 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE 
 
 in the house of Dives, and that without the 
 unpleasant spectacle of the man with his dog 
 and his sores. 
 
 And Rosalie has been the last of the bevy 
 of fair women to leave the room, for she is 
 the daughter of the house, and does the 
 honours in the absence of her banished mother. 
 But, as science has not yet done for our eyes 
 what the telephone does for our ears, Rosalie, 
 though she may well guess the situation, is 
 not so painfully reminded of the vast gap 
 between her position and that of her mother 
 as to have her pleasure spoilt by any such 
 depressing reflections, though as a matter of 
 fact at this identical moment this wronged 
 and suffering mother, together with Rosalie's 
 widowed sister, Madeline Ostrolenka, is toiling 
 up a steep winding stair to the cinquieme of a 
 shabby-looking house in the Rue St. Anne, 
 near the Place Louvois, in Paris, thankful for 
 the large bundles of needlework under their 
 arms, which after much trouble they have 
 •succeeded in obtaining from Madame Perinet, 
 the fashionable dressmaker and milliner in the 
 Rue 4 Septembre. 
 
 But as Rosalie trips up the thickly-carpeted
 
 A FIRST THRO TV. 
 
 stairs of this handsome old-fashioned house 
 in Wimpole Street, following the trailing skirts 
 of her guests, her thoughts are far from those 
 who toil and spin; through whose attic window 
 the morning star peeps in whilst the work goes 
 on which is to adorn these more fortunate 
 sisters. No such attic, either in London or 
 in Paris, is in her mind. Her thoughts are 
 back in the room she has only this moment 
 left ; feeding themselves on the memory of 
 the crisp curls and white teeth, the broad 
 shoulders and wiry throat of her lover, and 
 devoutly praying that her instructions not to 
 dawdle over the claret will be scrupulously 
 complied with ; that she may not be left to 
 listen to the wearisome discussion on dress and 
 servants, or the last frippery of second-hand 
 scandal, until it is so late that every one has 
 to leave immediately the men return from the 
 dining-room. 
 
 But as to Norton himself, it must be con- 
 fessed, there did not seem to be this consuming 
 desire to leave the dining-room too soon, nor 
 was his impatience to see Rosalie again so 
 all-devouring as to make him wish to forego 
 the several excellent glasses of rare Leoville
 
 6 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 which all could safely count on who sat at 
 Arthur Romeyn's hospitable table. For 
 Norton's engagement to Rosalie had made 
 him feel sure of her. She loved him too 
 plainly ; those eyes, those lips, that beating 
 heart had told their tale with too much 
 eloquence ; and their passionate language had 
 already produced something akin to satiety, 
 in that shallow nature which was unable rightly 
 to gauge or appreciate the overflowing love 
 of this wild but easily-led girl. So Norton 
 settled himself down to the claret with a 
 considerable sense of satisfaction, feeling that 
 the next forty minutes would not be altogether 
 intolerable, and possibly with some half-formed 
 idea that Rosalie's smiles would be none the 
 less sweet because she must perforce restrain 
 them a little longer. His host, too, was 
 evidently not in any greater hurry to return 
 to the ladies than Norton or the rest of the 
 men present, for he hated ladies in general, and 
 in particular cordially hated and detested most 
 of those who were nearest to him in blood, 
 taking care to let them know it in many and 
 manifold ways ; all except Rosalie, whom he 
 really loved, after his own fashion.
 
 A FIRST THROW. 
 
 But in spite of this dislike of his female 
 relations, and, apparently, of women in general, 
 he indulged occasional fancies of a marked 
 type, for special individuals of the fair sex, 
 and with perfect indifference as to the opinion 
 of others, would parade these penchants in 
 the most open manner. 
 
 But on this particular night there happened 
 to be no one in his house, to whom Romeyn 
 wished to attach himself, and consequently he 
 would have resented it as an impertinence if 
 any one else amongst the men assembled at his 
 table had expressed the faintest wish to join the 
 ladies, or had evinced the smallest indications 
 of ennui, before he himself gave the signal. 
 But the longest sitting must come to an end, 
 and at about ten the men returned to the draw- 
 ing-room, their arrival there being soon after 
 followed by Rosalie withdrawing to the inner 
 room, where stood a grand piano, on which 
 she began to play an exquisite piece of 
 Spindler's with the tenderest grace and feeling. 
 Norton soon stood by her side, and as he bent 
 down over her and saw the rise and fall of her 
 snowy bosom, he would have been less than 
 human, had he not felt the magic of her
 
 8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 beauty. He whispers words so soft that her 
 ear blushes to hear them, and behind the dis- 
 creet screen of the open music his lips almost 
 touch her cheek. 
 
 And she whispers back — 
 
 " Stay until they are all gone. Papa is going- 
 out — we shall be alone." 
 
 Then the music dies away, and the guests 
 soon after rise and take their departure. 
 Romeyn himself has already vanished ; for he 
 stands on little ceremony, and Rosalie and her 
 lover are alone. 
 
 As the door closes on the last, Norton 
 catches her up, and gives her a great squeeze. 
 
 " Thank goodness ! " he says. 
 
 " Yes, darling,' ' says Rosalie. " It is good 
 to be alone ! And this dimly-lighted room, 
 with the sweet smell of the orchids coming in 
 from the conservatory like a breath from 
 Paradise, and nothing to break the silence 
 but our voices." 
 
 He draws her down on to the soft broad 
 ottoman ; she reclines against him, he whisper- 
 ing all manner of ardent things in her hungry 
 ear ; her white arms winding round his neck, 
 her budding mouth pressed against his cheek.
 
 A FIRST THROW. 
 
 " Tell me this again, Geordie," she goes on. 
 " You really, really, really love me as much 
 as you say you do ? You will go on loving 
 me?" 
 
 " Yes, my darling, I love you as much as 
 man can love woman," and he strains her to 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, Geordie, don't! you take my life out 
 of me. I feel as if my heart would burst." 
 
 " My love — my little wife — the day is not 
 far off when you will not leave me at all," and 
 his lips seek hers. 
 
 " But oh, Geordie ! If anything came be- 
 tween us — I should die— you know I should — 
 for I do love you so dearly, though perhaps 
 I should not say so; but I do, and what's the 
 harm of telling my husband the truth ? I love 
 you with every fibre of my body." 
 
 And what are the responses that lovers make 
 to each other ? Are they not the same, from 
 all time, and in all languages ? 
 
 " And I, too, love you, my Rosie — nothing 
 can come between us now — do you think I 
 could forego the blessed hope of calling you 
 mine ? Do you think that I do not long for 
 the blessed day — that blessed hour."
 
 io SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Hush, Geordie, hush," says Rosalie nest- 
 ling closer to him, " don't talk like that, you 
 frighten me, it seems to unstring every nerve 
 in me ; my head whirls, and my heart beats so 
 that I cannot keep it still." An hour passes 
 like the quickest dream. 
 
 " I think I must go upstairs now, Geordie ; 
 let me go, darling.'' 
 
 " Oh ! not yet, my pet, stay a few minutes 
 longer." 
 
 "No, no," she says endeavouring to dis- 
 engage herself. " Not to-night, my love, 
 and listen ! there goes Miles — putting out the 
 lights downstairs — I never trust any of those 
 people. How can I, when we turn them away 
 so often for nothing at all ? " she adds laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Who cares about Miles ? " 
 
 " No one that I know, darling," says Rosie. 
 " But I do care for papa. He may take it into 
 his head to be annoyed, and for Heaven's sake, 
 — I implore you — do nothing to offend him. 
 You must keep in with him. Think of poor 
 Madge and her dreadful life." 
 
 Then Norton rises, still holding her in his 
 arms.
 
 A FIRST THROW. n 
 
 " I will go then, my pet, only kiss me 
 again." 
 
 She does as she is bid ; then again and 
 again until she feels that she cannot remove 
 her arms from his neck, and another half-hour 
 is sped before he is gone. Then, as the street 
 door closes softly behind him, the house seems 
 suddenly to become a great blank to her. 
 Languidly she crawls upstairs to her room. 
 On her boudoir table stands his photograph 
 which she passionately kisses and carries with 
 her into her adjoining bedroom, placing it 
 before her as she prepares for the night. She 
 is only nineteen and she loves him. 
 
 Arthur Romeyn, Rosalie's father, might 
 possibly be called a unique specimen of the 
 human race, with few qualities that could be 
 commended in a private station in life, and 
 yet of that stuff of which the immortals of 
 history are made, self-reliant, courageous, and 
 supremely indifferent alike to the applause or 
 censure of his fellow-men. Close friends he 
 has none, except "old Gizzard," his lawyer, 
 and indeed few acquaintances, for so singularly 
 constituted is his mind — so outrageously con- 
 tradictory and self asserting — that no one with
 
 J2 SWIFTER THAN A WE A VER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 any semblance of self-respect, or independence 
 of spirit, can long tolerate the violent egotism 
 of his conversation, and consequently, with the 
 exception of a few poor-spirited toadies who 
 worship his wealth and smack their lips when 
 an invitation comes to one of his feasts, an old 
 or familiar face is rarely seen at No. 356 
 Wimpole Street. But even the toadies do not 
 find it very pleasant at times, for he reduces 
 them to a state of terror by his vehemence and 
 flat contradiction, whilst as to the actual 
 members of his family, or those of it who 
 remain with him, their condition can only be 
 described as abject. No one dared even differ 
 with him as to whether it was hot or cold, 
 and carefully guarded against expressing an 
 opinion as to whether it was raining or not 
 until they had ascertained what Romeyn 
 thought about it, and even then it was 
 not safe to venture on too decided an opinion, 
 for he might be in a mood to describe 
 the bursting of a water-spout as a slight 
 shower, or, on the other hand, to magnify a 
 slight drizzle into an equatorial downpour. 
 The effect of these peculiarities of temper 
 had been to split the Romeyn family and all
 
 A FIRST THRO TV. 13 
 
 their friends into two more or less hostile 
 camps, in one of which were garrisoned all 
 that were self-respecting, or who possibly 
 inherited some of his own qualities ; in the 
 other, the weak and obsequious ; those with 
 an eye to the main chance, and a cohort of 
 toadies. But in this last camp — in which 
 Romeyn raised his standard — life was anything 
 but a bed of roses, for one of the qualities he 
 had in common with other strong-minded men 
 was to resent servile compliance with his views 
 as much as open defiance of them, and would 
 often interpret this kind of submission as an 
 intended offence. At such times he would 
 "round" on the toadies in a terrible manner, 
 making their lives almost intolerable, whilst to 
 contemplate the flabbergasted condition to 
 which he had reduced them, and which never 
 escaped his keen observation, afforded him 
 the only pleasures he derived from their 
 society. 
 
 His wealth, accumulated in New Zealand, 
 was vast, and there were few of his tastes 
 he had not amply gratified. But he did very 
 little to render the lives of others happy; 
 seeming to take pleasure in making them
 
 i 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 miserable, or ridiculous, with a total disregard 
 of their feelings. As regards intellectual ac- 
 quirements he was far above the average. He 
 was well and deeply read, and gifted with a 
 remarkable memory. But even these tastes 
 and advantages were often made subservient to 
 the main end of making others uncomfortable ; 
 enabling him to contradict flatly anyone who 
 had the misfortune to make a slip in history or 
 anything else, and to set everyone by the ears 
 by introducing matters for arguments provo- 
 cative of enmity and bad blood. 
 
 Another gift with which nature had en- 
 dowed him was an apparent power of remain- 
 ing stone deaf to the broadside of a frigate, 
 when convenient, or of hearing a pin drop in 
 an adjoining room with equal facility, and 
 although the actual possession of this faculty 
 was called in question by people who knew 
 him well, still, so thoroughly had he succeeded 
 in impressing the belief in it on the members 
 of his family, that they never dared act other- 
 wise than consistent with a belief in its 
 existence It was impossible at any time to 
 treat him as deaf, as he might at that moment 
 be in an acute state of hearing, and, at the
 
 A FIRST THROW. 15 
 
 same time, it was dangerous to pretend he 
 could hear, for that made him still more angry. 
 They, therefore, were compelled, when anxious 
 to address him, to resort to all kinds of strata- 
 gems and expedients ; to adopt tests gradually 
 and laboriously invented by themselves, in order 
 to ascertain to which particular condition at 
 that particular moment he had elected to 
 reduce his ears. And what made all this still 
 more complicated was the fact that no prece- 
 dent had been established of things or matters 
 that he might be expected to remain deaf to, 
 or to which he might be ready to lend a willing 
 ear. It was always a mere toss up : the odds 
 even. For he was not like many, deaf to 
 requests for money, or demands on his time, 
 for both of these he would ungrudgingly 
 bestow, if in the humour ; but what he would 
 refuse with anathemas one day he would grant 
 with smiles and effusion the next. Some who 
 knew him likened him to a spider sitting in his 
 web. It was impossible to see whether his eyes 
 were open or shut ; whether he was awake or 
 asleep; ready to pounce out and seize a passing 
 insect, or without the least intention of being 
 disturbed by the most tempting morsel. But
 
 1 6 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 though he exercised control over such minor 
 matters as to whether his daughter should take 
 out her umbrella or waterproof-cloak, it must 
 not be supposed he confined himself to trifles 
 alone. From the hour of rising to the moment 
 of going to bed no one under his roof was a 
 free agent, not even that generally independent 
 body, the servants, the male members of which 
 fraternity he would frequently, and actually, 
 kick out of his establishment, for no rhyme or 
 reason. As an instance of this strange way of 
 proceeding may be mentioned the fact that 
 on one occasion a footman was thus summarily 
 dismissed because he had failed to report to 
 his master that a mob was smashing the 
 windows of a Statesman who lived in Harley 
 Street hard by ; a person held in particular 
 and venomous detestation by Romeyn, who 
 thus, through the negligence of his ser- 
 vant, was deprived of the pleasure this spec- 
 tacle would have afforded him. 
 
 Needless to say, every important event in 
 the lives of his son or his daughters was 
 absolutely and entirely controlled by their 
 father ; more especially as to their marriages. 
 To these he would give or withhold consent on
 
 A FIRST THROW. 17 
 
 the merest whim ; with an autocratic despotism 
 that the Grand Turk might have envied, and 
 quite independent of the merits or demerits of 
 the individuals who sought to ally themselves 
 with his family, either morally, socially, or 
 financially. All alike had to bow to this irre- 
 sponsible and capricious mode of dealing with 
 their destinies, or take the alternative of being 
 turned penniless into the streets. And to 
 aggravate this kind of treatment an engage- 
 ment one day sanctioned would be cancelled 
 the next, with no reason assigned nor ex- 
 planation given, the family being left to 
 gather that the affair was off through hearing 
 the man or woman concerned denounced 
 in his own peculiar, phraseology by their 
 father- — as " ass, prig, churl, hound, or 
 sneak," or as "a sniggering, empty-headed 
 baggage, probably no better than she ought 
 to be." 
 
 Now in the case of his daughter Madeline, 
 whom we have seen stumbling up the stairs of 
 a house in the Rue St. Anne in Paris, this kind 
 of tyranny had assumed a particularly offen- 
 sive form. For, some six years previous to 
 the beginning of this history, a man, by name 
 
 vol. 1. 2
 
 1 8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 Otho Ostrolenka, in all respects excellent, had 
 fallen deeply and truly in love with her, an 
 affection she returned with the whole force 
 of her noble and enthusiastic nature. He 
 had proposed and had been accepted ; indeed 
 Mr. Romeyn thought him so worthy a man 
 and so desirable a match for Madeline that 
 he never ceased to hold him up as the mirror 
 in which his son should fashion himself; 
 whilst all who came to the house in Wim- 
 pole Street were called on to fall down and 
 worship the image Romeyn had set up ; at 
 the risk of being cut. That his son-in-law 
 elect was not rich, did not matter to Romeyn, 
 for he preferred giving his daughter to a com- 
 paratively poor man, as likely to secure 
 docility, and conformance to his wishes. 
 Ostrolenka, though neither in habits, morals, 
 nor mode of thought, a foreigner, was a Levan- 
 tine of Polish descent, the family having been 
 for many years settled at Beyrout in Syria, 
 and claiming to be naturalised French subjects. 
 He was polished, courteous, well-bred ; of a 
 rare type of physique ; given to athletic sports 
 of all kinds ; a runner ; an accomplished fencer, 
 and a good swimmer. He was however, im-
 
 A FIRST THROW. 19 
 
 bued with a kind of harmless fatalism ; a 
 readiness to bow to accomplished facts, which 
 had almost degenerated into weakness of cha- 
 racter. Not that this idiosyncrasy had in any 
 way impaired his moral tone, for in spite of 
 his almost Oriental training he still retained 
 the keenest sense of truth and justice, whilst 
 years of familiarity with the roguery and 
 venality of the governing classes in the 
 Ottoman Empire had done nothing to lessen 
 his detestation of such proceedings. He 
 moved in the best diplomatic and social circles 
 in the East, spoke English, French, Italian 
 and German, in common with most people in 
 the Levant, but added the rarer accomplish- 
 ment of knowing Greek, Turkish and Arme- 
 nian as well. 
 
 His knowledge of the Eastern Question and 
 of Eastern politics generally had particularly 
 commended him to Mr. Romeyn, with whom 
 these matters were a favourite hobby, and as 
 Ostrolenka happened to hold the same views 
 as himself, Mr. Romeyn regarded him as a 
 remarkably intelligent and sensible person. 
 But one unlucky night, not many days before 
 Madeline was to marry him, and when every-
 
 20 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER S SHUTTLE. 
 
 thing was settled, except the settlement, (which 
 Mr. Romeyn had purposely delayed com- 
 pleting to the last moment,) an unfortunate 
 discussion arose at Romeyn' s dinner table on 
 this very subject of the East, Romeyn as usual 
 hurling himself into it with partisan fury, 
 denouncing the views of those who differed 
 from him as unworthy to be held by any one 
 not lost to all sense of honour, or who had 
 the least regard for the glory of the British 
 Empire. Those accustomed to Romeyn's 
 mode of conducting an argument this out- 
 burst neither surprised nor distressed. If his 
 arguments were outrageous, his wine was 
 superlatively good, and all the dirt he might 
 heap on his opponents, and all the mud 
 he might fling could not make his dishes 
 unpalatable. But on this particular occasion 
 there was a new man dining at Romeyn's, 
 who happened to hold the views so furiously 
 denounced, and out of a very natural spirit 
 undertook to defend them. The argument 
 waxed hot, until finally Romeyn adduced some 
 fact in support of his assertions which this 
 guest knew to be incorrect. An appeal was 
 made to Ostrolenka, who had been in Con-
 
 A FIRST THROW. 21 
 
 stantinople at the time when this event 
 occurred, and as ill luck would have it, he had 
 to give his verdict against Romeyn, which 
 however he did with the utmost deference and 
 in the most polite manner, smoothing over the 
 contradiction to such an extent that the victory 
 seemed almost to have remained with that 
 gentleman. But enough. It had sealed the 
 fate of both Ostrolenka and of Madeline, who, 
 all unconscious of the storm raging below, sat 
 waiting in the drawing-room to show her 
 future intended the last wedding presents she 
 had received. A black cloud now settled 
 down on Romeyn' s face, and, giving the 
 signal to rise, he opened the door for his 
 guests to file out. Then as Ostrolenka, who 
 came last, passed him, he lightly tapped his 
 arm and said, 
 
 "Will you come with me into my study? 
 I wish to have a word with you." 
 
 Not without a fear of some impending dis- 
 turbance did Ostrolenka follow his host, who 
 no sooner arrived at his writing-table than 
 he sat down, silent and morose, and wrote 
 a note which he addressed to his daughter 
 Madeline.
 
 22 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " There, you can deliver that" says Romeyn, 
 in a brusque voice, and shutting up his mouth 
 like a rat-trap. 
 
 Ostrolenka took the note went upstairs 
 and found Madeline. He whispered to her 
 to come and speak to him in the library, 
 and here he gave her the fatal missive. 
 It was simply a point-blank withdrawal of 
 her father's consent to her marriage, on the 
 grounds that her lover had contradicted him 
 at his own table and had behaved like a scoundrel. 
 
 Madeline read the note, and then looked up. 
 
 " It is for you to decide," she says. 
 
 "Decide what?" he replies, taking her 
 hand. 
 
 " Whether you will have me without a 
 penny, or not. That is what this note 
 means." 
 
 So the marriage took place two or three 
 days sooner than had been previously ar- 
 ranged, and without the presence of any of 
 the guests invited for the larger function as 
 originally designed; and as Madeline and her 
 husband drove towards Charing Cross Station, 
 they happened to meet Romeyn, who scowled 
 fiercely at seeing his daughter thus openly
 
 A FIRST THROW. 23 
 
 defying him, but without the least idea that 
 she and Ostrolenka were man and wife. And, 
 strange to say, though in the evening he 
 guessed what had happened by his daughter's 
 vacant place at the table, and by something in 
 the faces of the rest of his family, still he never 
 condescended to ask where Madeline had gone, 
 nor made one single remark on the subject, 
 good, bad, or indifferent. And as no one dared 
 to broach the matter, this singular family ate, 
 drank, and made merry as usual that evening, 
 whilst she who had had the courage to hold 
 to her plighted word, passed as entirely out 
 of their midst as though she had never been 
 amongst them. Madeline herself was, how- 
 ever, perfectly happy. Her husband seemed 
 to love her only the more for the sacrifice she 
 had made for him, for it was no light thing 
 to cut herself from her portion of her father's 
 great riches, and endeavoured in every possible 
 way to show his appreciation of her devoted 
 conduct. 
 
 They went straight to Beyrout, to his villa 
 surrounded with orange groves and vine- 
 yards; where the pleasant Oriental life made 
 her more than ever rejoice at the decision
 
 24 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 she had taken. Her husband grew daily 
 more dear to her and her happiness seemed 
 complete when she became mother of a 
 little girl, whom they called Alantha. Wealth, 
 too, flowed in on them, for Ostrolenka's 
 affairs flourished, and Madeline, in the tran- 
 quillity of her Eastern home, looked back 
 without a regret on the empty, fashionable 
 life of London ; rejoicing to have escaped 
 from the discord and wrangling of the house 
 in Wimpole Street. But alas ! this fair-seem- 
 ing weather was destined too soon to blow 
 over ! 
 
 Ostrolenka had formed a close intimacy 
 with the Vali, or governor of the Lebanon, 
 a man reputed to be honest, and from him had 
 received a lucrative post as " Receiver of 
 Stores" for the Ottoman Army of Syria. In 
 this capacity the accounts and all such matters 
 passed through his hands and brought him 
 into connection with the Seraskierat, or War 
 Office, in Stamboul. It is needless to say that 
 this store business was honey-combed with 
 fraud, though Ostrolenka himself was entirely 
 innocent in the matter, and that the expose , usual 
 in all Turkish affairs, took place on a change of
 
 A FIRST THROW. 25 
 
 Ministry. A new Grand Vizier was appointed 
 who knew not all the Josephs, or rather, had 
 Josephs of his own to look after, and, as is 
 also usual in these affairs, the matter en- 
 gendered diplomatic animosities, the various 
 Embassies taking different sides, with extreme 
 violence, according as the disgraced men were 
 Russophile or otherwise ; whilst the * special 
 correspondents ' deluged Europe with alarming 
 and wholly gratuitous information : that a 
 hundred thousand Russian troops had occupied 
 the Dobrudsha ; that the Black Sea Fleet had 
 put to sea from Sebastopol, etc., etc. 
 
 Unfortunately for Ostrolenka, he found him- 
 self on the losing side; French influence at 
 this particular moment had dwindled down 
 to zero, the incriminated were therefore the 
 French proteges, and so were promptly bundled 
 into prison. And as incarceration, and seiz- 
 ing money, are the only two things about 
 which there is no delay in Turkey, Ostrolenka 
 suddenly saw his house surrounded by Zabtiehs, 
 himself hurried off to the prison cells of 
 Beyrout, whilst his wife, in spite of vehement 
 protest, was conducted to a Messageries 
 steamer on the point of sailing, and was
 
 26 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 warned that, if she set foot in the Ottoman 
 Dominions again, she would also be im- 
 prisoned. Nor was time even allowed for 
 Madeline to send for her child, who happened, 
 at this moment, to have been sent for a little 
 change of air, to the house of Ostrolenka's 
 sister, Madame Capodistria, whose villa was 
 situated some distance from the town on 
 the lower spurs of the Lebanon. Thus the 
 unhappy woman was deprived of husband 
 and child in one day — the former hopelessly 
 buried in a Turkish dungeon, the latter 
 remaining behind only to die of cholera, 
 which had broken out in Syria at this time. 
 Of this last terrible catastrophe Madeline 
 had early information, for her friend, the 
 wife of the French Consul, had been to see 
 the poor little dead girl, and had done 
 her best to have her properly interred ; no 
 easy matter during a cholera panic in the 
 East. Madeline was nearly crushed on receipt 
 of this dreadful news, and for many weeks 
 rarely opened her lips ; for what with the loss 
 of her child, the uncertainty of her husband's 
 fate, and herself reduced to beggary, she felt 
 that life had nothing left worth living for.
 
 A FIRST THROW. 27 
 
 And the disaster which had overtaken 
 Ostrolenka fell also on his brother-in-law, 
 Capodistria, who was likewise imprisoned, 
 whilst his wife, Ostrolenka' s sister, died in a 
 premature confinement, brought on by all 
 those terrible calamities. Madeline went to 
 Paris and there sought out her mother, Mrs. 
 Romeyn, who had been for years living sepa- 
 rated from her husband on the grounds of 
 incompatibility of temper. The temper, accord- 
 ing to him, was all on her side, and had shown 
 itself in modes he so much resented that he 
 had allowed her but a bare subsistence, and 
 that only on rigid conditions that she should 
 hold no communion with any of her children, 
 without his consent. 
 
 The news that Madeline had been exiled 
 from Turkey and had fled penniless to her 
 mother, was not long in reaching Romeyn, 
 but, far from mollifying his resentment against 
 these unfortunate women, it had an exactly 
 opposite effect, for he sent an ultimatum to his 
 wife, through Messrs. Gizzard and Stretchit, 
 his lawyers, that, unless she immediately sepa- 
 rated herself from her daughter, her allowance 
 would be stopped. But Mrs. Romeyn cut the
 
 28 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 question short by writing to Messrs. Gizzard and 
 Stretchit to the effect that henceforth she would 
 refuse to accept anything from the hands of a 
 man who could propose to a mother that she 
 should abandon her child. In reply to this, 
 Messrs. Gizzard and Stretchit, acting under in- 
 structions, forwarded Mrs. Romeyn the balance 
 of her allowance due to the day on which 
 Madeline had arrived in Paris, and, as this 
 pitiable sum lasted a very little time, Madeline 
 and her mother were soon reduced to work- 
 ing for their daily bread, and at times came 
 well nigh to starvation. But Madeline had 
 possessed some ^10,000 of her own, the 
 proceeds of trade ventures made on her own 
 account in the East, and this sum had been 
 invested in her own name in Ottoman Bank 
 Bonds. She now endeavoured to recover this 
 property believing, and rightly, that it could 
 in no way be attached for the laches of which 
 her husband had been accused. But after 
 endless trouble, days and days spent in dancing 
 attendance on Under-Secretaries for Foreign 
 Affairs, and at the Ottoman Embassy, she 
 learnt with dismay that the Ottoman Govern- 
 ment had finally appropriated the entire sum,
 
 A FIRST THROW. 29 
 
 on the grounds that it was really her husband's 
 and not hers. This was the last straw, and 
 both she and her mother had to look the cold 
 fact in the face that they were without a penny 
 in the world. For more than four years these 
 two women dragged on an existence which was 
 an actual struggle to ward off starvation, living 
 on the proceeds of such scanty work as they 
 could obtain from milliners and dressmakers, 
 stitching away often the livelong night, sitting 
 silently opposite each other ; too hungry and 
 weary to talk ; the snow drifting against their 
 lofty window, which commanded no view but 
 a melancholy repetition of roofs, with chimney- 
 pots and cowls in various stages of decrepitude. 
 At first Madeline succeeded in obtaining a few 
 francs for teaching English and music, but in 
 a little time the clothes she had brought with 
 her from Syria grew to be so shabby that 
 people would not continue to take lessons. At 
 last the straits they were put to became almost 
 unendurable, and it was with the greatest 
 difficulty they kept a roof over their heads. 
 Many a day and many a night they literally had 
 nothing to eat, and, one by one, such wretched 
 garments as remained to them disappeared into
 
 3 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 the pawn-shop before the craving necessity for 
 food. 
 
 And then when things were at their worst, 
 they began to mend, and a ray of light, though 
 very feeble at first, seemed to illumine their 
 gloomy path. 
 
 A peculiar looking man had taken the rooms 
 on the fourth floor below them, not a gentle- 
 man — far from it — but a very free-spoken man 
 — a person who greeted them on the staircase 
 the first day he met them and followed it up, 
 next day, by actually calling on them, having 
 however first sent up to ask permission He 
 makes no ceremony, his visit is one of business. 
 He has learnt from the concierge that the 
 younger lady is an accomplished linguist. He 
 has some translating and copying to be done. 
 Will she undertake it ? He will pay her well, 
 for the documents will be confidential. Both 
 mother and daughter instinctively dislike 
 and mistrust him. When did woman's in- 
 stinct ever fail her? He has a cold, hard, 
 round, black eye — a coarse, hooked nose, his 
 lower lip slightly protrudes. He is free and 
 easy, and yet ill at ease. There is something 
 shifty and cunning in his face, and something
 
 A FIRS 2' THRO TV. 31 
 
 ferocious and cruel as well. However, Mrs. 
 Romeyn and Madeline have to live. They are 
 only too glad to get any work. Hunger and 
 poverty are incompatible with likes or dislikes 
 about the cut of a man's nose or the colour 
 of his eyes ; and so Madeline readily consents 
 to take the work in hand. 
 
 This individual rejoices in the name of 
 Richard Gould, but where he comes from, the 
 concierge, whom Madeline consults on her 
 way out, can give no information. He is rich, 
 evidently — and a friend of Monsieur Dubois — 
 the proprietaire who lives on the entresol, 
 and has paid his rooms in advance, which is 
 all that concerns the concierge. 
 
 The same evening Gould returns with the 
 documents and papers he wishes translated, 
 and offers Madeline a very fair sum for the 
 work to be done. He is a remarkable man 
 to look at, with crisp, shiny black hair growing 
 rather off the temples and coming down in a 
 long peak over his forehead, which narrows 
 towards the top and has many deep wrinkles. 
 His eyebrows are dark and high-arched and 
 come too near each other over the nose. His 
 lips which can be seen beneath a short dark
 
 3 2 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 moustache are thin and tight-closed, the lower 
 one slightly protruding, as was said before ; 
 his teeth are white, strong, and even, with 
 a cruel look, to be attributed to his peculiarly 
 long eye-teeth which give him often the 
 appearance of a snarling ill-conditioned dog. 
 His chin comes forward and is broad and 
 heavy. He has small black whiskers of 
 that curly kind seen on Jews, and these 
 he has a nervous habit of stroking and 
 twitching when immersed in thought. A pair 
 of heavy gold pince-nez dangle from a gold 
 chain round his neck, when not across his 
 nose, which however is rarely the case. 
 These glasses are continually falling forward, 
 and are continually readjusted with his broad 
 hand spread out across his face and a 
 peculiar shake up of his head. The opera- 
 tion is moreover invariably accompanied by 
 the use of an expletive, which enables him to 
 get in more oaths during the day than most 
 men can in a year. He is usually over-dressed 
 and has never been known to wear an old hat. 
 His attire is generally a braided frock-coat ; 
 black and white check trousers, of a large 
 pattern, " spats " over his boots, and light-
 
 A FIRST THRO TV. 33 
 
 coloured kid gloves. He carries in his hand 
 an immense gold-headed cane, supposed to 
 represent a female throwing herself backwards 
 into water or over a cliff, having divested 
 herself of all her garments. At first sight he 
 might be taken for a foreigner, and in certain 
 poses of his head there is some slight dignity, 
 were it not for the evil look which flashes from 
 time to time from his hard, restless eyes, which 
 have a peculiar way of dilating and retracting, 
 giving him the appearance of a beast of prey. 
 Some, too, might think he was not quite sane, 
 from the curious and unaccountable twitch- 
 ing in his manner ; his violence in speech 
 and gesture ; his demoniacal laugh ; the 
 utter lasciviousness of his nature ; and the 
 profanity and contempt which he openly ex- 
 presses for all laws of morality, human or 
 divine. And with this contorted mind is 
 coupled a body whose every movement is 
 exaggerated and vehement, and when he 
 stands with his thumbs in the arm-hole of 
 his waistcoat it is easy to see that to remain 
 quiet for a few minutes is a great strain on 
 him. His square shoulders and the shape- 
 liness of his leg, which his tight-fitted trousers 
 vol i. 3
 
 34 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 display to advantage, indicate considerable 
 personal strength, whilst his truculent, quarrel- 
 some manner suggests that he is either a bully 
 and a braggart, or that he is a man who 
 really cares very little what offence he gives ; 
 being always ready to translate words into 
 action. 
 
 And so it comes about that Gould is thrown 
 a good deal into the society of the ladies on 
 the fifth floor in the Rue St. Anne, for this 
 business of copying and translating necessi- 
 tates frequent visits, during which Gould 
 becomes conversational, and is ever ready to 
 narrate adventures which have befallen him, 
 and by which it appears he has been all over 
 the world ; in India, Canada, China, and in 
 the Levant. And here it turns out that he and 
 Madame Ostrolenka have some acquaintances 
 in common ; not very intimate friends, for 
 Gould appears to have been very little in 
 Syria. But his own name fails to recall itself 
 to her memory, if she ever heard it before. 
 This was their first conversation about things 
 and people Oriental, but some days after, in 
 returning to the subject of Syria, he began 
 speaking in the most natural way in the world
 
 A FIRST THROW. 35 
 
 of the doings of the governor of the province, 
 and it came out that he remembered to have 
 heard some mention of Ostrolenka Bey's affair. 
 It had not occurred to him that Madeline 
 could be the wife of that much ill-used and 
 unfortunate man, whose scandalous mal-treat- 
 ment made Mr. Gould's blood boil whenever 
 he thought of it. This accidental rencontre 
 interested Mr. Gould deeply, and he soon 
 elicited other circumstances in connection with 
 the matter, which apparently interested him 
 still more. This was the tale of robbery and 
 confiscation by which Madeline had been re- 
 duced to poverty. 
 
 Mr. Gould's wrath at so much injustice,, 
 when Madeline told him all about it, knew no 
 bounds. ' It was altogether too abominable,, 
 and he would be d — '■ — d (she would pardon 
 the expression, but he felt so strongly) if he 
 would put up with it. Had Madame Ostro- 
 lenka done nothing to recover her money? 
 Had she not appealed to the French govern- 
 ment to intervene on her behalf, as the 
 wife of a French subject ? Had she seen 
 Achmet Pasha, the Ottoman ambassador in 
 Paris ? '
 
 36 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 Indeed, yes, she had seen them all, one after 
 the other, had done everything, had haunted 
 the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs ; had 
 worried every successive Foreign Minister 
 almost into his grave — had thrown herself at 
 Gambetta's feet, who, however, had only made 
 love to her. And she had even seen the Presi- 
 dent, who had smiled blandly, having just 
 reprieved six murderers, and then handed her 
 over to his son-in-law. So she had now given 
 it up in despair. 
 
 " My dear Madam," said Gould, when she 
 had finished, " I need hardly tell you there 
 are more ways of killing a dog, in the East, 
 than hanging him. This matter should be 
 treated in quite a different way. Your only 
 chance was Gambetta. He is dead and gone. 
 But backsheesh of one kind or the other 
 will move mountains. Backsheesh will do 
 this." 
 
 "Yes. I have known that all along; but 
 where am I to get backsheesh from to begin 
 with? " replies Madeline. 
 
 " Pardon me, Madam ; you do not under- 
 stand how these things are done. The back- 
 sheesh is in the thing itself. If you could
 
 A FIRST THROW. 3 y 
 
 recover the whole sum I presume you would 
 willingly part with some of it to those who 
 helped you to get it ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I would. But I do not 
 know how to set to work." 
 
 " I think I do," says Gould, giving his 
 glasses a hitch up, just as they are on the 
 point of falling off his nose. " I know well 
 enough how to work these gentry. But 
 naturally, I could not do it for nothing." 
 
 " I should certainly not expect you to work 
 for me for nothing, Sir," says Madeline with 
 dignity, from which no poverty can detract. 
 For she has already noticed that Gould's eyes 
 seem to stray towards her frequently in a way 
 she deeply resents. He is quick enough to 
 interpret her tone. 
 
 " I did not expect you would. What I 
 mean is, that I shall require an authority from 
 you to act for you in this matter, and also 
 an understanding how much of this sum you 
 would be willing to part with as backsheesh, 
 after I get it." 
 
 " That is perfectly clear, Mr. Gould ; and 
 as to yourself, you must be repaid for your 
 time and trouble. Unless you consent to
 
 3 8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 receive payment for your services I shall 
 decline to have anything to do with it." 
 
 Gould looks at her. What dignity ! What 
 independence in these poor garments, with 
 probably not three francs in her pocket. 
 
 " Madam," says he, in a different tone; 
 "" I agree to work for you on those terms. I 
 
 did not intend to barter " 
 
 " Pardon me," replies Madeline. " I do not 
 care to hear what you intended. This sum 
 of ^"10,000 should provide an ample margin 
 without my accepting gratuitous services from 
 any one." 
 
 " You are quite right, ^10,000 is a large 
 sum. It is well worth trying for. I will do 
 my best. If I fail, I lose my time, that is 
 all." 
 
 " That is entirely your affair," says Madeline. 
 " But I am so poor now, and my mother's 
 necessity so great, that I should hail with 
 delight any part of the money." 
 
 "What do you call a part?" says Gould 
 tentatively. 
 
 " Half, perhaps." 
 
 " Half! that is too large a deduction. I 
 should feel I was robbing you if I agreed to
 
 A FIRST THROW. 39 
 
 take half. Supposing we say that you are 
 willing to take, say ^"6,000 ? " 
 
 "I would willingly consent to those terms. 
 And if you seriously think you can accomplish 
 it, I will give you an agreement in writing." 
 
 " I believe I can do it, and it will be 
 as well for you to give me an agreement, 
 for you may die, or I may die — and your 
 heirs decline to carry through the arrange- 
 ment, and in the meanwhile I might have 
 committed myself to paying heavy sums, in 
 backsheesh." 
 
 " Quite true," says Madeline, " I will write 
 it immediately," and she sits down amongst 
 her dressmaking work, and scrawls off a few 
 lines. 
 
 "Stop, my dear Madam," says Gould, putting 
 up his glasses and squinting over her shoulder. 
 "That will not do. It is not easy for a 
 layman to write two lines in a document that 
 will be held to be binding ; although a lawyer 
 may produce the most inconsequent and non- 
 sensical rubbish, and none of his co-fraternity 
 will find fault with it." 
 
 " But you are not a lawyer, Mr. Gould. So 
 what is the good of your writing it."
 
 4 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Ah ! Madam, no. I am not a lawyer, but 
 I am one of those people lawyers prefer to 
 leave alone.'' 
 
 Madeline looks up at him. She has never 
 yet heard of any one whom a lawyer would 
 leave alone, as long as he had a farthing in 
 his pocket, or a coat on his back. 
 
 "I don't understand," she says. " But 
 pray write the thing yourself, and I will sign 
 it." 
 
 Then Gould writes a few lines. 
 
 "Will you kindly copy these? An agree- 
 ment by which a person is to profit should not 
 be in that person's handwriting." 
 
 "You are careful, Mr. Gould." 
 
 " I am very careful, devilish careful I may 
 say — experience has made me so." 
 
 The paper finished and signed, Gould folds it 
 carefully and places it in his large pocket- 
 book. It is to the effect that if any person, 
 not specifying who, shall, through any influence 
 they may be able exert, induce the Ottoman 
 government to restore to Madeline Ostro- 
 lenka the sum of money belonging to her, and 
 said to be £ 10,000, the said person may retain 
 ^4,000 of the aforesaid ^10,000, or a like
 
 A FZRS1" THROW. 41 
 
 proportion of any sum recovered, and that 
 Madeline Ostrolenka hereby binds herself to 
 make no enquiry, or investigation, as to how, 
 or by what means she has been recouped the 
 loss she has sustained. It is a queer kind of 
 document and Madeline has thought so too. 
 Why this mystery? But after all it is a 
 document which cannot do her any harm and 
 may do her great good. 
 
 " And now tell me," says Madeline, sitting 
 down on a low wooden stool and taking her 
 mother's hand, who has been a silent listener 
 throughout this conversation. " Do you really 
 believe you have any chance ? " 
 
 " I believe I have," says Gould. " We 
 have ^"4,000 to work with. That should go a 
 long way. As I said before, backsheesh will 
 do anything in this world." 
 
 " Almost." 
 
 " No. Everything," says he ; " backsheesh 
 of some kind — a black dog for a blue monkey 
 all the world over." 
 
 " Well, I do not care to argue this question. 
 It is as old as the hills, and people must differ 
 on it according as to whether they have any 
 principle or not. I am willing to hope you
 
 42 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 are right this time, and that money will 
 prevail." 
 
 " I hope so too, in fact, I may say I feel 
 sure." 
 
 "Then, Sir," says Mrs. Romeyn, "if you 
 do restore my daughter her fortune, or 
 part of it, you will have earned the grati- 
 tude of two forlorn and desperately poor 
 women. God knows what we have suffered, 
 and my sweet child here, more than I, for 
 she constantly denies herself things for my 
 sake." 
 
 And Gould was as good as his word. 
 By what means he worked it, Madeline had no 
 knowledge at that time, or she would probably 
 have spurned his offers of assistance as in- 
 dignantly as she resented his covert advances 
 of another nature. But happily the means 
 to this end were hidden from her, and from 
 time to time he informed them that things 
 were going favourably, and thus the rent in 
 the dark cloud of misery which compassed 
 them about grew larger and larger, letting in 
 more light, and a glimpse of serener skies 
 beyond. 
 
 In due time, a short, podgy little French-
 
 A FIRST THROW. 43 
 
 man appeared on the scene — a bloated, wheezy 
 kind of person, with a voice like a worn-out 
 bag-pipe; hair like pig's bristles ; ears large, 
 and which he could move ; and a most ob- 
 sequious manner. In company with him came 
 a fat, handsome young Greek, Flambouriari 
 Bey, son of the Prince of Chios, and of a cele- 
 brated beauty, who had ruled supreme in 
 Pera for many a year in byegone days. This 
 youth was an Attache at the Turkish Em- 
 bassy, and the deference with which he 
 treated the English ladies, in spite of their 
 poverty, made a most favourable impression. 
 He had been dispatched, so he informed them, 
 to state that the Imperial Trade had been 
 received ordering a restitution to be made of 
 certain moneys to Madame Ostrolenka, but 
 at the same time that lady was not to inter- 
 pret this concession as a revocation of the 
 edict of exile which had banished her from the 
 Ottoman Empire. But this banishment, he 
 went on in his private capacity to say, should 
 not weigh heavily on Madame Ostrolenka. 
 He knew what this sort of exile meant ; his 
 own mother had been exiled over and over 
 again, but always returned ; but he did not
 
 44 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 mention that his mother was surpassingly 
 beautiful. 
 
 The delight of Mrs. Romeyn and her 
 daughter knew no bounds, and even the 
 presence of these two strangers could not 
 repress their feelings or keep back their tears 
 of gratitude. 
 
 "Thank God, my darling Madeline," says 
 Mrs. Romeyn. " I really think our worst days 
 are over." 
 
 Then the Attache bowed and took his de- 
 parture, but the Frenchman, whose name 
 was Restigouche, remained behind and now 
 volunteered to accompany them to the Turkish 
 Embassy, where he explained they could 
 at once "touch" their money which had 
 been ordered to be paid in full, but making 
 the deduction of ^4,000 as agreed on with 
 Gould. 
 
 Both ladies were very willing to accept his 
 services, but naturally Madeline enquired where 
 Gould was, and why he did not appear in 
 person to announce the success of his endea- 
 vours. Gould had been suddenly summoned 
 to London, he had left only last night, and 
 had vacated his rooms ; but Madame need feel
 
 A FIRST THROW. 45 
 
 no anxiety as to paying this ^4,000, for he, 
 Restigouche, friend of Dubois their landlord, 
 had Gould's authority to receive and disburse 
 this money. Indeed, Madame Ostrolenka 
 would herself only receive ^6,000 at the Em- 
 bassy, though giving her discharge in full for 
 £ 10,000. 
 
 To this she did not object, it made no 
 difference to her, and a short while after, she 
 and her mother accompanied by Restigouche, 
 presented themselves to the Secretary of the 
 Ottoman Legation, who at once produced the 
 sum of ^"6,000, and handed it to Madeline. 
 
 "They are Ottoman Bank Bonds," explained 
 the secretary. "Take care of them, for they 
 are payable to bearer." 
 
 Overjoyed with pleasure the mother and 
 daughter quitted the Embassy, Restigouche 
 accompanying them home again in their 
 fiacre, sitting with Madeline's small bag 
 which contained her bonds, on his knee, and 
 so excessively polite and attentive that Made- 
 line began to realize that, at all events in 
 the eyes of a needy Frenchman, she was 
 already a person of importance — a woman of 
 fortune.
 
 46 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 But for a time there was hardly room for 
 anything but devout thankfulness in her heart, 
 and even the slight pressure of her hand, 
 which this perspiring Gaul permitted himself 
 on saying adieu at their door, having insisted 
 in the exuberance of his attentions in carrying 
 her bag for her all the way up to the fifth floor, 
 hardly roused Madeline from the delightful 
 contemplation of the life of prospective ease 
 which lay before them. For after their long 
 struggle with want, an assured income of ^200 
 per annum which a careful investment of this 
 sum should produce, seemed fabulous wealth, 
 and what in their days of affluence would 
 have been considered a starvation pittance, 
 now appeared a real fortune. 
 
 And now Restigouche offered his services 
 to assist them in investing the money, but 
 allayed their momentary suspicion that he 
 proposed going off to do it himself, never to 
 return, by recommending them to wait until 
 the end of the month, which was near at hand, 
 and then to place it in French Rentes. The 
 advice seemed excellent, and with many 
 thanks from the ladies he took his depar- 
 ture.
 
 A FIRST THROW. 47 
 
 Scarce had Restigouche withdrawn when the 
 concierge made his appearance, cap in hand. 
 He had heard of the good fortune of the 
 ladies and came to offer his respectful con- 
 gratulations and homage. Further he came 
 to suggest that with their altered condition 
 they should better their abode. The rooms 
 below them were just vacant. Mr. Gould had 
 been called away suddenly. The proprietaire 
 would be very pleased to have them for his 
 locataires. Moreover at this moment he, the 
 concierge, had an applicant for the rooms on 
 the fifth occupied by them now. He could 
 thus kill two birds with one stone, and secure 
 the occupancy of both apartments. 
 
 The idea seemed good. 
 
 " Yes, they would move down to the fourth 
 floor at once, if he liked." 
 
 And having but few goods and chattels, 
 with the assistance of the concierge, their 
 " installation " in the new apartment is quickly 
 effected. The fourth floor is a great improve- 
 ment. A little vestibule leads from the front 
 door to two good rooms, a double-bedded 
 one and a sitting-room, whilst a diminutive 
 kitchen, with a window looking into the well-
 
 48 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 like courtyard behind the house, will enable 
 them to employ a femme de journee, a luxury 
 unknown to them for many a long and weary 
 day. 
 
 But perhaps the greatest comfort of their 
 new abode is their comparative seclusion and 
 privacy. Here they hear no neighbours' snores, 
 and drunken brawls, as they did through the 
 wretched lath and plaster partitions on the 
 fifth floor, where they were surrounded by 
 repellent specimens of la classe ouvriere, and 
 females of advanced morals, and where morn, 
 noon, and night, every sound made in any 
 one of the tenements could be heard in all 
 the others. But now they were in complete 
 seclusion, and the effect of this silence during 
 the first hour of occupying their new rooms 
 seemed the most blessed release. 
 
 " I never felt safe in those hateful rooms, 
 mother," said Madeline. " I often thought 
 that wretched Jules, in the next room, was bor- 
 ing holes through the lath and plaster. What 
 a comfort to feel that one can move about 
 without being spied on and overheard." 
 
 " Yes, darling, I feel happier and safer 
 here."
 
 A FIRST THROW. 49 
 
 And the two women busied themselves, with 
 almost childish delight, in setting their house 
 in order, and never ceased planning their new 
 mode of life. Towards five o'clock they were 
 annoyed at receiving a second visit from 
 Monsieur Restigouche, who had, however, 
 since the morning, done something to improve 
 his personal appearance. " He would not," he 
 said " trouble the ladies by coming in. He had 
 just had a line from his friend Gould — -posted en 
 route to London. The letter contained a thou- 
 sand messages for ces dames. Gould kissed their 
 hands, and begged they would make use of 
 the enclosed stalls for the theatre, now of no 
 service to him — to see the great success of the 
 season, Tete de Linotte ; the most admirable 
 and amusing piece in Paris. Gould had sent 
 three tickets, and if the ladies would do him, 
 Restigouche, the extreme honour of allowing 
 him to accompany them he should be only 
 too proud to do so." At first Mrs. Romeyn 
 and Madeline refused both offers — but finally 
 Restigouche was so pressing, and their spirits 
 were so elated by their recent stroke of good 
 fortune, that they consented. At half past 
 seven Restigouche returned for them, having 
 vol. 1. 4
 
 50 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 done something still more to improve his ap- 
 pearance, though he still looked so greasy and 
 hot that the Englishwomen could not believe 
 it was owing to soap and water. There was, 
 it is true, a sickly smell of soap about him, 
 but this appeared to have come through the 
 process of being shaved, as there were no 
 outward indications of any such application 
 to his hands or neck which still retained their 
 grey and frowsy appearance. However, he 
 was perfectly well pleased with himself, and 
 cast occasional glances at his own mottled 
 countenance in the looking-glass which, in a 
 tawdry gilt frame decked the marble console, 
 and after each inspection appeared so satisfied 
 with what he saw that he smiled, and then 
 turned and gazed approvingly at Madeline. 
 
 Then the ladies withdrew into their bedroom 
 for a few minutes to prepare for their evening's 
 outing, and as they closed the door, Resti- 
 gouche, laying down his hat, noiselessly crossed 
 the room and applied his well-trained eye to 
 the keyhole. What he sees evidently causes 
 him the deepest interest, — Madeline dragging 
 their only trunk from underneath the bed — - 
 then taking from the recesses of her bosom
 
 A FIRST THROW. $i 
 
 a key with which she opens it. Inside is the 
 little bag containing" the bonds. 
 
 "What do you think, mother. Shall I take 
 them with us ? They are so heavy and 
 bulky." 
 
 " No, darling. — They are safe enough there. 
 All those locks are good." 
 
 So Madeline deposits her bonds in the trunk 
 — relocks it and carefully replaces the key in 
 her dress. 
 
 Then after some further preparations they 
 return to the sitting-room where Restigouche 
 is now leaning over the rail of the open window 
 apparently deeply interested in watching a 
 cat crawling along the gutter of the house 
 opposite. 
 
 " What perseverance have those animals ! " 
 he says, "See — I have watched that cat 
 for ten minutes — all the time you were in 
 your room. He came from round the corner 
 there, near the Place Louvois and he is still 
 creeping along to try and catch that little 
 bird." 
 
 " I hope he will not," says Madeline, "but 
 come — we are ready." 
 
 Then they sally forth, Madeline carefully 
 
 "*'ve»siiv of ruwois
 
 52 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 locking the door of the apartment opening 
 on to the staircase and taking the key with 
 her. 
 
 On their way downstairs Restigouche stops 
 for a moment at the entresol ; he has a 
 message to give Dubois, and rejoins them 
 almost before they are outside the porte 
 cochere, which the concierge, even at this 
 early hour, keeps closed, for he is a most 
 careful janitor. The piece, Tete de Linotte, 
 is exceedingly amusing, — the ludicrously 
 French conception of a woman systematically 
 betraying and deceiving her husband, out of 
 sheer stupidity and giddiness, and defending 
 her conduct on the same principles as the girl 
 in Struwelpeter, who will play with matches ; 
 the idiotical husband who is duped by every 
 one and believes the most transparent lies, and 
 the enterprising lover, all go to make up one 
 of those absurd pieces at which no one but 
 a person with settled melancholia can resist 
 laughing. 
 
 The roars of laughter from the audience were 
 infectious, and even though Mrs. Romeyn 
 and Madeline did not approve of the morals 
 of the piece, by the time the play was
 
 A FIRST THROW. 53 
 
 over, both confessed that they had not en- 
 joyed so hearty a laugh for many a long day, 
 and both felt happier and lighter. Then 
 Restigouche proposed further gallantries, in 
 the shape of supper, but this the ladies 
 declined, and saying good-night to him at 
 the street door, which was opened by the 
 concierge to admit them, they went up to their 
 rooms. 
 
 Madeline struck a light— her mother had 
 gone straight into the bedroom, leaving the 
 folding-doors open, and as the gaslight 
 streamed in, Mrs. Romeyn suddenly gave a 
 scream. In an instant Madeline was at her 
 side. 
 
 " What is it ? Mother ! mother ! " 
 
 "Look; oh! Madeline, look! The trunk! 
 Oh, God ! what has happened ? " 
 
 But Madeline stands dumbly gazing, at 
 once realising the terrible catastrophe which 
 has befallen them. The trunk is wide open, 
 the lock smashed, her clothes scattered pell 
 mell everywhere ; but no trace of her small 
 black bag and her bonds. She cannot move, 
 even to help her mother, who, stunned by the 
 terrible revulsion of feeling, has fallen in-
 
 54 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 sensible across the bed. But Madeline rouses 
 herself to help her mother, all the while 
 repeating some ridiculous phrase of the play- 
 she has been listening to, and feeling as if 
 some unreal thing had happened. 
 
 Then, having restored her mother to con- 
 sciousness, and having insisted on her going 
 to bed, she goes down to see the concierge. 
 He has not yet retired ; and is thunderstruck 
 at the news. Who can have done it? But 
 alas ! he deplores infinitely that no one is 
 responsible but Madame herself. And this she 
 is fully aware of. For she had taken the key 
 of her apartment with her instead of leaving it 
 with him. 
 
 A night of deep misery, and a miserable 
 awakening, and then, — as to remain in these 
 comfortable quarters is impossible, — a return 
 to the old rooms on the fifth ; to the per- 
 forated walls of lath and plaster; to the din 
 and shout of Parisian blackguardism and 
 the shrill, discordant cries of the disreputable 
 women ; to the old toil and struggle for bare 
 existence, from which they had momentarily 
 escaped. 
 
 For after all the concierge had not let the
 
 A FIRST THRO TV. 55 
 
 rooms upstairs, and Mrs. Romeyn and Made- 
 line were only too thankful for even this 
 slight mercy, which at least gave their heads 
 covering in their forlorn condition.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A RENCONTRE. 
 
 The sudden shock on discovering the robbery 
 of the bonds, and the bitter disappointment 
 to being again reduced to desperate straits, 
 brought on an illness for Mrs. Romeyn ; and, 
 what with the anxiety of nursing her mother, 
 and the difficulty she had in obtaining any 
 kind of work, Madeline was nearly at her wits' 
 end. If she could have raised the money for 
 the journey she had almost made up her mind 
 to brave her father's fury, and to endeavour, 
 by a personal appeal, to make some impression 
 on him on behalf of her mother. And, as 
 things got worse at last she did write : in spite 
 of her mother's earnest entreaty that she would 
 not. Mrs. Romeyn was right, the first letter 
 remained unanswered ; a second was returned 
 unopened, so they gave up all thoughts of 
 help in that quarter, or hope of softening
 
 A RENCONTRE. 57 
 
 that hard, relentless heart. And things got 
 still worse, — the very neighbours, beyond the 
 lath and plaster, got to know that ces dames 
 anglaises were actually without a crust of bread; 
 had pawned their very blankets, and their 
 dresses, save one ; and that the mother, in 
 the meanwhile, was growing weaker and 
 weaker. Till Madeline, going out to look for 
 work, found, one morning, a loaf of bread and 
 a pot of milk, placed at their door ; and again 
 the same next morning ; and occasionally a 
 few slices of galantine, or a few shreds of 
 vegetables for their pot au feu, if they had 
 one. At first even hunger could not entirely 
 vanquish Madeline's pride ; she recoiled from 
 this humble and anonymous assistance, but 
 then she rightly felt that in refusing it she 
 might be injuring some sensitive heart, who, 
 perhaps, took pleasure in thus doing good 
 by stealth, so she took in the supplies and 
 replaced the pot outside. And what would 
 she have thought if she had seen the un- 
 known hand that befriended her ? What 
 would she, or many of us, have said, had we 
 seen this ministering angel coming in the form 
 of the noisiest and most abandoned of all her
 
 58 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 female neighbours ? But such was neverthe- 
 less the case, and the wife and daughter of 
 an English millionaire were fed by the crumbs 
 literally picked up in the streets of Paris by 
 a poor degraded outcast. 
 
 Madeline, however, had not yet lost all 
 courage. She braced herself up to face the 
 situation, and, bethinking her of the beautiful 
 voice with which Providence had gifted her, 
 and mindful of all the costly training that 
 that voice had received in the days when the 
 sunshine of prosperity still shone for her, she 
 determined, in this last extremity, to try and 
 make use of this accomplishment. But to 
 obtain employment of this kind was no easy 
 matter. Every application she made at the 
 theatres and concert rooms failed ; at the 
 former, because not being considered eligible 
 for anything but minor parts she would have 
 had to appear in costumes from which her 
 modesty shrank, and at the latter because 
 she had not the necessary dresses. At last 
 she went boldly to an obscure cafe chantant 
 in the Faubourg Montmartre, and there offered 
 her services at so low a scale that they were 
 accepted. For several weeks she never missed
 
 A RENCONTRE. 59 
 
 a night, going early, coming home late, and 
 all for a miserable pittance of three francs for 
 each performance, earned in an atmosphere 
 that was stifling ; amidst scenes that were 
 little short of loathsome; and brought into 
 unavoidable contact with that most debased 
 product of all modern civilisation, the Paris 
 Gandin. To these reptiles, immoral past cure, 
 it was incumbent on her to be civil ; an 
 implied part of her contract, just as much as 
 that she should submit to their rude stare, 
 standing on the little low stage, in an 
 evening costume provided by her employer, 
 displaying the symmetrical beauty of her 
 shoulders and delicate arms. 
 
 Then, the performance over, she had to run 
 the gauntlet of their offensive attentions, and 
 when it became known that she was hard up 
 and supporting her mother — as it soon did 
 — their persecutions became more violent. 
 Nightly she was followed by some half-tipsy 
 ruffians, and so unbearable became her exist- 
 ence that, but for that poor starving woman 
 in the Rue St. Anne, she might verily have 
 sought eternal rest in the dark waters of the 
 Seine.
 
 60 SWIFTER THAN A WE A VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 But a new departure in her own life, and 
 that of many others, was at hand, through 
 a chance midnight meeting ; an incident 
 common in the life of every poor woman 
 situated as she was. 
 
 For hurrying home one night with bitter 
 thoughts throbbing in her brain, she chanced 
 to observe a face, which even across the street 
 seemed familiar to her — a man, arm-in-arm 
 with another. Impelled by curiosity, or 
 guided by the hand of destiny, she crossed the 
 street and followed the men until the light of 
 a lamp fell on them. Her surprise was great 
 on recognising that Gould was one of them — 
 the other, a much younger man, whom she did 
 not know. In a moment her mind connected 
 Gould with the loss of the bonds. Call it what 
 you please, intuition, a good guess, second 
 sight, anything, but there it was — rooted in her 
 mind — after the manner of women. 
 
 Therefore she hesitated to accost him, again 
 following her instinct. What would she gain 
 by so doing? Better wait and watch. At a 
 distance, safe from recognition, she followed 
 the two men, who were talking loud in the 
 almost deserted street, though their words did
 
 A RENCONTRE. 61 
 
 not reach her, and then they both suddenly 
 disappeared under the archway leading into 
 a handsome hotel in the Rue Neuve St. 
 Augustin. But in less than a minute Gould's 
 companion emerged and turned so sharply 
 towards where Madeline stood that he could 
 not but notice that there was hesitancy in the 
 attitude of this solitary way-farer. He came 
 straight towards her, and from his slightly 
 unsteady gait Madeline could see he had 
 evidently been drinking rather more wine than 
 he could comfortably carry, and having no 
 wish to encounter her half-tipsy countryman, she 
 at once beat a retreat to the other side of the 
 street. But the man was not to be so easily 
 got rid of; as what young man of spirit would ? 
 Is he not perfectly justified in chasing every 
 unfortunate woman in the streets by night, 
 whether on business or pleasure intent ? 
 
 " Here's a- lark — devilish well-made girl — 
 by Jove ! " says the youth to himself, as he 
 instantly gives chase and in a few strides has 
 overtaken her. 
 
 " Oo ally vous, Madame ? laissy moi ally 
 avec vous," and he half lifts his hat, with 
 what he supposes to be the pink of courtesy —
 
 62 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 1 Must do this kind of thing in Parry, you know 
 — goes down with the women.' 
 
 But the woman whom this mark of deference 
 is intended to captivate or conciliate has drawn 
 up sharply, and with great dignity accosts him 
 in his own language, to his dismay and surprise. 
 
 " Be good enough to go your own way. 
 Sir, and leave me to go mine." 
 
 Something in her voice and manner tells 
 him he has made a mistake, for he is not a 
 bad-hearted kind of fellow. " Oh ! I really 
 beg your pardon," says he, again fumbling at 
 his hat and feeling himself inexpressibly foolish. 
 u I really am sorry, Madam, 'pon my honour — 
 fact is, I'm fresh in Paris — all alone you know 
 — fact is, I'd just seen my friend there into his 
 hotel " 
 
 " There stop, Sir. It is a perfect matter of 
 indifference to me what you are, or where you 
 have been." 
 
 "But really, Madam," he goes on — intending 
 further to apologise, but not having tact 
 enough to see he has already said enough. 
 
 " Will you leave me, Sir," says Madeline 
 angrily. " If you do not, I will call that 
 Sergent de ville at the corner," for at that
 
 A RENCONTRE. 63 
 
 moment one of these myrmidons makes his 
 appearance. 
 
 " Oh don't, Madam — please don't. I swear 
 I meant no offence." He is sobered at the 
 prospect of a night in a cell with the certainty 
 of a heavy fine in the morning. 
 
 But whilst this is passing through his mind, 
 another train of ideas has formed itself in 
 Madeline's. She is determined to try and find 
 out something about Gould and what he is 
 doing in Paris. 
 
 " Say no more about it," she says, in a 
 kinder tone. " I see you are young. Let me 
 give you a word of advice. Every woman 
 who has the misfortune to be out at night is 
 not necessarily bad. You have no right to 
 insult such as these ; and here, too, in Paris, 
 you, presumably an English gentleman, should 
 set a better example." 
 
 He feels abashed. He knows it is all rub- 
 bish about the example. No one will follow 
 it if he does ; besides which the force of an 
 example which is always demonstrated by 
 negatives is not very cogent. But she has 
 called him a gentleman, or at least given him 
 the benefit of the doubt, and not being per-
 
 64 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 fectly sure that he is in any way entitled to be 
 so considered, he feels highly flattered. 
 
 " Look here," he says awkwardly, " you are 
 quite right. A chap has no right to carry 
 on — unless he feels sure. And now that I see 
 you near I feel I have been a regular black- 
 guard to have stopped you." 
 
 " I don't mind," she says, " only pray re- 
 member — remember your own mother — and 
 sisters if you have any." 
 
 " The fact is," says the man, "there are 
 mothers and mothers. Mine is a good one, 
 right enough ; but lots of them do nothing to 
 keep fellows straight." 
 
 " Are you staying in Paris ? " says Madeline, 
 who has finally resolved to pump him as to 
 Gould's movements, and as she speaks she 
 turns and takes a step. He follows her 
 deferentially. 
 
 " May I walk along with you a bit ? " he 
 says. " I am so lonely here in Paris. I 
 don't know what to do with myself." 
 
 " I do not mind. Yes, you may." 
 
 " You asked how long I remain ; it depends 
 on my friend Gould, the man I am over with." 
 
 "Gould? what Gould? I saw your friend
 
 A RENCONTRE. 65 
 
 before you saw me. I think I have seen some 
 one like him before." 
 
 "Likely enough; he's often in Paris. He 
 was here three or four months ago, for a 
 goodish long time at a stretch." 
 
 " On business ? " says Madeline. 
 
 " Yes ; and good business, too," replies 
 the man, laughing, — his spirits recovering. 
 " He made a pot of money." 
 
 "Did he really!" says Madeline, in a 
 voice of feigned indifference, but deeply 
 interested. 
 
 "Well, when I say he made it, I don't 
 exactly mean he collared the swag right off, 
 you know. He got hold of it, but he left it 
 in other hands, and now he is over here to 
 get it." 
 
 " And is that all his business ? " says Made- 
 line. 
 
 " Why, bless me, Madam," says the young 
 man, stopping for a moment. "You beat a 
 Q. C. ! " 
 
 " I don't understand." 
 
 "A Q. C. — a Queen's Counsel, you know; 
 and a regular 'Old Bailey' one at that." 
 
 " I think I comprehend, and I may seem 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER S SHUTTLE. 
 
 curious, but as I said before, I thought I had 
 seen your friend before. What other business 
 did you say he had ? " 
 
 " I didn't say he had any ; but I don't mind 
 telling you. For you will pardon me, I 
 like you. I like your face ; and you're frank, 
 and what's more, good — and it's few good 
 women I know." 
 
 Madeline makes no answer, but looks at 
 him, with the light of the gas lamp streaming 
 down clear into her large grey wistful eyes. 
 
 He is slightly discomposed, and begins 
 again, — 
 
 " Well, Madam, I don't mean to say I talk 
 about my friend's business to every one, and 
 it's a rum thing to talk to you about it ; but if 
 you really care to know, he has come over 
 here to look after some Turkish and Greek 
 business. A great Turkish lady is mixed up 
 with it. She comes originally from Beyrout, 
 I think." 
 
 "From Beyrout," says Madeline, unable to 
 suppress a tone of surprise in the intense in- 
 terest of this communication. 
 
 "Yes, Beyrout, in Syria you know; not 
 the other place where they give operas."
 
 A RENCONTRE. 67 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know. Beyrout in Syria. And 
 what is the lady's name ? " 
 
 " Artaki. Her husband is, or was, a great 
 Turkish swell ; a Pasha, and all kinds of things.' ' 
 
 " Why do you say, is or was ? " 
 
 " Because no one knows much about him. 
 Some say he's dead ; some say she's divorced." 
 
 "And do you know her yourself? Is she 
 very beautiful ? " 
 
 " No, I don't," says the man in some 
 surprise at this half guess. " But she is beau- 
 tiful ; an out and outer, from all accounts. 
 Gould is always in raptures about her." 
 
 By this time they are out on the Boulevard, 
 which is beginning to thin, and Madeline, 
 anxious to learn all she can, suggests their 
 sitting down. 
 
 " So she is beautiful ? Is she your friend's 
 — -friend ? ' ' 
 
 4 'Well, I can't say, you see, for Gould is 
 such an awful liar ; he is so vain too. He 
 pretends every woman is in love with him, 
 and takes away the character of every blessed 
 woman he meets." 
 
 "A bad companion, I should think." 
 
 " Bad ! you're right there, just about as bad
 
 68 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 as they're made," says the man with a laugh. 
 " He is almost too bad even for our lot." 
 
 "How too bad for your lot?" she says, 
 repeating his words. " Why do you associate 
 with him if he is so bad ? " 
 
 " That is just what I can't well say, except 
 that I have been bred up amongst them, and 
 one most live, vou know." 
 
 "Not necessarily by dishonesty though, or 
 with a man so bad as you describe this 
 Gould." 
 
 " I don't describe him worse than he is, 
 for, bad as I am, I hate a man who takes away 
 women's characters. It is a low, lying kind 
 of thing." 
 
 " The man who does it is worse than bad," 
 says Madeline, "he is a villain." 
 
 "You are quite right again, he is an accursed 
 villain — why, look ! only this last time in Paris, 
 what Gould came home and told us about ! If 
 that wasn't villainy I should like to know what 
 is?" 
 
 "And what was that? " 
 
 " Oh ! a long, long thing, too long, and 
 too private to tell ; but he got in tow with 
 a widow — very beautiful woman according
 
 A RENCONTRE. 69 
 
 to him, and then chiselled her out of all her 
 money.' ' 
 
 " And he never mentioned her name ? " 
 " No — at least not to me. You see I am 
 only a kind of confidential clerk, and don't 
 hear everything." 
 
 " Confidential clerk to Gould ? " 
 " No, not exactly, but to his pal in London, 
 a Mr. Belmore Chertsey, a kind of financier — 
 living in Cannon Street, No. 500, opposite the 
 station." 
 
 " Belmore Chertsey, 500, Cannon Street," 
 repeats Madeline to herself; and then aloud, 
 " And may I ask your name ? " 
 " Certainly ; my name is Roger Pitt." 
 " Well, Mr. Pitt, I am sure it seems strange 
 my talking to you like this, but see — I mean 
 to trust you — I think there is something better 
 in your nature than you think. Tell me; would 
 you help a woman who was down at the 
 bottom of the ladder of poverty, who had been 
 robbed and cheated ? ' ' 
 
 Pitt turns round, and looks at her steadily. 
 Something in her appeals to the latent chivalry 
 which underlies most natures, and is a large 
 component part of his.
 
 70 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " So help me God, I would ! And gladly 
 too. Look you — I think a man is a brute that 
 won't do right sometimes." 
 
 "I agree with you," says Madeline, "and 
 though I don't want to preach you a sermon, 
 I would tell you what I know to be true in the 
 lives of men and women. An opportunity 
 arises of doing a good action, and taking the 
 right path. The rest of our lives depend on 
 how we chose at that moment. I believe that 
 here, talking with a woman whose very name 
 you don't know, your opportunity has come. 
 Stop and think how you will decide." 
 
 " I had decided when I spoke before," he 
 says, in an altered tone, and with a ring of 
 truth in his voice that does not escape 
 Madeline. 
 
 " Then you may be able to help some one I 
 know." 
 
 " I should only be too willing, for you bring 
 out what is best in a fellow. Many good 
 women don't come knocking about my way 
 — indeed I don't believe there are such a 
 wonderful lot of them — for if there were more 
 — more of your sort — there would be less of 
 mine."
 
 A RENCONTRE. 71 
 
 " You may be right — to a certain extent — 
 but surely you have some women friends in 
 whom you believe ? " 
 
 " Only my mother; all my female friends 
 are of the free and easy kind ; palling with a 
 chap when he has money, you know — cutting 
 him when he's run dry." 
 
 "I am sorry for you," says Madeline, 
 kindly. 
 
 "I am sorry for myself," says Pitt, laughing 
 good-humouredly. " But it ain't much good. 
 A clerk with Chertsey — who doesn't pay his 
 salaries too regularly — is not much sought 
 after in decent society." 
 
 " No, I am afraid he is not, I know well 
 enough what temptations you have ; but still, 
 you don't object to respectable people, and, 
 if you like, if you would care to, you may 
 come and see me. I live with my mother." 
 
 "Bless me," says Pitt, " you do me a great 
 honour. I should particularly like to. I have 
 been trying to screw up courage to ask if 
 I might, but I was afraid of offending you." 
 
 " You need not be afraid of that, for I have 
 a particular reason for asking you. I can say 
 no more now — except that I would ask you to
 
 12 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 give me your faithful promise, your word of 
 honour, not to mention having met me, or 
 spoken to me, to a living soul." 
 
 " On my honour, I will not, — not to a living 
 soul, whatever comes of it." 
 
 " Thank you, sincerely and truly," says 
 Madeline putting out her hand. " / am the 
 woman you can help, but how, I cannot tell you 
 now. I do not wish you to come and see me 
 in Paris, but to an address I shall give you in 
 London. I have yours. I made a note of it 
 on this card. Belmore Chertsey, 500, Cannon 
 Street, — Roger Pitt. 
 
 " Quite right, that will find me, but it is 
 better for you to call. No one will see you. 
 My office door opens on the stairs." 
 
 " Well now, one word more and then I must 
 say good-night. Mr. Gould — he is waiting 
 for this Madame Artaki, and they go to 
 London. Do you know what this Turkish or 
 Greek business is? " 
 
 "No, as I said before, only in putting two 
 and two together. I think it has something to 
 do with the widow Gould spoke about in Paris, 
 and in some roundabout way with the money 
 Gould laid hold of then."
 
 A RENCONTRE. 73 
 
 " And that is all you know ? " 
 
 " Absolutely all," he replies in a decided 
 tone. 
 
 " Then now, good-night, don't follow me 
 home. I am well-known and it might get me 
 talked about. And, above all, remember I 
 trust you not to mention this to any one." 
 
 " On my honour, I won't,' says Pitt. " I feel 
 that what you say is true, this may be my 
 chance of becoming a decent kind of man. 
 And with the help of God I won't chuck it 
 away." 
 
 " If you are in earnest, you have gone 
 further towards that end than you think," 
 says Madeline, and she again gives him her 
 hand and looks up at him — a nondescript 
 kind of British face with nothing remarkable 
 in it but a look of resolution and eyes that 
 never flinch. " And now, good night; in a 
 few days I shall see you in London." 
 
 " And may I know your name ? " 
 
 "Certainly, for I trust you already; my 
 name is Ostrolenka." 
 
 " Ostrolenka," he repeats with difficulty. 
 "No, I have not heard that name." 
 
 " You will again, though."
 
 74 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I trust I shall," he says, taking off his hat 
 and standing bare-headed. 
 
 " And I trust so too, for I believe that 
 Providence has led me to meet you to-night, 
 and I feel that I have not done wrong in trust- 
 ing you. Good-night." 
 
 And she gives his hand a warm shake, the 
 strength of which surprises him, in those small 
 thin fingers. 
 
 Pitt stands watching her until she vanishes 
 in the darkness and then sits down on the 
 bench, and leans his head on his hands. 
 
 " Bless me ! if that isn't the noblest and 
 best woman I ever knew ! and what a face ! so 
 calm, so courageous, — not exactly beautiful 
 — but, by Jove, what eyes ! So mighty cute 
 too ! Why Chertsey and Gould are mere 
 fools to her ! 
 
 Then he lights a cigarette and strolls to his 
 hotel in the Rue St. Honore and goes to bed ; 
 haunted to his last waking moment by the 
 grey eyes and the thin oval face, which have 
 so powerfully impressed him, and conscious, 
 somehow, of feeling more of a gentleman than 
 he has ever felt before. 
 
 It was later than usual when Madeline got
 
 A RENCONTRE. 75 
 
 home and her mother was beginning to be 
 anxious — not unnaturally — living in a city 
 where murder is a pastime for a large portion 
 of its inhabitants ; and especially as at this 
 time one of those epidemics of assassination 
 had set in which makes the delight of the 
 Boulevardier as he reads his paper, sipping 
 some sweet mess under the awning of his 
 favourite cafe. 
 
 But Madeline was in high spirits, for her 
 presentiment on catching sight of Gould that 
 that he was connected with the loss of her 
 bonds had, by the singular rencontre with this 
 man Pitt, ripened into settled conviction. 
 And already many plans were passing through 
 her mind, but as yet only immaturely, and these 
 kept her thinking until she and her mother 
 retired to their joint bed. But even in her sleep 
 Gould's face followed her, growing more and 
 more that of a thief. With the morning light 
 she was up and preparing for their frugal 
 meal, and still Gould's image was with her. 
 She never had trusted him, even in the days 
 when he was apparently serving them in a 
 disinterested way ; for she had been all along 
 aware that but for studied reserve on her
 
 76 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 part he would soon have sought to con- 
 vert acquaintanceship into a tie of another 
 nature. But now this hint of Pitt's that he 
 had falsely and foully boasted of having been 
 near and dear to her filled her with more 
 anger against him even than the loss of her 
 bonds. And still more incensed with him 
 would she have been had she known that, with 
 aforethought and deliberate intent, this man 
 intended to blacken her fame as likely to 
 give him a hold over her should she ever get 
 inconveniently near the traces of other mat- 
 ters of transcendent importance to both of 
 them. 
 
 But whatever she felt, Madeline was not a 
 woman to risk failure by hasty or ill-con- 
 sidered action. She set her mind to work to 
 plan out the whole scheme of the campaign 
 she proposed to undertake, and, like a skilful 
 general, first considered ways and means. 
 This was a paramount difficulty, and indeed her 
 inability to prosecute enquiries through want 
 of money was one of the factors that those 
 who had robbed her had already taken into 
 consideration. But Madeline had now been 
 singing at the Cafe for nearly three months,
 
 A RENCONTRE. 77 
 
 and had succeeded in laying up a little store 
 of money, besides having been able to redeem 
 many of her own and her mother's garments 
 from the Mont de Piete. She would have 
 sufficient to take her to London and bring her 
 back, and once there she hoped to be able to 
 do what she wished in a few days. So with 
 this settled she now betook herself to the Bois 
 de Boulogne, it being three in the afternoon, 
 for she thought she would be sure to see 
 Gould there, and that possibly the ' Lady from 
 Beyrout, 9 whom she was most anxious to see, 
 would be with him. In this she was not dis- 
 appointed, for before she had reached the 
 Barriere de l'Etoile a landau drawn by a pair 
 of handsome greys passed her with Gould, 
 whom she could not possibly mistake, seated 
 in it with an expression of gratified vanity on 
 his face, whilst by his side lounged a beautiful 
 and most sumptuously apparelled woman of 
 five or six-and-twenty, with that conscious, 
 self-possessed manner common to all lovely 
 women, who pass the better part of their 
 lives in seeing every male head turn round 
 to stare after them. But Madeline only got 
 a momentary glimpse of the woman's face,
 
 78 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 and that did not recall any one she could 
 remember to have seen before. 
 
 " No," says Madeline. "I have never seen 
 her before. But what a wonderful woman, — 
 every head in the Champs Elysees turning 
 after her ! And that wretch Gould ! But she 
 does not seem very much taken up with him." 
 Then Madeline turned and walked back, and 
 as was not unnatural in that world's promenade 
 came across Mr. Roger Pitt, strolling along 
 with a cigar in his mouth, and a meditative 
 expression on his face. As he advanced, he 
 caught sight of Madeline, and hesitated a 
 moment as to whether he should address her, 
 not feeling sure that he might not be giving 
 offence by a public recognition. She however, 
 solved the difficulty for him, by crossing over 
 the path to meet him. 
 
 "Only a word, Mr. Pitt," says Madeline. 
 " I must not be seen speaking to you, in case 
 the landau turns at the top and comes back. 
 You saw them, I suppose? " 
 
 " Yes, I saw them. He looks as pleased as 
 a boy with a tin trumpet, sitting by her side." 
 
 " Well he might; she is a superb woman," 
 says Madeline, amused at the simile.
 
 A RENCONTRE. yg 
 
 " Have you seen her before ? " 
 
 " No, never. But how long do you and 
 Mr. Gould remain in Paris?" 
 
 " We leave to-night; Madame Artaki goes 
 with us. We seem to have settled affairs here, 
 or rather they have, for I have not been 
 wanted." 
 
 "Then you have nothing to tell me?" 
 
 "No, nothing, not a word," answers Pitt. 
 
 " Then my plan is to come to London, too, 
 and then I shall come to see you." 
 
 "I shall be only too happy to see you," 
 replies Pitt, looking with eyes whose admira- 
 tion he cannot conceal, at the delicate high- 
 bred face. " If you wish to find me in my 
 office, come rather early, Mr. Chertsey need 
 not see you ; or if you prefer, I will come any- 
 where you tell me, to meet you." 
 
 "Thank you, I will find you out, and until 
 then I will say good-bye." 
 
 And bowing she passed on and left him 
 staring after her. For she had already worked 
 a change in him, of which he himself was now 
 perfectly aware, and yet could not understand. 
 
 "How extraordinary this is!" soliloquises 
 Pitt. " Here is a woman I have only seen
 
 So SWIFTER THAA A WEAVER'S SB UTILE. 
 
 once before in my life, and that only last night, 
 and yet, so help me ! I would do more for her 
 than any mortal woman I have ever seen. 
 Her voice, so soft and gentle, her eyes so true 
 and kind and yet so severe, — that sweet smile ! 
 But she looks thin about the face ; as if she 
 had had an awful lot of trouble. Now I 
 wonder what it really all means.' ' 
 
 Then he strolled up towards the Barriere 
 and on into the Bois de Boulogne where, in 
 due time he came across Gould and his com- 
 panion to whom, as he stood amongst a knot 
 of people whose eyes were fixed on the beauty, 
 he politely took off his hat, as he had been 
 presented to her that morning. Instantly 
 those near her turned to look at him, as a 
 person of some interest, in that he appeared to 
 know the lady, who had already excited their 
 admiration and curiosity. But in a moment 
 Pitt was unpleasantly conscious of a general 
 titter, for both Gould and the lady cut him 
 dead. 
 
 "D — n his impudence! " says Pitt to him- 
 self. " The impudent scoundrel. By Jove 
 I'll be one with him for that. And she too, 
 confound her cheek! "
 
 A RENCONTRE. Si 
 
 Who knows how much that one act of rude- 
 ness cost Gould ! For it settled deep in the 
 heart of this young man, just as there was a 
 dawning of better things in him — settled down 
 and rankled there, and then, by a natural 
 process carried his thoughts to the suffering 
 face of the woman he had promised to help. 
 
 " If that brute has injured her" mutters Pitt 
 to himself, " let him stand off the grass. By 
 heaven I'll make it hot for him ! " 
 
 Madeline had walked rapidly home, her mind 
 made up, and she now entered into a complete 
 explanation with her mother. Mrs. Romeyn 
 was not a very strong-minded person, and never 
 had been a match for this self-reliant daughter ; 
 she consequently had not a word to say in 
 opposition to her plan of going to London. 
 Then Madeline sent for the concierge and asked 
 him if he could find a respectable girl to 
 look after her mother for a few days. This 
 he could do and also promised to have a 
 constant eye on madame la mere himself. For 
 he deeply deplored the robbery which had 
 taken place, and which he protested he never 
 could understand. 
 
 In the evening Madeline packed up a few 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 things in a hand-bag, and going to the St. 
 Lazare station, took her ticket for London via 
 Dieppe. It was not without emotion that she 
 once more found herself in London, that vast city 
 where so many years of her youth had been 
 passed and where the leading incident in her life, 
 the meeting with her husband, had occurred. 
 But how changed was all now ! and, as she 
 alighted on the platform of the Victoria Station 
 with the cool morning air fanning her cheeks, 
 she could not but feel depressed and lonely. In 
 the steamer she had made the acquaintance of 
 a young French girl going over to London to 
 seek for service, and, like Madeline, friendless 
 and alone. Madeline had felt greatly touched 
 by the girl's simplicity and frankness ; had 
 listened to, and had thoroughly understood, 
 all the fears she had expressed of this great 
 and terrible London, a sea so full of shoals, 
 and where so many of her compatyiotes had 
 shipwrecked, and gone down altogether. But 
 still, what will you ? People must work — her 
 father was no longer well off. She had been 
 well-educated for a country girl — she might 
 get a good place as nursery governess perhaps, 
 if she only knew how to begin to look about.
 
 A RENCONTRE. 83 
 
 Madeline gave her all the advice and promised 
 all the assistance she could command, and 
 would willingly have given her temporary 
 shelter had her own resources been less slender. 
 But the distress of this unfortunate waif at 
 parting from her new-found friend, the com- 
 panion of her voyage, was so great that 
 Madeline had not the heart to leave her. 
 
 " I shall die, alone in this terrible London," 
 had said the girl, as the bustle and noise of 
 of the great terminus, and the jabber of the 
 strange language fell on her ear, seeming to 
 confuse and stun her. 
 
 And Madeline looked and saw the big brown 
 eyes full of tears and said, 
 
 " Come then, we will go together, — I, too, 
 am alone — and miserable. If you have any 
 money at all to live on for a few days you can 
 live with me until you get a place. But 
 remember I, too, am poor, and can do very 
 little to help you." 
 
 Then the French girl's tears changed from 
 those of wretchedness to thankfulness, and 
 with dramatic but genuine action she lifted 
 Madeline's gloved hand to her lips. 
 
 " Ah ! Madame ! vous etes bonne ! "
 
 84 SWIFTER THAN A WE A VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 So the two women set off together to look 
 for a lodging, leaving the French girl's box 
 to be fetched later ; and, by the advice of a 
 policeman, to whom Madeline applied, turned 
 their steps towards a street leading off the 
 Vauxhall Bridge Road, where they found two 
 small, poorly-furnished rooms, which they 
 agreed to take, and where, having fetched the 
 trunk from the station, they settled down. 
 
 And Madeline began at once to reap the 
 reward of her kind act in sheltering this 
 girl, whose name she now ascertained to be 
 Perotte Dumont, daughter of a farmer in the 
 neighbourhood of Rouen ; for Perotte set 
 about to get things in order ; and with that 
 instinct of an accomplished servant, peculiar 
 to so many Frenchwomen, prepared coffee and 
 bread and butter, which Madeline had sallied 
 forth to buy, and made the humble breakfast 
 table look so inviting that Madeline really felt 
 as if she herself had the best of the bargain 
 in having the companionship and assistance 
 of this clever, handy girl. 
 
 But Perotte would not cease to address 
 Madeline as Madame, for her native tact told 
 her plainly that in spite of her poor dress and
 
 A RENCONTRE. 85 
 
 evident poverty, this English lady was one of 
 the better born. 
 
 Whilst Perotte bustled about and put away 
 the breakfast things, Madeline sat plunged in 
 thought. Where should she begin ? indeed, 
 what was she going to do ? But neither of 
 these questions could be clearly answered until 
 she had seen Pitt, and as yet she only had a 
 dim idea that he might possibly find out some- 
 thing that would give her a clue. It seemed 
 likely enough that Gould would now have 
 these bonds in his possession, but Madeline 
 knew enough to be aware that it would be 
 difficult for him to negotiate them. The only 
 well-grounded suspicions that she had as to 
 Gould being the thief, or at least in league 
 with others, was that a duplicate latch key 
 of the apartment on the fourth floor, where the 
 robbery took place, was now missing, and had 
 been missing since Gould left. But this might 
 be easily explained, for Gould might have taken 
 it away in his pocket in a mere fit of absence 
 of mind ; a common fate of latch keys. But 
 what did appear significant was Gould having 
 sent them the tickets for the theatre, and, by 
 that means, insuring their rooms being empty
 
 86 SWIFTER THAN A WE A VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 for a time. But this would have been a useless 
 manoeuvre unless they had moved down to the 
 fourth floor. Upstairs a robbery would have 
 been risky, with the neighbours able to hear 
 everything that went on in their rooms. There- 
 fore the concierge, and probably, the landlord 
 were in league with Gould ; whilst undoubtedly 
 the horrid Restigouche would prove to be one 
 of any party where roguery was concerned. 
 
 So these were the main facts which pre- 
 sented themselves to Madeline. First, that 
 Gould had been singularly pertinacious in re- 
 covering these bonds. Secondly, that he knew 
 the exact day when they were to be in her 
 possession. Thirdly, that he had means of 
 getting into their rooms with the latch key he 
 had taken away. The rest was more or less 
 supposition ; that he had purposely gone 
 away to leave the rooms vacant, and that he 
 had arranged the whole affair with Dubois, 
 the landlord, beforehand. Then he had come 
 over again after a certain lapse of time, 
 feeling that things had quieted down, to take 
 possession of the bonds, which Madeline 
 could only surmise Gould had left in some 
 one's safe keeping in Paris.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE BETTER PART. 
 
 Gould and Madame Artaki, accompanied by 
 Pitt, had crossed the Channel on the same 
 night as Madeline, but by the shorter route 
 of Calais and Dover, for economy, especially 
 in travelling, was a matter far beneath the 
 notice of that lady. She made herself so 
 agreeable that long before they reached 
 London, Pitt was fairly fascinated by her ; 
 had forgiven her the cut, in the Bois de 
 Boulogne, and alas ! for the weakness of 
 human nature, had already begun to feel 
 the influence diminishing that that other, 
 but less brilliant woman, had temporarily 
 exerted over him. However his growing 
 detestation of Gould kept his mind in a whole- 
 some state of incertitude, for he argued with 
 himself that this woman Artaki could clearly 
 not be very nice or particular, or she would
 
 88 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 not be in the strange, not to say compromising 
 position in which he found her. 
 
 All through the journey what conversation 
 they had was of the most casual kind — Pitt 
 learnt nothing ; and, arrived in London, they 
 all three separated ; Gould, to lodgings he 
 had previously occupied in King Street, St. 
 James's; Madame Artaki, to apartments taken 
 for her by Gould in Jermyn Street ; and Pitt 
 to his own home. 
 
 But as soon as he was left to his own 
 resources — removed from the immediate pre- 
 sence of this strange woman, Pitt's mind 
 began to swing back like a pendulum to 
 thoughts of Madeline. After all the one 
 was a true woman, virtuous, high-souled and 
 noble, struggling with poverty, whilst the 
 other was in all things apparently the very 
 reverse, and not at all inclined to struggle 
 for anything that could be got by some easier 
 process. He contrasted the speech of the 
 two women; Madeline's, elevated and sincere, 
 Madame Artaki's, brilliant, sparkling, but alto- 
 gether of the world worldly. Then, too, he 
 and Madeline had something in common — 
 they were both poor — whilst as to Madame
 
 THE BETTER PART 
 
 Artaki — though she might speak kindly and 
 familiarly to him, he felt that she merely looked 
 on him as a person of no kind of consequence 
 — a mere machine — at a salary which would 
 not keep her in gloves. But how different 
 was it with Madeline ! She had recognised 
 that there was some good in him and had 
 done her best to awaken him to a truer sense 
 of honour and duty. 
 
 And in much this frame of mind, he, sitting 
 in his office in Cannon Street, heard a knock 
 at his door soon after ten on the morning of 
 his return from Paris, and opening it, beheld 
 with surprise and delight the care-worn face 
 of his better Angel, coming again, as it were, 
 to beckon him along the road he now so 
 earnestly desired to tread — a road which, often 
 during the past night had begun to look hot 
 and unprofitable when compared with the 
 glimpses that were afforded him of another, 
 strewn with flowers. 
 
 "Are you alone ? " says Madeline, giving 
 him her hand. " Can I come in ? " 
 
 " Yes, come in by all means," he replies 
 eagerly. " I am so glad to see you again." 
 
 She smiles.
 
 90 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " You have something to tell me?" 
 
 "No, nothing- unfortunately — but we can 
 talk things over. Chertsey will not be here 
 this morning, I find. He has left a note for 
 me saying so ; and Gould will not turn up 
 until the afternoon." 
 
 " I am glad of that," replies Madeline, " for 
 I have come burdened with a great deal which 
 I hope to tell you." 
 
 " Pray tell me everything you wish. I have 
 not forgotten my promise—to try and help 
 you." 
 
 "I am glad of that. Did I not feel sure 
 of it, this would truly be a leap in the dark 
 for me. But — shall I tell you ? From what 
 I have already seen of you, I am quite 
 resolved to trust you. You will not mind my 
 being frank. Something convinces me that 
 I can appeal to your better nature, and, that 
 as far as I am concerned, you will abandon 
 the tents of this dreadful set you are thrown 
 amongst." 
 
 "You are right there," he says, almost 
 solemnly, and she, looking at him admires 
 his rather manly face and hears a ring in his 
 voice which betokens truth, whilst his very
 
 THE BETTER PART 91 
 
 manner, though that of the City, shows he can 
 respond to proper or sympathetic treatment. 
 
 Then, acting on the determination to trust 
 him altogether, in the course of half an hour's 
 conversation she plainly laid all before him 
 that she could think of, describing the rooms, 
 the evening spent at the theatre, Gould's 
 sudden disappearance from Paris the day 
 before, and all that she could think of con- 
 cerning Restigouche. And then she asked 
 him if he thought she was wrong in her sur- 
 mise that these men between them had robbed 
 her? 
 
 Pitt on hearing all this was a good deal 
 upset — for it was a dangerous and difficult 
 matter to decide. He could not but reflect 
 that he was merely a clerk, dependent, if not 
 on Chertsey, still greatly so on the recom- 
 mendation that person could give him. To 
 side against Gould openly was to lose his 
 place — and to get another would be almost 
 impossible, for really respectable people would 
 shrink from employing a person of his ante- 
 cedents, whilst the men of Chertsey' s line of 
 business would have still less to do with a 
 clerk who had betrayed his master's confi-
 
 92 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 dence. He knew so well where these virtuous 
 people draw the line. He knew that he might 
 rob a public company, issue a fraudalent 
 prospectus or anything else he liked, outside 
 their ring ; but inside, No ! 
 
 But what could he do ? Here was Madame 
 Ostrolenka, openly denouncing Gould as a 
 thief, and he, in his heart, most keenly anxious 
 to help her, and feeling confident she was in 
 the right. He sat meditating for some time. 
 It was a difficult choice which lay before him — 
 the two roads again ; but some inward monitor 
 was prompting him to take the right one, and 
 in a short time he had finally decided. 
 
 Then he explained his position fully. As to 
 the bonds, he was totally and entirely ignorant 
 of them, and he thought that Madeline's sug- 
 gestion of their disappearance was the right one. 
 He cordially detested Gould, and Chertsey too, 
 and would be willing to expose them both 
 if that were only possible. As to the rela- 
 tions between Gould and Madame Artaki he 
 could say nothing, but judging from certain 
 observations he had made, he. thought it was 
 really confined to business. She appeared to 
 him far out of the reach of such a man. She
 
 THE BETTER PART. 93 
 
 seemed to have a host of worshippers, and 
 these people were made to contribute towards 
 " business," such as floating companies, issuing 
 loans, obtaining contracts, and all those hun- 
 dred and one thinly-veiled frauds which lie 
 just outside the category of criminalities. 
 
 It appeared after this conversation that there 
 was nothing to be done but for Pitt to wait 
 and watch. No doubt this last trip of Gould's 
 would bear fruit in some form. The bonds 
 may have been amongst Gould's papers for 
 all Pitt knew, or more likely still amongst 
 Madame Artaki's. 
 
 That lady had brought over an enormous 
 quantity of luggage, and evidently intended 
 to remain some time, though she had been 
 reticent in answering any questions Pitt had 
 put to her as to her movements. But he 
 had ascertained this much ; that she had been 
 under a cloud for some time : had not been 
 long in Paris, and if she had ever been in 
 London before, it must have been long ago, 
 as now she knew no one here except Gould. 
 She had taken very expensive rooms in Jermyn 
 Street and spoke of having a Victoria, foot- 
 man, etc., so that evidently money was not
 
 94 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 scarce — or was expected to be plentiful. But 
 this was all Pitt could tell her to-day. 
 
 So Madeline, having- procured both Gould's 
 address and that of Madame Artaki's, and 
 having arranged with Pitt where a letter 
 should find her, bid him good-bye for the 
 present and returned to her lodgings, where 
 she found Perotte, contented and happy — 
 making quite a bright spot in the mean little 
 room, which was filled with the sweet smell 
 of violets, a small bunch of which the girl had 
 bought from a passing flower-girl to offer as 
 a tribute to her new mistress. 
 
 Madeline's next occupation was to go 
 and see her sister Rosalie, for whom she had 
 always retained the strongest affection ; so after 
 writing to her mother to announce her safe 
 arrival, she smartened herself as best she could, 
 and, accompanied by Perotte, set out for 
 Wimpole street. What scenes the old familiar 
 streets recalled, in many respects unchanged ! 
 The same busy throng of people, the same 
 rattle and roar of traffic. Perotte appeared 
 quite bewildered, everything seemed so strange: 
 the Green Park was a paradise ; the sentries at 
 Buckingham Palace gates were giants and so
 
 THE BETTER PART. 95 
 
 proud looking; so unlike the wretched rnoblot, 
 shambling and shuffling along with his coat 
 fitting like a sack, and his accoutrements 
 hanging on him anyhow. Then the glory of 
 the shops in Regent Street and Oxford Street, 
 things undreamt of in Rouen, such luxe, such 
 wealth ! 
 
 " Truly this is a great nation, Madame," 
 says Perotte with undisguised admiration. 
 "And what pretty women! so many, one 
 after the other! And yet I always heard 
 there were no pretty women in England, that 
 all were ordinaire and had their , teeth pro- 
 jecting." 
 
 " These are caricatures," says Madeline. 
 " For my part, having seen a good many 
 countries, I can safely say I have never seen 
 such beauty anywhere as in London." 
 
 And so chatting, they reached the Romeyns' 
 house. As luck would have it, and thanks to 
 her father's genial treatment of his servants, 
 the footman who answered the door was a com- 
 plete stranger to her, which indeed would not 
 have been surprising after a lapse of more 
 than five years in many a better regulated 
 establishment. Madeline had come prepared
 
 96 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 with a note which she desired should be pre- 
 sented to Miss Romeyn, as that lady was in, 
 and that she would wait for a reply. As 
 usual with that class of person, and indeed 
 with pretty nearly all classes from king to 
 peasant, the man in livery measured his civility 
 in accordance with the shabbiness of her 
 apparel, apparent even to the male eye, and 
 taking the note turned it over and over super- 
 ciliously, as if doubting in his own mind the 
 propriety of such an exalted person as himself 
 doing messenger for " two ornery lookin' 
 womin like them." However he finally so far 
 condescended to do his duty as to carry the 
 missive to his young mistress, and, leaving 
 Madeline and Perotte in the hall, slowly drew 
 his fat calves one after the other up the stairs. 
 
 " En voila un ! " says Perotte, kindling at 
 this treatment of the lady for whom she herself 
 has already a profound respect. 
 
 " It is my clothes, Perotte," says Madeline 
 quietly. "The man does not know any better." 
 And as she is speaking, a tall, well-made young 
 man comes down the stairs with a light full on 
 him from a side window, so that Madeline, her- 
 self rather in the shade, has a good view of
 
 THE BETTER PART. 97 
 
 him. He stopped to get his stick and hat, and 
 had hardly passed out of the front door and 
 closed it behind him before another footstep 
 came running down the stairs, a youthful, beau- 
 tiful girl, in a light summer dress, appeared, and 
 before Madeline had realised that this was she 
 whom she had left behind her, a child of four- 
 teen, she found herself in the arms of her sister 
 Rosalie, who then led her away into the smok- 
 ing room at the end of the passage, Perotte 
 being provided with a chair in a little alcove 
 which led off the hall. 
 
 That after so many years' separation these 
 sisters had an infinite number of questions to 
 put to each other is only natural, and when 
 this fire of cross-examination had partially 
 subsided, Madeline began to relate some of 
 her past experiences. But she carefully 
 avoided saying what had actually brought 
 her to London, and further, exacted a most 
 binding promise from Rosalie that she should 
 not mention the fact of her being in town to 
 any one. 
 
 "But, Madge, darling," said Rosalie, "I 
 am engaged now, I have no secrets from 
 George, my future husband ; surely I may tell 
 
 vol. 1. 7
 
 98 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 him ? He is discretion itself, and he might 
 come and see you, and be of use to you." 
 
 " No, dear, I would infinitely rather you did 
 not, if you don't mind," replied Madeline. " I 
 have come on extremely important business, 
 and I can confide it to no one. If I want help 
 I can always come and find you, and then, if it 
 is a man's help I want, I can get you to send 
 me your future intended." 
 
 " Very well then, Madge," said Rosalie 
 disappointed. "But I should have liked to 
 have told him all the same. He is so true, so 
 good, so noble-minded, so all that sort of 
 thing you know — not like most men, whom 
 one cannot trust." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear all this of him, and 
 hope, darling, you will be happy. I saw a man 
 go out just now, was that your George ? " 
 
 " Yes, that was George. He left me just as 
 your note came up. You saw him then ? Do 
 you like him ? " 
 
 " I think he looks nice," replied Madeline, 
 " But how do he and father agree ? " 
 
 " Papa is delighted with him. Then you 
 know George has such sense, he never con- 
 tradicts him."
 
 THE BETTER PART. 99 
 
 "Ah!" said Madeline with a half-sup- 
 pressed sigh and a saddened look. " That 
 is sense. But not always easy to a man of 
 spirit." 
 
 But the sigh and the look have not escaped 
 Rosalie, who though only fourteen at the time 
 of her sister's marriage knew well all the un- 
 toward circumstances which had surrounded 
 it. 
 
 '" Oh ! Madge dear — how thoughtless of me, 
 what a brute I am!" says Rosalie self-re- 
 proachfully, " I had quite forgotten ! And 
 that reminds me, — poor Otho ! I have never 
 asked about him, for since you went to live 
 with mother I have never heard a word about 
 him." 
 
 Madeline's eyes drop and her lip quivers, 
 but, repressing her feelings she goes on. 
 
 " I positively cannot tell you. I do not 
 even know myself. The whole story is 
 too long to tell. But he was taken from 
 one prison in Turkey to another. What he 
 knew was enough to cost him his life. But 
 the Mahomedans, shrink from taking life 
 unnecessarily. But that does not prevent 
 them doing it by slow degrees — by cruel
 
 ioo SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 treatment — by beating — by starvation — in a 
 hundred ways more cruel than death by the 
 executioner. And a man like Otho once in 
 their hands stands a poor chance. Well, to 
 make a long story short, I have been told 
 that on one of these journeys from one 
 prison to another, my poor husband died on 
 the road, from sheer exhaustion. But how 
 can I tell if it is true ? I have not had money 
 enough to send any one to Syria to enquire. 
 It would have cost more than mother and 
 I earned in a whole year. And what could 
 they have learnt? You don't know what 
 the Turks are, how they move their prisoners 
 about, sending them purposely from one 
 place to another so as to leave no trace 
 behind them, giving no name with them, 
 often only a number, and so losing their 
 identity. People get lost like this entirely, as 
 if they were dead, and to look for them is a 
 hopeless task. Then as to writing, conceive 
 the absurdity of addressing a letter to 'Otho 
 Ostrolenka in the Prison of Beyrout ! ' What 
 chance would there be of his ever having it ? 
 he, as penniless and forsaken as myself, carried 
 off absolutely without his coat, seized in the
 
 THE BETTER PART. 101 
 
 house, and dragged off, before he knew where 
 he was going ! I think you will see, Rosie, 
 how utterly impossible it is for me to say what 
 has become of him, even to say whether I am 
 a widow or not." 
 
 " My poor darling Madge, how sad ; and you 
 lost your little girl too ! " 
 
 "Ah, yes, bless her little angel face! But 
 I have bowed to that. You know what I feel 
 in these things. You know, though I never 
 went in for antics and mummery in Religion, 
 that I believe devoutly in a better world, and 
 I feel as confident of meeting my darling 
 again as I do that I shall die, — the one thing 
 every one is certain of." 
 
 Rosalie remains silent. Such thoughts as 
 these are out of harmony with her present 
 frame of mind, filled as it is with her coming 
 marriage. The cold bony arms of death are 
 less pleasant to look forward to than the 
 strong embrace of her lover. But Madeline 
 is silent too, so Rosalie adds, rather incon- 
 sequently, 
 
 " Oh ! yes, of course, but it is all so horrid, 
 isn't it, you know? I always hate to think 
 of these things."
 
 102 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " So do I, to think of them, but that is 
 precisely what I don't do," says Madeline, " 1 
 don't think of them at all. I know that they 
 are there and that they are inevitable, and, as 
 I am not in the least afraid of them, they do 
 not disturb me." 
 
 " You always were so brave, Madge; but 
 still, I see how you must have suffered." 
 
 " Oh ! not so very much," says Madeline, 
 but with an involuntary glance, first at Rosalie's 
 fresh crisp costume, and then at her own faded 
 black alpaca and shabby oft-stitched gloves. 
 " Still we have had a hard time of it, — mother 
 and I. But things have gone a little better of 
 late, I have been singing and making a little 
 money." 
 
 " Singing? On the stage ? " says Rosalie. 
 " Oh, that must be rather jolly ; I have always 
 thought I should not mind being on the stage." 
 
 " Ah, Rosie, you don't know ! But I am not 
 even on the stage, I sing in a Cafe." 
 
 " You ! in a Cafe ! how shocking ! " 
 
 " Shocking, yes ! but less inconvenient than 
 starving, you will admit." 
 
 Rosalie cannot speak, her tears which come 
 readily at most times, now fill her eyes.
 
 THE BETTER PART. 103 
 
 " Oh, Madge ! what wretches you must think 
 us, living here in luxury — eating and stuffing 
 — with you and mother starving." 
 
 " No, Rosie, I have never thought hardly 
 of you — but of father — well, I confess I have 
 thought he might have helped us. When I 
 wrote, I believed mother was dying from sheer 
 want of proper nourishment — and so I told 
 him. — He never even answered my letters." 
 
 " Too dreadful ! too awful ! " says Rosalie, 
 looking piteously into Madeline's face. " And 
 to think of the money I have wasted ! Why 
 did I not think of smuggling you over money 
 from time to time — or doing something ! " 
 
 " Father would have turned you out, if you 
 had, and then we should have been three to 
 starve, instead of two." 
 
 " But, Madge, that will soon be over, directly 
 I am married I hope to find myself free, and 
 then I will help you." 
 
 " Thank you, darling, but we must wait and 
 see; there is many a slip." 
 
 " Ah, Madge, don't say that, don't hint it, 
 for I love George too dearly to lose him 
 now." 
 
 " I hope he is worthy of your love, Rosie ? "
 
 104 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Worthy ! I should think so, he is the 
 soul of honour; and he loves me too — I know 
 he loves me." 
 
 " I don't see how he could help it, darling. 
 You have grown so lovely, Rosie." 
 
 " Am I ! well, I am glad for his sake," and 
 a soft blush spreads over the girl's face, then 
 she jumps up. 
 
 " Stop one moment, Madge, I have some- 
 thing for you," and she runs out of the 
 room. 
 
 In a few minutes she is back again. "Look 
 here, Madge, this is some of the money father 
 has given me for my extra things — over and 
 above my trousseau. It is far more than I want, 
 it is given me to do exactly as I like with, if 
 you don't take it, I shall send it anonymously 
 to mother, and must chance being caught out 
 in doing it. I vow I won't live another day 
 thinking of you and her in this suffering, 
 miserable condition." 
 
 Madeline remains silent a moment ; the 
 girl's repentant generosity touches her; then 
 she says, 
 
 " Well, Rosie, I do not see why I should 
 not accept this, it is a present from you,
 
 THE BETTER PART 105 
 
 darling, if you are sure father will not expect 
 you to show what you have bought with 
 it?" 
 
 "No, that he will not, for I particularly 
 told him I might keep it to spend after I was 
 married, and this he thought sensible. He 
 will never enquire, — you know how proud he 
 is about money matters." 
 
 " Then I will take it/' says Madeline; " but 
 what a lot there seems to be." 
 
 "No, darling, not very much — but — to please 
 me — don't open it until you get home, it is 
 half of what I had given me." 
 
 " Thank you, darling Rosie — Heaven knows 
 how useful money may be to me just now. I 
 am over here on a difficult piece of business ; 
 money will make all the difference." 
 
 "And you will send some to mother, won't 
 you, Madge? " 
 
 " Most assuredly — by to-night's post." 
 
 "And when am I to come and see you?" 
 says Rosalie, as Madeline rises and prepares 
 to depart. 
 
 " Not yet, in fact not at all ; we will meet, 
 or I will come and see you. It is best for you 
 to be able to say to father that you don't know
 
 106 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 where I am, in case he comes to know I am in 
 London." 
 
 " I daresay you are right, you always are y 
 and now good-bye, darling.' ' 
 
 And after a long silent embrace the sisters 
 part. 
 
 Then Madeline and Perotte return to the 
 rooms off the Vauxhall Bridge Road ; the 
 former having restrained her curiosity all the 
 way home to know what Rosalie's envelope 
 contained. 
 
 But an expression of unfeigned delight 
 escaped her, when on opening it, she drew out 
 three bank-notes, bright, crisp, and new, two 
 of them for^ioo, and one for ^50. 
 
 So great was her delight she could not 
 refrain from showing the notes to Perotte. 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty pounds, Perotte ! " 
 
 "Tien! 250 francs!" says the country 
 girl, who had never seen an English note 
 before, and mistook pounds for francs. 
 
 " Francs ! No, Perotte ! Pounds. Eng- 
 lish pounds. A good deal more than 6,00a 
 francs. Only think of that ! " 
 
 " And all for Madame? " 
 
 "Yes; for me and my mother. Come,
 
 THE BETTER PART. 107 
 
 give me a pen, and the paper. I am going 
 to send her some at once." 
 
 And the morning sun, next day in Paris, 
 shone on another room brightened by this 
 godsend. For what ills in life will gold not 
 assuage ?
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 
 
 For reasons which he never explained Mr. 
 Romeyn had decided that Captain Norton 
 would make him a very good son-in-law, a far 
 more important consideration in his eyes than 
 that he should make a good husband for his 
 daughter, and had gone through the pre- 
 liminary stages of drafting the marriage settle- 
 ments, by which, on his side, a sum of ,£45,000 
 was to be settled on his daughter, and one of 
 £15,000 on that of Norton. 
 
 " The income from that will be enough for 
 them until I die — and go to another place, 
 Gizzard. Don't you think so? " said Romeyn 
 to his lawyer, when reading over the draft. 
 
 The lawyer agreed it would be ample, and 
 had been moreover tickled by the ludicrous 
 idea of this allusion to a future state, 
 knowing that it had nothing to do with
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 109 
 
 any accepted tradition or belief in a world 
 beyond this ; his client being a pure and 
 reasoning agnostic, a believer in the Unknow- 
 able, who dismissed all religions as mere 
 fetish, as the evolution of modern religious 
 thought from the bloodthirsty creeds or dark 
 superstitions of the past. And as to the 
 remark about dying, this, too, Gizzard knew 
 was only made out of what the Yankees call 
 " sheer cussedness," that natural delight so 
 many take in saying things which must annoy 
 people who hope the event referred to may 
 take place, but see no chance of it; for 
 as to Romeyn's mortality, Gizzard knew 
 that in the ordinary course of events he 
 would probably outlive the whole of his 
 family. 
 
 Norton was now held in great favour, for 
 Romeyn did not exact that his friends should 
 be learned or brilliant. And with Romeyn 
 there were few half measures of friendship ; 
 he either grappled you to him with hooks of 
 steel, or employed the same instruments in 
 tearing off your flesh, if he had done with you. 
 Just now he was "hooking on" to Norton, 
 literally as well as metaphorically, and it must
 
 no SWIFTER 7 HAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 be confessed that that individual found the 
 process very irksome, for it involved accom- 
 panying his father-in-law elect in his daily 
 progress down Oxford and Regent Streets, 
 through Pall Mall, up St. James's Street, by 
 Piccadilly to the Park, where a halt was made, 
 and home by the Marble Arch and Portman 
 Square. This journey, which never varied a 
 hair's breadth, crossing at the same crossings, 
 with dismal regularity, became a perfect penance 
 to Norton, and spoilt his entire afternoon. 
 
 And Romeyn hated it too, but went on 
 doing it. Nor did Norton's duties cease when, 
 regularly at the corner of Orchard Street, 
 he said good day, and fled towards his 
 club, or to dress for dinner, for Romeyn 
 expected him to dine frequently with them; 
 not to please Rosalie, but to be ready to 
 accompany his host to some place of entertain- 
 ment; notably to the Papyrus, an institution 
 whose Bohemianism seemed to meet with 
 Romeyn's approval, and where the smartest 
 women in town congregated. For Norton was 
 a " prospecting' ' kind of jackal for Romeyn. 
 It was his business to know all the best-looking 
 women in London, to find out who and what
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. in 
 
 they were, occasionally to organise little expedi- 
 tions to Richmond, and save trouble generally, 
 which the rich man disliked. It will thus be 
 easily understood that Norton did not find any 
 extraordinary pleasure in having his father-in- 
 law "hooked on" to him and would fre- 
 quently give him the slip by absenting himself 
 for a day or two from the house in Wimpole 
 Street, much to Rosalie's chagrin. For 
 though he felt an ardent passion for her when 
 in her presence, or alone with her, he had 
 none of that true and tender love for this sweet 
 girl which would have made it painful to 
 stay away from her, even when he could only 
 see her in the presence of others. To have 
 her all to himself, clinging to his breast, her 
 great dreamy eyes speaking an almost for 
 bidden language, was agreeable enough, but 
 his opportunities of this kind were compara- 
 tively few by reason of his having to dance 
 attendance on her father, and because Rosalie 
 was as yet too proper to plan meetings other 
 than those ordinarily sanctioned between 
 engaged couples, and even these left her con- 
 siderably disturbed both in body and mind. 
 It was on such an occasion of having
 
 U2 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 11 given old Romeyn the slip," and just about 
 two nights after Madeline's arrival in London, 
 that Norton strolled into the Opera and by one 
 of those chances which befall so many of us, 
 came across the person destined to shape his 
 entire destiny to its very end. 
 
 For he found himself sitting in a stall next 
 to a person with an elbow, which elbow, 
 whenever it came in collision with his, 
 sent such an electric shock through him that 
 he scarce heard the braying and banging 
 of Wagner's multifarious instruments and 
 paid no attention to the long-drawn dis- 
 cordant screechings of a frantic German actor 
 who was doing his best to portray the bestial 
 drunkenness of Wotan, or some other Nibe- 
 lungen worthy. Then Norton's eyes fell on 
 his fair neighbour's arm, — such an arm as he 
 had never seen — faultless in form and colour, 
 the skin of transparent fineness. He hardly 
 dared look up and stare, for her presence 
 seemed almost to suffocate him, as if some 
 subtle mesmeric influence surrounded her. 
 But gradually his comprehension took in 
 more — the well-gloved hand, and a foot, 
 which might have trodden the flowers of
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 113 
 
 Eden before the Fall, without rendering- them 
 less beautiful, and which appeared and dis- 
 appeared beneath the rich masses of drapery, 
 part of which inadvertently spread itself out 
 so as almost to touch his own knee. To see 
 her face without staring rudely was difficult, 
 but with the curtain coming down between the 
 acts, when he had time to study her, he was 
 surprised to see how surpassingly beautiful 
 she was. It was a face that once seen was 
 never forgotten, a face on which nature had 
 done her best work, with a power of fasci- 
 nation impossible to resist. 
 
 Naturally his next desire was to know who 
 accompanied this wondrous vision of loveliness, 
 and a single glance sufficed to show Norton 
 that the man with her was not of his set. 
 Though the clothes were as good as money 
 could make them, and the large single diamond 
 stud of great brilliancy and value, still there 
 was that undefinable " something " which 
 stamped the man in Norton's mind as a 
 "cad" — that broad and sweeping generalisation 
 meant- to cover all beyond the pale, from the 
 city merchant to the commercial traveller. 
 But to Norton this particular "cad" was an 
 
 vol. 1. 8
 
 ii 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 interesting example of the species, for he had 
 the blessed privilege of knowing this divine 
 woman ; and, from their conversation, which 
 Norton could not but over-hear as the man's 
 voice was loud, vulgar and self-asserting, he 
 soon came to the conclusion that, though, 
 they might be very good friends, they were 
 neither man and wife, nor lovers in any other 
 degree of affinity. That the man, however, was 
 enamoured of his fair companion it needed not 
 Norton's already jealous eyes to detect, for 
 he seemed to gaze on her with a half-famished 
 look, like a beast who sees his keeper coming 
 round at feeding time, and scowled and snarled 
 at any one who looked towards her. 
 
 And long before the finale of the Opera, 
 Norton felt that he would like to kill this 
 savage-looking beast, but contented himself 
 with returning scowl for scowl ; by sticking 
 close to them as they left their stalls, and 
 by standing as near the lady as he politely 
 could, whilst the male animal had to run 
 about outside to look for their brougham. 
 Then the moment they drove off Norton 
 jumped into a hansom and instructed the 
 driver not to lose sight of the brougham just
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 115 
 
 vanishing round the corner. In less than three 
 minutes the brougham stopped and Norton's 
 cab too. Out jumped Norton, but only to 
 have the melancholy satisfaction of seeing the 
 lady and her cavalier disappear together into 
 a house in Jermyn Street. So, having noted 
 the number, Norton proceeded on foot to 
 his club, hard by, where a group of men, also 
 fresh from the Opera, were standing talking 
 in the hall, and as he drew near he heard 
 Smith of the Royal Irish say, in a pronounced 
 brogue. 
 
 " Gad, sorr ! She's the most beautiful woman 
 in town. Niver saw anything like her. Saw 
 her again to-night — at the Opera — -and that 
 hooked-nosed brute with her. He seems as 
 rich as Craysus." 
 
 "Where did you see her before, Smith?" 
 says Norton. 
 
 " At the Pap — last night — introduced by 
 the Admiral. Far and away the best of 'em 
 there. You can't beat her." 
 
 " Yes. I think you're right. I have never 
 seen a woman like her," says Norton secretly 
 cursing his bad luck in not having been at 
 the Papyrus the evening before.
 
 n6 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Do you know her name? " asks a youth 
 with a fair face and lisp — his profile the 
 segment of a circle and with so little brain- 
 room that one wonders to see him going about 
 without a keeper, or a nurse. 
 
 " Her name is Artaki," cuts in a tall thin 
 man with a high voice, a thin nose, and dark 
 moustache. 
 
 " Oh ! of course Haycock knows," chimes 
 in Smith. " I say, Haycock, how the deuce 
 do you do it? Does it hurt much? " 
 
 " Do what — does what hurt ? " 
 
 " Why, finding out all these things in this 
 wonderful way ? ' ' 
 
 " Some fellows can never find out anything," 
 says Haycock snappishly, who resents this 
 allusion to the well-known fact that he supplies 
 Society paragraphs to all kinds of lying news- 
 papers. 
 
 " And some find out a good deal too much," 
 says Smith, who hates Haycock and thinks 
 him a toad. 
 
 "Confound it, Smith," says Norton, "you 
 have just shut him up as he was going to tell 
 us what he knows." 
 
 " I haven't shut him up. Come tell us all
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 117 
 
 about her, Haycock," says Smith, who knows 
 his man. 
 
 " I know very little," says Haycock ; ''except 
 that her husband was a Pasha. Some say 
 he's dead — some that she is divorced. She 
 was mixed up in a great row years ago in 
 Stamboul. A fellow got shot — in her garden, 
 and she has been more or less under a cloud 
 ever since." 
 
 " Whatever it was she won't be long under 
 
 a cloud here" says Smith. "Harry S told 
 
 me that spotted her in the Park and is down 
 
 on her at once, so we shall soon see her soar 
 away from the brute with the nose — who they 
 say has brought her over here entirely on spec." 
 
 " Come, come, Smith, that is rather hard 
 lines," says Norton, who does not like to hear 
 his divinity evil spoken of. 
 
 " Not a bit, my dear fellow, just you wait 
 and see." 
 
 Then Norton took his hat and strolled off 
 into the street. 
 
 " The Papyrus," he says in deep thought. 
 " I wonder if she will be there to-night. I 
 promised Rosie, though, to meet her at the 
 Hartwells', but I can square that."
 
 Ii8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 And as he lit his cigarette an observer 
 of physiognomy might have caught the 
 vanishing trace of a good resolution on his 
 features. But it had only been a momen- 
 tary struggle between good and bad and the 
 bad easily got the best of it. 
 
 ' ' After all, it is only to look at her," he 
 says to himself. " That can't hurt Rosalie." 
 
 But to-night in spite of himself, his spirits 
 do not seem buoyant ; something deeper 
 than usual affects him and he cannot shake 
 it off. 
 
 For fate is whispering in his ear, " Stay 
 or go, and your life will have a different issue." 
 And he elected to go : walked up through the 
 crush and throng of night wanderers, who 
 lined the pavement between his club and the 
 Criterion ; passed through the phalanx of 
 French ribaldry under the Arcade of the 
 County Fire office, reaching as far as half-way 
 up Regent Street : through a still more forlorn 
 substratum of misfortune, between that and 
 Oxford Circus — for even Vice has its cliques 
 and its coteries, its prescriptive rights and 
 privileged localities ; and so into the compara- 
 tive calm of Langham Place, to the door of
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 119 
 
 the Papyrus, where sin and wickedness do not 
 enter. 
 
 Some two or three cabs and a brougham 
 are discharging their contents, whilst several 
 persons of both sexes, arriving on foot, are 
 entering the open door ; the young women 
 apparently quite able to look after themselves, 
 as they come alone. But Norton's eyes are 
 riveted on the brougham He has caught 
 sight of the divine face again — of the lady 
 whom he now knows to be Madame Artaki, 
 leaning back in a diaphanous cloud of gauze, 
 alone, and waiting her turn to alight. 
 
 In a moment he is at the door of the 
 brougham, lifts his hat and helps her out. 
 Then he stands aside to let her pass in, but 
 she makes a momentary halt, giving him the 
 opportunity to offer her his arm, which she 
 immediately accepts with that well-bred sans 
 gene which distinguishes foreigners. 
 
 " I sat next you at the Opera to-night," says 
 Norton, " and I feel it a very great privilege 
 to meet you again at our club." 
 
 " Yes, I remember you did," she replies 
 graciously. " Will you take my cloak? " and 
 she turns her shoulders towards him. He
 
 120 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 fumbles rather, some slight entanglement of 
 the bewildering little curls beneath her massive 
 plaits, a hitch which brings his fingers in 
 contact with her cool, satin-like skin, sending 
 a thrill through him. 
 
 "I'm an awful duffer," he says, " I hope I 
 didn't pull your hair very hard." 
 
 " Oh ! no, not at all," she says, giving him 
 a smile that makes him reel, and passing her 
 hand under his arm again. " Let us go in." 
 
 Then they enter together into the inner 
 room, where she is at once the cynosure of all 
 eyes. 
 
 Many very pretty women are already in the 
 room, for seemingly the only passport neces- 
 sary for the Papyus, as far as the women are 
 concerned, is to be good-looking, well-dressed, 
 separated from their husbands or divorced, or 
 what, in special cases, is allowed to answer 
 as well, that their husbands should be in India, 
 or the Rocky Mountains. Or failing that they 
 must be well-known stage personages, not your 
 Totties and Lotties, but the ladies who are 
 styled Miss or Mrs. in the play-bills, — quite a 
 different kind of affair. 
 
 " I believe you have not been here often
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 121 
 
 before," says Norton, addressing his com- 
 panion, who is looking round and taking in 
 every one at a glance. 
 
 " No, only once — last night. I have been in 
 England only a few days." 
 
 "And your friend is not with you, to-night, 
 who was at the opera," 
 
 " He ! no, he does not care for this kind 
 of thing — or rather — to be truthful, he does 
 not belong to the club, and I observe you men 
 are not so eager to invite your own sex as 
 ours." 
 
 " Of course not ! Why should we?" laughs 
 Norton. " As a rule we always hate each 
 other, if there is a pretty woman in the 
 matter." 
 
 " I know that well, it is only natural — and 
 my friend, Mr. Gould, does not expect to be 
 made an exception — which is a vain speech 
 you will think." 
 
 "I do not think so. A beautiful woman 
 cannot pretend she does not know that she is 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Yes, she may know it, but she need not 
 fish for compliments — believe me I never do. 
 It was unintentional my saying what I did."
 
 122 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I suppose you don't know many people in 
 London ? " asks Norton. 
 
 " No, very few ; in fact, beyond Mr. Gould 
 and one or two men who were presented to me 
 here, last night — no one." 
 
 And now the rooms of the club begin to 
 fill, for the theatres are over, and numbers of 
 actresses and their attendant cavaliers arrive ; 
 and one or two leading actors, but not many ; 
 on the principle just enunciated by Norton, 
 that men are not welcome. 
 
 A free and easy bonhomie seemed the 
 general tone of Papyrus society, which, how- 
 ever, was in all other respects perfectly 
 decorous, for, though many there had scarce 
 so much as a rag of reputation left, and 
 though many of their lives were a puzzler to 
 even those who knew them well, still every- 
 body behaved themselves. It was a pleasant 
 lounge ; idle men, and declassee women ; with 
 much " chaff," the modern substitute for wit, 
 and shibboleths of its own ; as much in the 
 tone of the voice and the manner as in any- 
 thing else. Here, too, were infinite oppor- 
 tunities for improving acquaintances, for a set 
 introduction was hardly necessary, especially
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 123 
 
 if the man happened to be well-known and 
 rich. Of course a pretentious fellow with no 
 money would be scowled at, if he ventured to 
 accost any of the Syrens without a formal 
 introduction. But skirts would be swept aside 
 to make room for any semi-idiotic sprig of the 
 peerage, or sweet lips part for a wealthy pork- 
 butcher. 
 
 The usual London types of men were to be 
 found here — the bronzed-faced Horse Artillery- 
 man, who has spent half a life-time in India, 
 and seen service everywhere : the thick-nosed 
 over- dressed man in the Queen's Own Counter- 
 jumpers who has never seen a shot fired in 
 his life, son of a vendor of pickles and olive 
 oil; the well-bred dandy from the Tenth 
 Hussars : the wheezy shrivelled old fop sup- 
 posed once to have been in the Navy, now 
 dubbed the Admiral in derision, who endea- 
 vours to keep alive the fiction that he is a 
 " regular old dog" by lavishing presents on 
 Tottie and Co. : the foreign Attache, some- 
 thing between a Jew and a pug-dog to look at; 
 the successful stockbroker, never able to regu- 
 late his loud voice from the habit of roaring 
 for Brighton A's and Egyptians : two or three
 
 I2 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 somewhat shady peers : the Society Journal 
 jackal, and one or two distinguished-looking 
 Americans, who neither spit, chew, nor cheat, 
 which is disappointing, as they are expected to 
 do all three. Norton, who knew, or knew about 
 nearly all these men was just the companion 
 Madame Artaki required ; for her role also was 
 to know every one. And naturally every man 
 whom Norton knew, seeing the already much- 
 talked-of beauty on his arm, came up and spoke 
 to him. In fact Norton had never knowm before 
 how much all these men liked him, and what a 
 popular man he was ! As to himself, Madame 
 Artaki lost no time in cross-examining him, 
 and soon learnt that he had lately sold out of 
 a Highland regiment, and that he possessed 
 some ^20,000, left him by his father and by 
 his old uncle, who had been known as " the 
 poor old wounded beast of a soldier," an ex- 
 pression the said uncle had once used, describ- 
 ing himself, and which had stuck to him. Not 
 that he had ever been wounded ; for there was 
 no record of his having been under fire, but he 
 suffered a good deal from sciatica, and had been 
 tapped for dropsy in his shins, which made him 
 limp, and did just as well in Cheltenham.
 
 THE FLOWERY 1VAY. 125 
 
 When it was time to go, Norton was per- 
 mitted to escort her to the brougham, and 
 she graciously offered to put him down any- 
 where he liked, but he preferred, if he might, 
 to see her home, and so drove with her to 
 Jermyn Street, and on saying good-night, 
 received a cordial invitation to come and see 
 her soon. As the door closed on her he 
 crossed over the street, lit a cigarette, and 
 Strolled once or twice up and down the pave- 
 ment opposite, by the rails of St. James's 
 Church, his imagination conjuring up the 
 woman whose presence seemed still to linger 
 about him like a perfume. Those great eyes, 
 with that wrondrous depth, seemed to look at 
 him again, that smile shone once more. He 
 was in love with her, and already Rosalie's 
 image had paled almost out of sight, as the 
 moon gives place to the sun. 
 
 But she trips upstairs, and finds Gould in her 
 drawing-room purring away at a huge cigar ; a 
 quantity of papers near him on the table and 
 at his elbow, a jewel case, open, with costly 
 jewels sparkling under the low light of the 
 reading lamp. And Norton's jealousy of this 
 man would have been at once set at rest had
 
 126 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 he been there to observe the footing on which 
 these two people evidently stood towards each 
 other. Clearly one of self interest and mutual 
 accommodation ; at least as far as she is con- 
 cerned, for there must be two to make a pair 
 of lovers. 
 
 "Oh! you're back, Hercea, are you?" says 
 he. "Look here," pointing to the jewels, 
 " these have just come. I took the liberty of 
 looking at them, and this note with them." 
 
 She reads it rapidly. 
 
 " That old dunce, the Admiral ! " she says, 
 " An old man I met only last night. This 
 really is too funny," and she gives a light 
 laugh. 
 
 " Funny or not they have come in the very 
 nick of time," says Gould. "We must raise 
 the wind to-morrow if we can. I am quite 
 cleaned out. " Did you meet any one to- 
 night ? " 
 
 "Yes, I did," says Madame Artaki, taking 
 up the jewels and examining them. c ' A man 
 who may be of use. But these jewels ? you 
 can dispose of them ? " 
 
 "Won't the Admiral expect to see them ? " 
 says Gould.
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 127 
 
 " He may expect, but he is not coming 
 here. He is no good — has no money and 
 no connection ; but the other one has 
 both." 
 
 "Glad to hear it," replies Gould. "Both 
 Chertsey and I are hard up. That confounded 
 Port Philip Pumping and Dredging Company 
 dropped us an awful lot of money." 
 
 " Well, we won't despair," she says, " I 
 have asked this new man to come and see me 
 soon. He will be here to-morrow for certain." 
 
 " What is his name ? " enquires Gould. 
 
 "Norton, a Captain in the Army, and has 
 ,£20,000. He is insane already." 
 
 "^"20,000 will do for a goodish time, if you 
 can make sure of it," says Gould slowly. 
 
 "I think it is probable I shall," replies 
 Madame Artaki as she sits down. 
 
 " You should certainly try. And now, I 
 will say good night, at least I suppose I 
 must," and he gazes at her with devouring 
 eyes. 
 
 "To-night I am very tired — too tired to 
 talk any more." 
 
 So he takes his departure, muttering to 
 himself all the way downstairs. Outside he
 
 128 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 stumbles across Norton whom however he 
 does not recognise as the man who sat near 
 them in the Opera, But Norton knows him 
 again immediately. 
 
 " Con found him ! " says Norton slowly 
 
 and deliberately to himself. " To think of 
 that vile cad having the entree of her house 
 at this time of night ! What the deuce can 
 it mean ? " And a demon of jealousy and 
 hatred is at that momont born in him. 
 Gould walks away, and just then a tall 
 woman turns the corner of Eagle Place, 
 nearly opposite, who seems to look anxiously 
 up and down the street. She spies Norton, 
 crosses the road and walks towards him, 
 but at the next moment she seems to notice 
 Gould, changes her mind, apparently, and 
 walks briskly after him towards St. James's 
 Street. 
 
 " Hulloa ! " says Norton to himself. " Rum 
 this ! " then he watches her, sees her over- 
 take Gould, who is walking leisurely, and sees 
 her cross the street and pass him near a 
 lamp. She evidently has a good look at 
 him and then turns and comes back, and 
 as she passes Madame Artaki's house peers
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 129 
 
 up in the dark to distinguish the number if 
 possible. 
 
 " There is something odd about this woman," 
 says Norton, again addressing himself, 
 
 " perhaps she has been put on by to watch 
 
 Madame Artaki. Anyhow I don't want her 
 to spot me hanging about," and so saying 
 he walks towards Duke Street where his own 
 lodgings are situated. But anything concern- 
 ing Madame Artaki already exerts such a 
 powerful interest over him that he changes 
 his mind, determined if possible to ascertain 
 who and what this mysterious female is, so he 
 turns, and comes up the street again. To his 
 surprise the woman too is in Duke Street 
 coming straight towards him, and as they pass 
 he sees that she is poorly clad and thickly 
 veiled ; but he is conscious of being thoroughly 
 examined himself. 
 
 "I did not score there," he thinks, and 
 turning to his lodgings lets himself in with 
 his latch key, disappointed at having discovered 
 nothing. For evidently there is something 
 strange about her, either she is watching 
 Madame Artaki or Gould, or perhaps both. 
 That she is not a night-hawk is obvious from 
 
 VOL. i. 9
 
 130 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 h^r manner and her apparel, and from the fact 
 that her face is so closely muffled up. And 
 Norton is irate with himself for not having gone 
 boldly up and accosted her ; a thought he had at 
 first entertained as she advanced towards him. 
 
 Pondering over these things, and without 
 lighting his gas, he approached his window, 
 and looked out into the street. What was 
 his surprise to see the same woman again, 
 her unmistakable figure, ladylike and dignified 
 in spite of the poverty of her dress. She was 
 coming back up the street, had evidently seen 
 him enter his lodgings and now, as he stood in 
 the dark room, he saw her come close up to 
 his door and read the number. 
 
 " This becomes interesting," says he to 
 himself " Hang me, if she shall get off 
 without my knowing what her game is," and 
 he seizes his hat and bolts out of the room, 
 opens his door and is in the street in a moment. 
 The woman looked back as she heard the 
 click of the door, and walked still more rapidly. 
 It became a regular chase, and only for a 
 policeman standing apparently in silent con- 
 templation of a pewter pot stuck on an area 
 railing, as if he expected it to speak to him, but
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 131 
 
 who Norton well knew had his eye on what was 
 going on, that gallant ex-Highlander would 
 have broken into "the double" to overtake her. 
 This however was impossible, so he had to 
 content himself with following her at the rate 
 of four miles an hour, until, under the shadow 
 of the Duke of York's column, he saw her meet 
 a young man in a long ulster, smoking a pipe 
 and evidently waiting for her. 
 
 Then Norton turned and once more sought 
 his lodgings. 
 
 " I am glad to see you safe again," says the 
 man as the woman draws near. " I thought I 
 saw some fellow giving chase." 
 
 "Yes," says she, laughing slightly. "But 
 you know that is not the first time in my life. 
 It does not alarm me." 
 
 " No. I know it does not, Mrs. Ostrolenka," 
 says he, taking the pipe from his mouth and 
 knocking out the ash on the end of his stick. 
 " I saw that well enough that night in Paris. 
 But are you ready to go home now ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am, Mr. Pitt; and I am extremely 
 obliged to you for waiting for me. Come, 
 let us walk along by the Park, I will tell 
 you what I have discovered. I stood for a
 
 132 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 short time in the little lane you showed me, 
 Eagle Place, but I must have arrived too late, 
 for Madame Artaki was already at home, by 
 the lights in the drawing-room. I could see 
 the shadow of her figure on the muslin blinds, 
 and that there was a man there. The man 
 came out, and I crossed over to see who he 
 was. It was Gould ; but there was another 
 man in the street. I then came back, intend- 
 ing to come straight on and join you. The 
 other man was, however, still standing in the 
 street, hanging about, and looking up at 
 Madame Artaki' s windows. Some inspiration 
 prompted me to try and see what he was like. 
 I thought that it might turn out of some use to 
 know. Then I met him, face to face, his with 
 the gaslight full on it, and, to my utter 
 astonishment, I recognised in him the very 
 last man in the world who should have been 
 there." 
 
 " Who — who is he, may I ask ? " 
 " No. I don't think I can tell you ; for, 
 after all, it may be only a suspicion on my 
 part. But why was he there if he is not 
 hanging about after this dreadful woman ? 
 Still, it may be only accident. But, at the
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY, 133 
 
 same time, there are most important reasons 
 why I should know for certain. It is a terrible 
 complication if the man I mean is already 
 caught by her. I must find out all about 
 
 it" 
 
 " I can try, if you like," says Pitt. 
 
 " I don't know that you could. It is perhaps 
 more work for a private detective, though I 
 shrink from the idea of employing one." 
 
 " You are right; don't do that if you can 
 help it. They are, as a rule, such a terrible 
 lot of rogues, ready to sell the evidence they 
 collect to either party ; and generally as 
 stupid and thick-headed as a city alderman 
 after lunch." 
 
 " In this case that kind of thing would not 
 do. There is nothing criminal, as yet ; but 
 the honour and happiness of one very dear to 
 me is involved." 
 
 " Can you trust me sufficiently to tell me 
 what it is ? " says Pitt, with a half forward 
 movement. He can see her face ; her veil 
 has been lifted. She looks steadily at him. 
 
 " I believe I can trust you, even with this, 
 for it seems to me as if I influenced you for 
 good, and it would be absurd and insincere of
 
 134 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 me to disguise it from myself, or not to let 
 you know I was aware of it. But I am in this 
 difficulty. I am making a great demand on 
 your time, which I can never repay." 
 
 "I know you can never repay it," says Pitt 
 humbly. " I am not working for pay of any 
 kind. I am working for you because — because 
 you have gained this influence over me, and 
 because I think you will pull me out of the set 
 I am in; and then — " hesitating, "and then 
 perhaps I may come to be thought of less 
 badly by you 
 
 " God knows I don't think badly of you," 
 says Madeline in a voice which softens him 
 inexpressibly. " If I did, do you think I 
 should be crossing St. James's Park at two 
 in the morning with you?" 
 
 "Thank you, for those kind words; almost 
 the only ones I have heard for years. If you 
 only knew how I long to get away from that 
 accursed crew — all their tricks and roguery." 
 
 " I hope you will. They are bad men." 
 
 "Bad! Why, Judas Iscariot, or Barabbas, 
 or any of them, ain't in it with these fellows ! " 
 
 But she lapses into silence for a moment. 
 Shall she entrust this almost total stranger
 
 THE FLOWERY WAY. 135 
 
 with a secret that may involve Rosalie's 
 happiness ? 
 
 A little reflection decides her that she will, 
 for the necessity to know all about Norton is 
 urgent, not a day to be lost ; for she knows 
 the wedding is not far distant, and there may 
 yet be time to save her sister from what must 
 be certain misery. And she feels convinced 
 that Pitt is truly striving for better things ; 
 that she has been instrumental in giving him 
 a glimpse of a world where noble deeds are 
 done for their own sake, and not done in 
 vain. 
 
 So she addresses him again. 
 
 " I have decided to tell you all, and I ask 
 you to help me. I want you to watch this 
 man. If possible, find out whether he knows 
 Madame Artaki. You may hear his name 
 mentioned in conversation between Mr. Gould 
 and your employer, or you may see him going 
 to her house. He himself lives at No. — , in 
 Duke Street, close to her apartments. Of 
 course that is accidental, but it is convenient 
 for him, none the less. I want to know all 
 about him. For," she stammers, "he is en- 
 gaged to be married to my sister/'
 
 136 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I will do my utmost to find out," says 
 Pitt, deeply moved. " I may have plenty of 
 opportunities, for I frequently come West, out 
 of the city, on messages. And his name ? " 
 
 " His name is Norton — Captain George 
 Norton, once in a Highland Regiment. I will 
 tell you more about him some other time ; but 
 I must say good night, for here we are at my 
 door."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 
 
 Norton had retired to his lodgings, with an 
 uncomfortable feeling that he had evidently 
 been watched by an unknown person for 
 some reason equally unknown. He beat his 
 brains to try and remember if he had ever 
 seen that peculiarly ladylike figure before, 
 those shoulders whose grace no poverty of 
 costume could disguise ; that carriage which 
 betokened both courage and breeding. But 
 strive all he might it was fruitless ; no one he 
 had ever known in the least resembled her, 
 whilst as to her face, that had been completely 
 hidden by her thick veil. Then he began 
 to think it might be some one connected 
 with the many dark places of his past life, 
 suffering from those nameless wrongs which 
 the irresponsible lawlessness of man inflicts 
 on woman, but he could find no clue even
 
 138 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 in those unhallowed labyrinths. No, it was 
 not "Ethel," nor "Conny," nor " Dumpy " 
 nor half a dozen others. He had "squared" 
 all of them, more or less, as he was going 
 to be married, nor could it be any of those 
 he had not " squared." For if so why should 
 she be chasing about after Gould as well 
 as himself, and marking down the apartments 
 occupied by Madame Artaki, as well as his 
 own ? He could not make head or tail of it, 
 so after smoking a couple of cigarettes and 
 taking a good pull of soda and brandy, he 
 went to bed ; dismissing the matter from his 
 mind as much as he could, which, forsooth, 
 he very effectually contrived, by substituting 
 in its place the picture of that marvel of 
 beauty who must now be lying asleep not 
 four hundred yards away from him in Jermyn 
 Street. 
 
 As early next day as he could decently 
 form any pretext for so doing he went to call 
 on Madame Artaki, but on being ushered 
 into her presence, to his intense disgust found 
 the white-livered Gould already installed. 
 Madame Artaki was all that his fancy had 
 painted her : dressed in an exquisite morning
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 139 
 
 neglige, a mass of rare lace lying- across the 
 bosom it half veiled and half revealed, large 
 loose sleeves gathered with ribbons below 
 the elbow, with lace falling over her arms. 
 Her colouring and complexion seemed to him 
 more perfect in the searching light of day, 
 than they had under the yellow gas light, 
 and duller eyes than his could have seen that 
 all her beauty was nature unadorned. For 
 indeed she was a goodly woman to look at. 
 Her head had that rare poise only seen in 
 Greek sculpture of Greece at her best, seeming 
 to iitt itself with an inarticulate majesty, like 
 a stately tree in a forest. Her hair, a gor- 
 geous reddish yellow, was worn plainly with 
 its own beautiful ripples parting over her broad 
 low brow. Her eyes were perhaps the great 
 feature of her face, so large, so lustrous, with 
 such suppressed fire lying in their dark depths 
 that they seemed to fascinate all who beheld 
 them. Her lashes were long and perfectly 
 regular. Her face had a fixed resolute look, 
 and was oval in form ; a short straight nose 
 with nostrils which had a habit of imper- 
 cetibly distending if she grew angry or excited. 
 Her chin was well formed, and parted by a
 
 1 4 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 deep line in the centre. A delicate colour 
 like a wild rose was on her cheeks. Her 
 mouth was in keeping with the beauty of her 
 face, full, budding" lips, formed with infinite 
 curves, partly showing her white and even 
 teeth. Her skin was of transparent delicacy, 
 the blue veins in her arms and neck being 
 plainly visible; her figure was tall and well 
 developed, and her abhorrence of discomfort and 
 her keen sense of the ridiculous had rescued 
 her faultless waist from being squeezed into 
 that monstrous resemblance to an enlarged 
 ear-wig which her sister beauties affected. 
 Artists, painters, and everything worth calling 
 a man looked on her with the comfortable 
 feeling that she too was comfortable, and 
 that there was no distorted caricature of a 
 figure inside. 
 
 An introduction between Gould and Norton 
 had followed, and to the surprise of the latter, 
 instead of finding Gould hostile, bumptious 
 and offensive, he discovered him to be most 
 anxious to please ; most deferential. Norton 
 little guessed he had had his cue. A pleasant 
 conversation ensued between the three, Norton 
 describing everything that was worth seeing in
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 141 
 
 Town, and suggesting how Madame Artaki 
 could best employ the time she stayed in 
 London. And Gould chatted away. He had 
 seen a good deal, been everywhere, remem- 
 bered Norton's regiment in Canada, and many 
 of the officers' names, and succeeded some- 
 what in removing the hatred Norton had felt 
 for him the night before. 
 
 Nevertheless Norton prolonged his visit, as 
 much as he could, hoping to outsit Gould, and 
 to have a few minutes' tete-a-tete with Madame 
 Artaki, but in this he was disappointed — that 
 stage had evidently not yet come — for she 
 gave him his conge with a charming frank- 
 ness of manner, saying she had to dress, 
 preparatory to going out shopping with 
 Mr. Gould. So Norton said good-bye, and 
 feeling no inclination to go to Wimpole 
 Street, went to his club, there to while away 
 the afternoon until it was time to take his 
 customary stroll in the Park where he hoped 
 once more to see Madame Artaki. In this he 
 was not disappointed, for whilst standing in 
 the knot of loungers in the spot which 
 happened at that particular time to be fashion- 
 able, he saw a well-turned-out Victoria coming
 
 142 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 along with Madame Artaki in it, from whom 
 he received a most gracious bow, which 
 gratified him so much that even his very ears 
 tingled. But Gould, with an insufferable look 
 of self-satisfaction on his face, was lounging by. 
 her side — intercepting all the looks that were 
 directed towards his companion, — with one leg 
 over the other in an easy familiarity of 
 attitude, purposely designed for the benefit 
 of the lookers on. And Norton again hated 
 him, with all the more intensity because he 
 had allowed himself temporarily to feel a little 
 less objection to him a short time before. 
 The Victoria passed and repassed several times, 
 people's heads bending together, and glasses 
 going up wherever she went ; comments, 
 guesses, and inventions innumerable being 
 made on and concerning her, until by the 
 time she had driven away there was hardly 
 a man of any pretentions who had not noticed 
 her, whilst at many a dinner party did she 
 come forward for remark that evening. So 
 rapid is the spread of fame of beauty. 
 
 Two or three days now passed by ; the 
 afternoons of which Norton devoted to Rosalie, 
 dining there also with thern, but the evenings
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 143 
 
 being spent waiting hungrily at the Papyrus 
 to catch sight of Madame Artaki, — who had 
 become extremely popular in that assembly, — 
 and was always most particularly gracious 
 to Norton, to whose care, in the absence 
 of Gould, who had not obtained the entree 
 of the club, she generally allowed herself to 
 fall. He soon grew to love her passionately, 
 nor did she make any attempt to restrain the 
 feeling which she clearly saw rising, but 
 rather by a thousand little feminine arts fed 
 the flames that were devouring him. 
 
 And now he only sought a fitting oppor- 
 tunity to tell her how he loved her, but by 
 reason that his love was genuine — of its kind 
 — the avowal which never caused him any 
 difficulty when only half sincere or entirely 
 false, now stuck in his throat, He trembled 
 to lift the veil, not knowing what his temerity 
 might cost him, for although her manner to 
 him was distinctly more friendly than that 
 with which she treated the host of admirers 
 who now flocked about her, and although at 
 times her hand seemed to linger in his, her 
 eyes to rest a moment on his face ; still there 
 was always something that bade him beware,
 
 144 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 and checked the confession which so often 
 trembled on his lips. Nor did he know what 
 kind of love he could offer her, love, simply 
 because he adored her and could not help it, 
 or love of some more business-like kind ? She 
 was a constant puzzle to him, standing totally 
 out of the category of ordinary women. As to 
 marrying there were several difficulties, even 
 supposing that she would stoop to accept 
 him. 
 
 First came the difficulty of ways and 
 means, for he shrewdly guessed that her 
 dresses alone would exhaust his fortune in a 
 short time. Then came the question of this 
 hateful Gould. What was he ? how could he 
 be got rid of? Then this Pasha people spoke 
 of, was he a myth, or did he really exist ; or 
 was he dead, having existed, and she a bond 
 fide widow ? It was impossible to say whether 
 she was a widow or not. Then came the last 
 consideration of all : Rosalie, — but that could 
 be got out of, he would release her from her 
 engagement to him, and with all her money 
 she would soon pick up someone else. 
 Then he bethought him of offering in some 
 roundabout way to help Madame Artaki.
 
 A LEAP IA T THE DARK. 145 
 
 Women must dress, everyone knew that, and 
 she had already dropped a hint that dressing 
 was one of her great difficulties. Still it 
 was a ticklish kind of thing to propose to a 
 woman who held her head as high as she did, 
 for though he found her leading a life that 
 might fairly be considered Bohemian, still, 
 there was nothing in it that would authorize 
 him to take such a liberty, to say nothing of 
 the risk of losing that friendship which she 
 so plainly extended to him over and above 
 all her other acquaintances. 
 
 But at last the time and the hour came that 
 would make his confession easy. 
 
 He was calling at her house and for once 
 Gould was absent, and as they sat talking, 
 her hand played with the jewels presented 
 her by the silly old Admiral, for they had not 
 yet been disposed of. Her manner was absent, 
 and there was a softening in the intonation of 
 her voice, which did not escape Norton as he 
 stood before her, feasting his eyes on her fair 
 face. Looking up suddenly she caught their 
 expression. 
 
 " Why are you looking so fixedly at me? " 
 she says gently. 
 
 vol. 1. 10
 
 146 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Because I cannot help thinking you are 
 unhappy, or troubled about something. Is 
 there anything under the sun / could do for 
 you ? " and he moves a step nearer. 
 
 "Alas, no! I don't think so. See here, 
 these are going away, my very last," and she 
 lightly taps the jewel box. 
 
 "Where are they going to?" says Norton 
 with a look of surprise. 
 
 " To be sold, mon ami. Where do you think 
 I mean ? I cannot live on nothing." 
 
 "I never thought how you lived," says 
 Norton dropping his voice, and sitting down 
 by her side. " Or rather, to be truthful, I 
 never dared ask." 
 
 " Then you did think of it ? That was kind. 
 And pray, what did you think ? " 
 
 " I thought," he hesitated,—" I thought Mr. 
 Gould " 
 
 "Ah! well, you thought that, did you? 
 But after all it is perfectly natural you should, 
 — natural, I say, though perhaps I hoped you 
 did not think so." 
 
 "I am deeply grieved if I have offended 
 you," says he humbly. 
 
 " Not a bit. I am not in the least offended.
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 147 
 
 But you are wrong - , totally and entirely wrong. 
 He finds me no money, indeed I may say it is 
 the other way. I find him money." 
 
 "You find him money!" repeats Norton 
 in astonishment ; as he recalls instances he 
 has heard and read of, of beautiful women 
 who have loved the most debased monsters in 
 human form. " It seems impossible, surely 
 you don't love him ? " 
 
 "Love him! Love Gould!" she breaks 
 in with a quiet laugh. " How supremely 
 absurd ! really too funny. Why, I have never 
 loved a human being in my life. I assure you 
 I never have, and I should hardly begin by 
 loving a man of his stamp." 
 
 " I was mistaken," says Norton, with a 
 sense of mingled relief and disappointment, 
 " but you say yourself it was natural, I should 
 be. But he — he loves you — he cannot help it, 
 and what a blessed privilege he has. How I 
 envy him ! for I — well, I shall only make you 
 laugh again and perhaps be really angry," he 
 stops 
 
 "No," she says gently. "I shall not be 
 angry. You will say nothing to offend me, I 
 am sure."
 
 148 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I hope not, but I do long to tell you how 
 intensely I love you, how night and day you 
 are never out of my thoughts, how I would lay 
 down my life for you." 
 
 She leans forward in her seat and looks at 
 him. 
 
 " Oh! you men, you men! all alike! dying 
 to-day for a woman, casting her aside to- 
 morrow. But," and she rises and walks 
 away a little, " don't say that kind of thing 
 to me again, Captain Norton — we were such 
 good friends." 
 
 " Madame Artaki," he says, rising too. " I 
 am awfully sorry if I have offended you, but I 
 am soberly and sincerely in earnest. I can 
 say no more. I used to believe this sort of 
 thing impossible. I don't now. I have grown 
 to love you more, ten million times more, than 
 my own life, than all my relations and belong- 
 ing in the world, more than wealth, name, or 
 anything I can think of." 
 
 But she makes no reply, only stretches out 
 her hand, a signal for him to go. He takes it 
 and looks in her face. 
 
 "Now you must go," she says. "Don't 
 call here again for a few days. Go away and
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 149 
 
 forget me. Go and love someone else. I feel 
 for you and I respect you, but /believe in this 
 kind of love very little ; possibly because it 
 has never been awakened in me, you will 
 say." 
 
 " I didn't expect to hear you say you did, 
 or — at least, that you should feel anything for 
 me/' says Norton, with dejection in his voice. 
 
 " Then you would have me without my 
 loving you ! All this love of yours and none 
 in return ! No, no, go away and forget it 
 all. God knows I would save you from going 
 over the miserable road so many have trodden 
 before you." 
 
 Norton stands dumb, there is something 
 noble almost in this strong appeal to his 
 manliness. But life seems suddenly to have 
 become an absolute blank, for everything but 
 her has vanished from his mind. He cannot 
 realize what it is she has condemned him to, 
 and he turns once more. 
 
 "For God's sake," he says, "don't send 
 me away. I cannot live without seeing you, 
 one word more — only a word " 
 
 But the door opens unceremoniously, and 
 Gould enters, with a railway rug on his arm.
 
 150 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE, 
 
 His quick eyes detect the emotion on Norton's 
 face, though Madame Artaki's is as calm as a 
 summer sky. An awkward pause — but Madame 
 comes to the rescue. 
 
 " Mr. Gould is going abroad, Captain 
 Norton, and I want to speak to him before 
 he goes. Good-bye, again." 
 
 Norton takes her hand which is again 
 offered, a hand perfectly cool and steady, 
 whilst his is throbbing and feverish. Hardly 
 conscious how, he finds himself downstairs, 
 and out in the street, where a hansom, with 
 a portmanteau on it, stands waiting for 
 Gould . 
 
 " What was the fool saying," says Gould, 
 savagely, as Norton closed the door. 
 
 " The usual thing, but only a little more 
 genuine." 
 
 11 And you? " 
 
 " Also the usual thing, only a little more 
 firmly ; but in the meanwhile I intend to carry 
 out my plan as I had proposed it before. 
 Possibly if you had delayed coming for ten 
 minutes, I should have been able to manage 
 without leaving this house, but it is as well as 
 it is, I think."
 
 A LEAP IN THE DARK. 151 
 
 " Then you intend still to clear out of this ? " 
 
 " Yes, and he will come after me. Depend 
 upon it, it will work better, and then, above 
 all, it is necessary to keep Dubois and Resti- 
 gouche quiet a little longer. It is so unfor- 
 tunate you can't manage Restigouche." 
 
 " It is not I — as you well know, it is that 
 confounded self-righteous prig Nellie ; d — n 
 her ; I have given her lots of hints, and he, — 
 well he is mad after her. But, no ! there she 
 is still giving herself the airs of a duchess. It 
 is enough to drive one mad ! " 
 
 "Poor Nellie!'' says Madame Artaki. 
 " What a different kind of woman she is to 
 myself!" 
 
 "Different! good G — d ! It is the difference 
 of light and darkness ! It makes me mad 
 to think of her ; anyhow I'll go to Boulogne 
 to-night, and see if I can't bring her to her 
 senses." 
 
 " Yes, I think it would be just as well ; 
 moreover, the situation as regards Norton 
 would be strengthened. It is a good big 
 sum I must get, and it is no good playing 
 the game loosely. And mind you see that 
 the child is not running any risk of starving
 
 152 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 under the treatmeat you are prescribing for 
 Nellie." 
 
 " You need not alarm yourself about her. 
 She's all right." 
 
 And then Gould says good-bye, and leaves 
 this woman who seems so cold-blooded, so 
 designing, so merciless, a prey to a thousand 
 conflicting thoughts, in which self-interest and 
 a tender feeling for the woman who has been 
 called Nellie strive for the mastery.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 STILL DARKER. 
 
 The process by which Madeline was to 
 discover who were the real thieves in the 
 matter of her bonds — a necessary step to their 
 recovery — did not develop very rapidly. As 
 Pitt pointed out, the fact that those bonds 
 were like bank notes, payable to bearer, 
 rendered it extremely unlikely that they would 
 be utilized in London or Paris by people so 
 "cute" as Gould, Chertsey, and Company. 
 Nor indeed would there be any necessity to 
 negotiate them to get money for them, for an 
 equivalent, for a consideration, would be will- 
 ingly advanced by any banker holding them 
 as security. It appeared to Pitt that the only 
 thing to be done at present was to institute a 
 close watch on Madame Artaki's movements, 
 and he thought that possibly something would 
 turn up in connection with Captain Norton on
 
 154 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 whom, as we have seen, he had promised to 
 keep an eye. And Madeline had further ex- 
 plained exactly the grounds of her deep interest 
 in Norton, so that Pitt's idea of trying to 
 get some information out of him through 
 Rosalie, did not seem so very wild. Madeline 
 in the meanwhile was reduced to a state of 
 inactivity, but thanks to Rosalie's generous 
 gift she had no pressing wants, and she and 
 Perotte passed their time in restoring and re- 
 pairing Madeline's dilapidated wardrobe. Pitt 
 had been on various embassies from Gould or 
 Chertsey to the apartments in Jermyn Street, 
 and had thus had frequent opportunities of 
 being in the neighbourhood of Norton's 
 lodgings, but as yet had failed in connecting 
 him with Madame Artaki. In the evening 
 Pitt had frequently followed him ; had run him 
 to earth at the Papyrus, at times too when he 
 knew Madame Artaki to be there, so it was 
 impossible that Norton should not have made 
 her acquaintance. And Madeline thought 
 once of asking Rosalie point blank if she 
 had any suspicions of her lover, but she was 
 afraid of being too precipitate, — she preferred 
 to wait and make sure for herself. But besides
 
 STILL DARKER. 155 
 
 that, Madeline had ascertained that her father 
 and Rosalie had gone out of town for two or 
 three days. 
 
 With the change of their circumstances 
 Madeline had moved into more comfortable 
 apartments in Lupus Street, and had now no 
 intention of allowing Perotte to leave her, 
 as long as she could pay that affectionate 
 and hard-working girl reasonable wages. So 
 Perotte, who had wept at the mere idea of 
 leaving her, became officially her maid-of- 
 all-work and was delighted beyond every- 
 thing to write home to her parents and tell 
 them how happy she was and what a good 
 place she had secured. But a kindlier feeling 
 existed between Madeline and Perotte than 
 is usual between mistress and maid, for 
 Perotte' s unassuming, gentle nature made a 
 degree of intimacy possible which in ordinary 
 cases might have been indiscreet. She would 
 sit through the long evenings with her mis- 
 tress describing in her naive, almost childish 
 way, every detail of her own past life and 
 of the home she had left. She was one of 
 five. Her father had once been much better 
 off than he was now, though he still lived at
 
 156 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 the same place, a large farmhouse, which in 
 bygone days had been a seigneurial abode, 
 and was still called the Manoir St. Martin near 
 Rouen. It was a vast, rambling house; a 
 great deal larger than the necessities of their 
 own family required ; and now, in the shrunken 
 condition of her father's fortune, they often let 
 out some of the rooms in summer; delightful 
 rooms according to Perotte ; with old-fashioned 
 oak wainscoting, and mullioned windows which 
 opened on to the lawn. The Manoir was to 
 be heard of in history. The Great Frangois 
 Premier had slept there on his way to the Field 
 of the Cloth of Gold, and the English Duke of 
 Bedford had also occupied it. In fact, all kinds 
 of history was connected with its ancient walls, 
 and they, the Dumonts had been there for 
 several generations. But misfortune had fallen 
 on them, and the Prussian war had nearly 
 ruined them. Her eldest brother was killed at 
 Sedan. Her second brother had been a sailor 
 in the Navy ; but after he got his discharge 
 went into one of the Messageries steamers and 
 had got on very well, rising to be an officer. 
 His voyages had been a great deal in the East, 
 Constantinople, Syria, Greece, and other places*
 
 STILL DARKER. 157 
 
 Her third brother had been apprenticed to a 
 carpenter, and had gone to Paris to look for 
 work, where he had not done badly, working 
 first in a large carpenter's shop, and now be- 
 ginning to do work on his own account ; odd 
 jobs, such as fitting up book-shelves, orna- 
 mental chimney pieces, and fitting beds into 
 alcoves. And being a Norman, he made 
 acquaintance with a great many concierges, 
 who are so frequently Normans. These people 
 often gave him work. The last of her family 
 was her sister Adele, still at home, Perotte's 
 inseparable friend. They had never been 
 separated since they were babies, until now, 
 and here Perotte stealthily wiped away some 
 tears, for these peasants are foolish, soft- 
 hearted people with strong feelings of affec- 
 tion for those they are brought up with. 
 Then she would describe their mode of 
 life ; harvesting, making cider, the country 
 fetes and so forth, all of which interested and 
 amused Madeline ; amused her when it did 
 not strike a chill through her, to contrast 
 this rustic peace and contentment, this 
 honest affectionate love, the keystone of 
 those unsophisticated natures, with the bitter
 
 158 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 ness and strife of her own father's house, 
 where quarrelling, selfishness, and frivolity 
 reigned supreme. 
 
 Perotte had of course by this time learnt 
 that her mistress's mother lived in Paris, and 
 when she heard that it was in the Rue St. 
 Anne, near the Place Louvois, she was strufck 
 with the name, for she remembered her car- 
 penter brother, whose name was Alfred, had 
 worked for some time in the Galerie Louvois, 
 which she supposed must be in the same 
 quarter, and she thought it more than probable 
 that her brother would know this particular 
 concierge. Some days later, in reply to a 
 letter Perotte had written to her brother, it 
 turned out that he did know the concierge 
 well ; had often done work for him in the very 
 house where the two English ladies resided. 
 And the brother had at once written off to 
 his parents to say that if Perotte had not 
 stumbled across very wealthy people in Eng- 
 land, at least they might feel satisfied she 
 was perfectly safe, for the English lady bore 
 the very highest character throughout the 
 quartier. 
 
 In the meanwhile, however, Madeline's
 
 STILL DA RKER. 159 
 
 anxiety on behalf of her sister by no means 
 grew less. She began to feel sure that though 
 Pitt had not been able to trace any intimacy 
 between Norton and Madame Artaki suffi- 
 cient to justify her talking to Rosalie about 
 it, still that it existed, and she was terrified 
 when she thought of the consequences. It 
 seemed likely to produce an entanglement 
 which would seriously intervene between her 
 perfect right to try to do the best for 
 herself, and her sister's happiness. How- 
 ever, there was nothing for it but to wait, 
 especially as she learnt from Pitt that every- 
 thing seemed remarkably quiet in Jermyn 
 Street, and that he had seen nothing of 
 Gould, or of Madame Artaki for the last two 
 days. 
 
 But to return to Norton. 
 
 For two entire days he resists the tempta- 
 tion to call at the house in Jermyn Street, 
 and shuns even the Papyrus. Nor will he 
 even go to the Park, for he feels that he 
 cannot look on the woman whom he loves 
 with such ardour, with anything like the 
 composure which society exacts even in the 
 most desperate or tragic situations. But by
 
 i6o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 the third day he can no longer endure the 
 suspense of seeing- her no more, and deter- 
 mines, at all hazards, at least to learn what 
 she has thought of his conduct. So once 
 more he finds himself at her door, almost 
 trembling with uncertainty as to whether he 
 will be admitted or not, and wondering what 
 he will do if orders have been given that 
 he is not to be received. Then he thinks 
 what a fool he has been not to have been 
 to the Papyrus and the Park as usual ; the 
 ice would be less difficult to break than now, 
 even if he is allowed to see her. He has 
 ample time for reflection, for the person to 
 answer the door seems in no hurry, and 
 when it does open, instead of a smart foot- 
 man, he is greeted by a withered old crone, 
 who has evidently been cleaning everything 
 but herself, and who eyes him long and says 
 nothing. 
 
 " Madame Artaki at home ? " says Norton, 
 much puzzled by this reception. 
 
 " No, she ain't. Madam Hartaky's gone, 
 and ain't left no address." 
 
 " No address ! " says Norton in, surprise. 
 " Come ; do you mean to say none at all ? "
 
 STILL DARKER. 161 
 
 and he slips five shillings into the hand 
 of the old woman, who immediately pockets 
 it. 
 
 "No. I'm sorry to say she ain't; thank 
 ye, all the same." 
 
 " Confound it, do you mean to say no 
 one in the house knows where she is gone ? " 
 says Norton, annoyed at this useless sacrifice 
 of five shillings. 
 
 " No. 'Cos there ain't no one in the 'ouse 
 'cepting me. I told you there was no address 
 afore you guv me the five bob. I suppose 
 now yer wants it back ? ' ' 
 
 "No, I don't; but I'd give you five more 
 to know." 
 
 " It ain't no good argying the pint ; and if 
 you was to give me five shillings every five 
 minutes till Christmas I couldn't tell you. 
 She's packed up heverythink ; clean gone. 
 And what's more, everythink's paid ; she 
 be'aved 'andsome like, all round, which is 
 more nor many of her betters do." 
 
 Norton sees it is hopeless, and his heart 
 feels sick with disappointment. He is too 
 down in the mouth to notice the expression of 
 the old woman, "her betters." In this old 
 
 vol. i. i i
 
 162 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 hag's mind Madame Artaki's proceedings are 
 evidently not highly commendable. For the 
 lower orders draw the line more rigidly than 
 their betters do. 
 
 There is nothing for it, so Norton strolls 
 down to his club. He has not been there for 
 three days, and several notes and letters are 
 awaiting him ; two or three long epistles from 
 Rosalie, who is in the country, and one in a 
 handwriting he does not recognise — a lady's 
 — the writing slightly foreign in appearance ; 
 the monogram H. A. This he opens first, and 
 his eyes swim with pleasure. It contains words 
 to him more precious than Holy Writ or all the 
 works of the philosophers. 
 
 "Dear Captain Norton, — If you like, you 
 can come and see me, when you have time. 
 Any hour will suit me ; don't be shocked at 
 my address, but I told you I was au sec, 
 " Yours always, 
 
 " Hercea Artaki. 
 
 sea." 
 
 "No. — , Smith Street, King's Road, Chel- 
 i." 
 
 He stands a moment looking at the letter ;
 
 STILL DARKER. 163 
 
 he would kiss it were it not that the hall 
 porter has his eye on him. He thrusts the 
 other letters, Rosalie's and all, unopened into 
 his pocket. 
 
 " Then she was hard up after all ! What 
 a fool I was not to insist on being allowed 
 to help her ! And gone off, too, to that 
 miserable part of London ! down by the 
 Chelsea hospital. That does not look as if 
 she was so abominably bad — I'll be hanged 
 if it does." 
 
 Then he hurriedly left the club, jumped 
 into the first hansom he saw with a smart 
 horse, and drove to the corner of Smith Street. 
 How interminably long seemed the road and 
 how he cursed inwardly when the driver took 
 what Norton believed to be the longer route, 
 by Piccadilly, though probably the man was 
 right. And then every check in the trot of 
 the wiry little thoroughbred caused by blocks 
 of omnibuses and carriages made Norton fume 
 and kick the panels ; by all of which it will 
 be seen he was very impatient to see her whom 
 he thought of and called Hercea. The corner 
 of Smith Street being reached he threw half- 
 a-crown to the driver and almost ran down
 
 1 64 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VER' S SHUTTLE. 
 
 that broad, mean-looking thoroughfare, until 
 he came to the house that shrouded his 
 divinity. In response to his commanding 
 knock a slatternly " slavey " opened the door, 
 one of those compounds of impudence and 
 tatters, with tow-like hair in a frowsy-looking 
 fringe, which no city but London can produce 
 in full perfection. 
 
 " Well, you're in an 'urry, you are," says 
 the woman, before he has time to speak. 
 '"Oo d'yer want? " 
 
 " A lady called Artaki. Is she here ? " 
 " Yes, she is, but perhaps she don't want 
 to see you." 
 
 " Just go up and ask — say Norton." 
 The girl disappears and is back in a 
 moment. 
 
 "She'll see yer. Fust floor — you can go up." 
 As Norton ascends the greasy, evil-smelling 
 stairs he is conscious that the eyes of the 
 towzled one follow him all the way. 
 
 The door of the " parlour," stands ajar 
 — he knocks, and Hercea's musical voice 
 bids him enter. Once more in her presence ! 
 His heart beats audibly and his eyes fasten 
 on her. He takes no note of the tawdry
 
 STILL DARKER. 165 
 
 vulgarity of the room, he sees nothing but 
 her. But there is a great change, not in 
 her face, — that is as beautiful and as alluring 
 as ever — but in her apparel and her surround- 
 ings. Where is the morning neglige — the 
 bewildering folds of lace, rising and falling 
 with her every breath, the slippered feet, the 
 delicately scented handkerchief, and indeed all 
 those hundred and one captivating adjuncts, 
 which a wise woman holds indispensable ? 
 Now, there is nothing of this ; her costume 
 is so plain and decorous that it would suit 
 the wife of a starving curate, or a School 
 Board teacher — a simple serge dress with white 
 cuffs and collar. An ulster lies across a 
 chair, her black hat, gloves, and umbrella 
 on the sofa, a partly closed trunk of most 
 modest dimensions stands in one corner of 
 the room and there are the remains of some 
 frugal luncheon on the table. Everything 
 betokens poverty and discomfort, whilst the 
 bedroom, of which a glimpse is caught through 
 the gaping folding-door, — which nothing sort 
 of actual nailing would persuade to remain 
 closed, — is anything but an inviting abode, and 
 appears to be totally neglected by the towzled
 
 1 66 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE, 
 
 one, whose duty it is to " make the beds " in 
 this establishment. But in spite of all these 
 drawbacks Madame Artaki advances to meet 
 him with the dignity of a duchess, and says, 
 
 "I could not leave London without saying 
 good-bye, and I wished to thank you for all 
 your kindness and attention. It is very kind 
 of you to come." 
 
 " Going away ! Kind! why — oh ! for good- 
 ness' sake tell me! " he says rapidly and still 
 holding her hand. " What does it all mean ? " 
 and he looks round the room and then his 
 eyes fall on her dress. 
 
 " I will tell you all. I am going to Paris — 
 to-night." 
 
 " May I ask why?" he says calming him- 
 self with an effort ; for a horrid idea crosses 
 his mind that the Pasha may have come 
 to life again, or that Gould's mysterious 
 influence — which he has never been able to 
 fathom — is at work to drag her away. 
 " Certainly you may ask, and I will tell you 
 all. It is very simple, I am beggared, com- 
 pletely cleared out, as you would call it." 
 
 " Beggared ! but how — pray tell me!" 
 
 " I came to England to attend to a law-
 
 STILL DARKER. 167 
 
 suit which has been going on for a long time. 
 By it I hoped to recover a large sum of money ; 
 I have lost, utterly and totally. My lawyer 
 says it is useless to appeal, and the costs have 
 been enormous. These I have paid, so that 
 I am not running away in debt, and I don't 
 owe a sou in London of that kind." 
 
 " And what do you propose to do in 
 Paris ? " 
 
 " I am going on the stage. I can sing and 
 act, and, besides that, I am good-looking 
 enough to get a salary, as long as men must 
 have something to look at." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake don't talk of the stage, 
 — not for you, at all events. Is there nothing 
 but that?" 
 
 "Yes, — a life easy enough, a life already 
 open to me here in London, or anywhere — 
 but — do you still misconstrue me ? " and her 
 great eyes look into his and then drop. 
 
 " God knows I do not. I have not forgotten 
 the other night. But what I meant was, is 
 there nothing to be got from Gould ? I 
 thought you and he were partners somehow in 
 business ? " 
 
 "To a certain extent, yes — but as I told
 
 1 68 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 you the other day, I am the chief purveyor 
 of money. When I am poor he is poor 
 too." 
 
 " That is beyond me," says Norton, whilst 
 the desire which is trembling on his lips, 
 to offer her all his worldly possessions, is 
 suddenly checked by the thought that this 
 man whom he loathes may benefit by his 
 generosity. 
 
 " No doubt it is," says she, possibly divining 
 some of his thoughts. " But he and I have 
 certain things connecting us together in the 
 past, and these are, for the present, binding 
 on me, or rather on both of us." 
 
 " I don't understand," he half mutters, then 
 with a fresh look at her face goes on. " But 
 this I do understand, that I love you ; and as 
 I said the other night, for you I would do 
 anything in the world, if you would trust 
 me." 
 
 " Can I ? " she says, fixing her eyes slowly 
 on his. 
 
 " You wouldn't ask if you knew how I love 
 you ; I am a fool at making a speech, but what 
 I say, I seriously and soberly mean, — I really 
 love you more than my own life."
 
 STILL DARICER. 169 
 
 He is so earnest that he impresses her, 
 though she has long since gauged his shallow 
 nature. Still for her purpose his temporary 
 earnestness suffices. 
 
 " I will trust you," she says, with a look 
 that magnetizes him. " But remember, my 
 secrets are dangerous to the possessors, as 
 well as to myself, and moreover are known 
 to few. If after I have told you, you chose 
 to be still my friend, you can help me — and 
 you may." 
 
 " Tell me," he says ; " I will die with your 
 secret." 
 
 " It is too long to enter into it all, but 
 briefly it is this, — I have escaped from con- 
 finement in Turkey — not a prison — I was kept 
 in a great man's harem, a very great person- 
 age, who took charge of me, as he called it, 
 at a critical time of my life. I was accused of 
 a crime, and the only living mortal who knows 
 the truth about that is Gould. He helped 
 me to get to Paris. He loved me — like a wild 
 beast loves, — five years ago ; and now it is 
 the same thing over again. Now I ask you 
 how can you help me — or any one else for 
 the matter of that — how could I expect you
 
 170 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 to be content to see me to all intents and 
 purposes his mistress as far as the world is 
 concerned ? " 
 
 Norton drops his eyes and an expression of 
 pain passes over his face. 
 
 " Is this hateful position then absolutely 
 necessary? Can we not buy him off? And 
 why" — and he pleads earnestly — " why cannot 
 I be all this to you — be your slave as I will- 
 ingly would ! " 
 
 "Ah ! there! that is just it, the same thing 
 again ! Another who cannot and will not 
 understand me ! I told you you could not 
 help me, and why ? because it is to be your 
 way of doing it, not mine. But I prefer to 
 have my own — I prefer the stage, and to be 
 my own mistress — as I am now. 
 
 She has risen and taken a turn in the room ; 
 her eyes flash ; she has suddenly become 
 another woman. Norton is amazed, but can 
 find nothing to say. 
 
 Then she calms down — as suddenly — and 
 turns to him. 
 
 " After all, why should I expect you to be 
 different to other men? It was absurd — / 
 have no right to be offended, seeing the kind of
 
 STILL DARKER. 171 
 
 life you find me leading." And she sits down 
 on a decrepid-looking arm-chair, puts her 
 feet mechanically on the fender, and stares 
 vacantly at the blue and white paper shavings 
 in the grate. 
 
 For a few moments neither speak. Norton 
 goes to the dust and smoke-stained window, 
 through which all external objects look as if 
 enveloped in cobwebs, and gazes out. Two 
 red-nosed Chelsea pensioners ; their ragged 
 grey beards floating in the breeze like ships' 
 swabs hanging in the rigging to dry, have 
 hobbled from the Hospital, whose gates can 
 be seen at the end of the street, in their 
 daily search of some one who will treat them 
 to a drink at a nondescript kind of half 
 pot-house, half grocer's shop opposite. A 
 cats'-meat man, with a voice doleful as an 
 amateur tenor, is advertising his wares, and, 
 is incontinently throwing lumps of blackened 
 horseflesh down areas, tenanted presumably 
 by cats belonging to people whom he hopes 
 to stimulate to further transactions by his 
 apparent confidence in their credit. A sickly- 
 looking girl of nine or ten wheels a rickety 
 perambulator containing two blotchy, windy-
 
 172 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 looking- babies who, lolling out perilously, each 
 on its own side, setting all laws of equilibrium 
 at defiance, are sucking- dirty rag balls which 
 hold sugar. Everything both inside and 
 out which greets Norton's view is sordid, dis- 
 reputable and mean, and in the midst of all, 
 close at his elbow, sits the most perfect of all 
 the Creator's works, — a beautiful woman, — 
 brought, by no fault of hers, to the level of these 
 hideous surroundings, and doomed apparently 
 to pass the rest of her days amongst such as 
 these, or under the glare of foot- lights on some 
 Parisian stage. And he contrasts this prospect 
 with his own life, so luxurious; his club, so 
 enjoyable, in spite of tedious conversation 
 about the Services, and the snores of ancient 
 imbeciles asleep in the arm-chairs of the Read- 
 ing Room ; his morning ride in the Park ; 
 his evenings spent — anyhow. He turns to 
 Madame Artaki again, and says pleadingly, 
 
 " I cannot, I will not leave you in this de- 
 testable place. The very air seems unfit for 
 you to breathe ; everything so horrid and dis- 
 gusting." 
 
 "You are very kind to think so highly of 
 me, but I don't see how it is to be helped,"
 
 STILL DARItER. 173 
 
 she says, and as if to emphasize his remark 
 about the unfitness of the place, she looks all 
 round the room and adds, "It is true — it is 
 not lively." 
 
 " If you will allow me," he goes on, " I 
 will go and take your old rooms for you again 
 in Jermyn Street. There must be some use in 
 appealing in this suit of yours. It must be 
 worth trying. One lawyer's opinion is worth 
 knowing as well as another's. Let me put it 
 before my man. Not that I suppose there 
 is more honesty in him than in yours, but there 
 is this difference ; your man knows you have no 
 money, therefore he thinks it no good appealing 
 when he can't get his costs if it fails ; my 
 fellow holds all my securities, and could 
 recoup himself without even asking my leave ; 
 this will make all the difference in their 
 views." 
 
 " You are most kind and thoughtful, but 
 your plan is impossible. To begin with, I 
 have not money enough left to * live up to ' 
 those apartments, so what would be the good 
 of going there again ? I could not live in the 
 style I should choose to. I got ^"150 for my 
 dresses and things. All my jewellery went to
 
 174 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 my lawyer, who had it valued — I presume by a 
 friend of his, for what I know cost nearly 
 ,£1,500 he took for £400. After paying for 
 my rooms in Jermyn Street, I have now £*]o 
 left. That would last me about a week in 
 my old style of living. No. I prefer going 
 to a new place. I am not known in Paris, or 
 Vienna, or Berlin, or St. Petersburg. I will 
 try life in one of those places." 
 
 " My God, what shall I do if you go away," 
 he says, almost desperately. " Seeing you 
 again makes me feel I should go mad if you 
 went away ! Think a moment what I propose 
 — only that you should return to Jermyn 
 Street, or anywhere else you like, until I have 
 time to consult my lawyer. The appeal shall 
 not cost you a farthing." 
 
 ''Appeal is entirely out of the question, for 
 I have not told you all. Certain evidence 
 came up during this trial which makes it folly, 
 madness, for me to try again. It is part of 
 my unfortunate history." 
 
 " I don't want you to make any confidences 
 you would rather not. But this is the simple 
 state of affairs. If I would willingly go out 
 and be shot for you, to-morrow, is there any-
 
 S1ILL DARKER. 175 
 
 thing else I am not likely to do ? I make no 
 conditions of any kind, and don't ask you to 
 promise me anything. Only one thing, you 
 must not tell me never to see you again, for 
 that — well — it is simply impossible." 
 
 " So soon ! all this love — so soon ! " she says, 
 as if talking to herself, and with an infinite 
 pathos in her voice the great Sarah as Adrienne 
 never exceeded. And then turning towards 
 him. " This is just the worst of it, for it 
 is clear we must part, but — " and she hesi- 
 tates, and even a colour comes in her cheeks, 
 " but before we say good-bye to each other, 
 I will tell you that, at least, you will not 
 alone be the sufferer, — I could love you I 
 believe, if fate were not against me." And 
 she rises and leans on the chimney-piece. 
 
 " Hercea, Hercea ! " exclaims Norton ex- 
 citedly, and catching her in his arms, " say 
 that again, oh ! once again, and I can bear 
 anything." 
 
 She pushes him gently away, and there is a 
 strength in her arms that astounds him. 
 
 " Don't forget me> even if you do yourself. 
 Have I not told you ? I am not free." 
 
 " I had forgotten ! " and he stands back.
 
 i;6 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " What you said just now took my breath 
 away." 
 
 " Then please remember in future. It was 
 foolish of me, but, after all, a woman does 
 sometimes long- for a little sympathy." 
 
 " I am awfully sorry. I beg your pardon, a 
 thousand times. But if you only knew how I 
 have hungered for anything belonging to you." 
 
 " Don't say anything more. I am deeply 
 indebted to you for your offer ; but this love 
 of yours has made it impossible for me to 
 accept any help from you." She gives a long 
 sigh and turns towards the folding doors of the 
 adjoining room. 
 
 " Stay — stay, one moment," he says, detain- 
 ing her and placing his hand on her arm, 
 lightly and respectfully ; " I promise to restrain 
 myself. I was a confounded ass ; I will not 
 speak like that again ; only do go back to some 
 decent part of London, — somewhere better 
 than this — to the old place. I shall be close 
 by, but I promise never even to knock at your 
 door unless you send for me." 
 
 She turns round — their eyes meet, and the 
 hand nearest him passes into his and remains 
 there.
 
 STILL DARKER. 177 
 
 " I believe I can trust you," she says with 
 her eyes averted, "lam sorely tempted." 
 
 " For heaven's sake let me go and take 
 your rooms again ! " he can think of no other 
 offer that may not offend, nor mode of putting 
 it. 
 
 " You may then, but " 
 
 "Ah, don't go on to say, 'but — you must 
 not come and see me ! ' " 
 
 " I was not going to say that, for if I trust I 
 trust all in all, I am going to say that you and 
 I are to remain friends, the firmest and fastest 
 if you like, and you can come and see me 
 whenever you like." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, ten million times. This 
 is new life to me." 
 
 " It is a relief to me, too, to have decided ; for 
 there are several things in London I wished to 
 do before going away." 
 
 "Whatever it is detains you I shall think 
 it a godsend. I will go and take the 
 rooms — in your name — and pay a year in 
 advance." 
 
 "A year!" she exclaims, smiling. "No, 
 no, don't waste your money like that; three 
 months at a time is ample — in this life. Where 
 
 vol. 1. 12
 
 i;8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 may you and I be in three months ? Dead 
 and buried perhaps ! " 
 
 "I'd like to take a big bet with any grave- 
 digger in Christendom." 
 
 "Hush," says she, with a strange awe in 
 her voice. " I don't like frivolity about things 
 that are inevitable. I never lose sight of death. 
 Not that I dread it, — I only hope for a painless 
 one. I am superstitious, perhaps you will 
 think, and I believe in some things which 
 have no reason in them. I have a presenti- 
 ment I shall never live to be thirty." 
 
 " Oh, I think all that kind of thing is bosh," 
 he says laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps it is, but I come of a strangely 
 gifted family ; I will tell you all that some other 
 time, but not now, We cannot remain here 
 telling stories. If you will go and take the 
 rooms, I will go and get my things again. It 
 seems shocking to have been pawning and 
 selling one's things, but, ' que voulez vous ! il 
 faut vivre ! ' " 
 
 " Life has plenty of ups and downs. I 
 would willingly go and get your things, but 
 perhaps I shouldn't know them and they 
 might cheat me."
 
 STILL DARKER. 179 
 
 Something in the idea makes her laugh. 
 
 " No, I will get them myself. You say the 
 rooms are still vacant in Jermyn Street. I will 
 come straight on there." 
 
 " Then good-bye for the present, but as you 
 will require some money perhaps at once, pray 
 take this," and he hands her considerably over 
 ^100 in new bank notes. 
 
 " What a quantity of money you carry with 
 you," she says, accepting the proffer without 
 demur. 
 
 "Well not always, but the fact is that I 
 had put this in my pocket the day before I lost 
 sight of you, intending to buy you a ring or 
 something. But I changed my mind and 
 didn't. I was afraid of being laughed at, like 
 that old fool Merriman of my club, whom we 
 call the Admiral." 
 
 " I don't know that I should have laughed 
 at you, but I should certainly have done with 
 yours as I did with his — pay my bills and my 
 lawyer." 
 
 " Then it is just as well I did not buy the 
 diamond ring. This coin is much more than 
 your lawyer would have taken the ring at. But 
 may I come and see you this evening, late ? "
 
 180 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Certainly, and escort me to the Papyrus 
 or, if you are disengaged, we can dine some- 
 where together/' 
 
 " Confound it! How cursedly annoying; but 
 I am unfortunately engaged and cannot get off 
 it," and secretly in his heart he anathematises 
 Mr. Romeyn, for amongt the letters he had 
 found at his club, and which he had read or. 
 the way down in the cab, was a peremptory 
 mandate from his future father-in-law to dine 
 in Wimpole Street that evening, — Romeyn 
 particularly wished to see him. 
 
 Still Norton decided he must dine in 
 Wimpole Street ; for though he stood here 
 posing as a highly honourable and unselfish 
 man in offering his life and fortune to this 
 new Antonina, he had had time to reflect that 
 Rosalie was a very desirable string to his 
 bow, and that to marry a girl, pliant as a 
 willow, with a character he could mould like 
 wax, and with £45,000, would in no way 
 militate against the ultimate success of his 
 designs as to Hercea. For in spite of all 
 her protestations of virtue he by no means 
 despaired now that she had begun to accept 
 gifts. Auri sacra fames, sang Virgil, accursed
 
 STILL DARKER. 
 
 thirst of gold ! Should it not have been, of 
 women ? 
 
 But though Norton would not refuse 
 Romeyn's request, nevertheless he did not 
 cease to rail at this piece of bad luck, and 
 as he drove back to Jermyn Street, his mind 
 conjured up what that tete-a-tete dinner with 
 Hercea would have been, which he had had to 
 forego. 
 
 And in an hour or so after he had taken them, 
 Madame Artaki once more appeared in the 
 rooms in Jermyn Street, having driven round to 
 Bilbury's warehouse in Marylebone and taken 
 out of store what boxes and other things she 
 required for the new campaign. For nothing 
 had been sold and was never intended to be. 
 Then she arranged for new servants to come 
 next day and sent a telegram to Gould desir- 
 ing him to return. For this ill-conditioned cur 
 was a useful animal, either as watch dog, 
 or to act the part of dog in the manger 
 when required, and though always growling 
 because he thought his faithful services were 
 not sufficiently rewarded, still he appeared to 
 remain content with an occasional caress of 
 of his mistress' hand. He would not willingly
 
 182 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 have left her even if she had taken to beating 
 him, for his surpassing conceit was gratified 
 by being seen with her, and his vanity flattered 
 by the false rumours that they were au mieux 
 together, rumours he not only never contra- 
 dicted, but even surreptitiously spread, through 
 channels which would reach Haycock and Co.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " CABBING IT." 
 
 But whilst Norton has been congratulating 
 himself on having discovered Madame Artaki's 
 retreat, and buoying himself up with the 
 fondest hopes for the future, a strange hand, 
 totally unknown to him, has driven the first 
 rough furrow in his fool's Paradise, so shortly 
 all to be upturned ; withering all the flowers 
 of fair promise and leaving him a crop of 
 rank herbs. 
 
 For Pitt's patience has been rewarded by 
 having, by chance, seen Norton dash out of his 
 club, on the receipt of Hercea's note, and in 
 such a high state of excitement, that Pitt's 
 sagacity hails this as a portent. 
 
 " Where's he going in such a deuce of a 
 hurry? " says Pitt to himself, as he sees 
 Norton jump into a hansom and knows by 
 his gestures that he has instructed the driver
 
 1 84 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 to drive hard. " Hang me if I won't find 
 out," goes on Pitt, " if it costs me five bob." 
 So he springs nimbly on to the foot-board of 
 a passing cab. 
 
 " Follow that hansom — the chesnut horse — ■ 
 and stop when he does. Mind he don't twig 
 you. There's five bob for you," for Pitt does 
 not know how far Norton may be going and 
 not every cabman will undertake this kind of 
 pursuit. 
 
 " All right, Sir. He won't get away from 
 me," replies the man, and away goes Pitt, 
 keeping his eye on the back of Norton's 
 hansom, with the dapper-looking driver sway- 
 ing about from side to side from the speed his 
 horse is travelling. 
 
 At the moment Norton's cab stops at the 
 corner of Smith Street, Pitt's vehicle draws 
 up with a jerk some thirty yards farther 
 behind into King's Road, and quickly as we 
 have seen Norton hurry down the street, 
 Pitt is too smart for him and is able to 
 take the exact bearings of the house he 
 enters. 
 
 Then Pitt determines to watch, for the 
 locality suggests those assignations which are
 
 CABBING IT." 185 
 
 not generally announced by trumpet as about 
 to take place, and to avoid comment he en- 
 deavours to assume the attitude of an explorer 
 from the provinces, who having once heard 
 something of Nell Gwynne wants to see the 
 Hospital of Chelsea. So he addresses a pur- 
 blind veteran wearing several medals, who 
 has just saluted one of his officers, an old 
 gentleman, battered and hacked in innumerable 
 battles, with a face which, though it still shows 
 the lion in it, is wreathed with a smile of ever- 
 lasting good humour ; with an ear trumpet, 
 like a miniature fog horn, sticking out of his 
 pocket ; and with a fair girl, his daughter, 
 leaning on the one arm that his hard knocks 
 for Her Majesty have left him. 
 
 Pitt accosts the veteran of the medals. 
 
 " That's Chelsea Hospital, ain't it, where 
 the old soldiers is kept?" 
 
 " Yes, that's the 'orspital — where the Chelsea 
 Pensioners live. I come here soon after the 
 Crimee war. I was in the 93rd and the first 
 time as ever a shot " 
 
 " Dear me! how interesting," breaks in 
 Pitt, who knows what he is in for and has no 
 time or inclination to listen to these long-
 
 1 86 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 winded yarns. " I suppose you don't have 
 much to do, now ? " 
 
 " Well, I can't say as how the werry flesh 
 is worked off our bones, but there is a lot 
 of 'umbugging, you know, — agoing to chapel 
 and sich like, and cleaning of our own rooms. " 
 
 " Clean your own rooms! You! old soldiers 
 made to clean your own rooms ! Abominable ! " 
 
 " Yes, you may well say so — but it's a fact — 
 all the same. It's a disgrace to the country." 
 
 " And what, do you do when you are not 
 scrubbing out your rooms, and not in chapel? " 
 says Pitt, thirsting for details of a pensioner's 
 life. 
 
 " Oh ! we mostly 'angs about and smokes, 
 or, maybe, 'as a drink." 
 
 " I suppose you know every one in the neigh- 
 bourhood," says Pitt, disregarding the cus- 
 tomary hint. " Do you happen to know a Mrs. 
 Soady about here ? She's an aunt of mine," 
 
 "Soady? Soady?" says the veteran as if 
 endeavouring to recall the lady to his memory. 
 " No. I don't know no one of that name." 
 
 " Well, she lives here, somewhere. I think 
 it must be No. — ," mentioning the house into 
 which he has seen Norton enter.
 
 CABBING IT." 187 
 
 " 'Ere, Martha," says the veteran, stopping 
 the white-faced guardian of the windy babies, 
 •" '00 lives in No. — ? " 
 
 " That 'ouse ! " says Martha, whilst a shock- 
 ingly expressive look passes over her face, 
 ■" Why, it ain't a respectable 'ouse, no more 
 ain't No. — , nor No. — , nor yet the last 
 three on t'other side." 
 
 " Pears you knows all about 'em," says the 
 veteran with a nudge in Pitt's ribs and a look 
 of admiration at the precocious girl. 
 
 " In course I do. Don't father keep the 
 pawnshop in King's Road and don't I go and 
 carry 'ome the warious articles when they've 
 'ad a run of luck ? " 
 
 The veteran makes no reply, but subsides 
 into a hearty laugh, then recovering — 
 
 ' k And how old may you be, Martha; if it's 
 permitted to 'arst ? " 
 
 " Ten years and two months." 
 
 " Go on with yer," replies the pensioner, 
 with his elbow again in Pitt's ribs. " Go on, 
 you'll do, you will. And that settles it, 
 mister," he continues, turning to Pitt, "for 
 this here can't be Mrs. Soady's, leastways 
 if she's respectable." But Pitt does not
 
 1 88 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 feel it ^incumbent on him to defend the 
 character of this imaginary female, so dis- 
 missing the veteran with a sixpence which 
 has the desired effect of immediately with- 
 drawing that ancient warrior into the nearest 
 public, and waiting until Martha has got 
 some distance down the street, he takes up a 
 position of advantage for seeing what is going 
 on in the house into which he has run Norton 
 to earth. He has, however, rather a long time 
 to wait and begins to think that he is perhaps 
 merely wasting his time, as it is the merest 
 surmise in his mind that this visit of Norton's 
 to this part of London has anything to do with 
 Madame Artaki. But, after nearly an hour, 
 his patience is amply rewarded — ten-fold — by 
 first seeing Norton come out and hurry off, 
 and, then — to his unqualified delight — Madame 
 Artaki, who goes away in a cab, with a box, 
 Some strokes of luck seem too good to be 
 true, and as Pitt remarked, " You might have 
 knocked him down with a feather." However, 
 as no one performed that operation on him, he 
 sufficiently recovered from his surprise to follow 
 Madame Artaki as far as Marylebone ; thinking 
 at first she must be going to a railway station ;
 
 CABBING IT" 189 
 
 but he sees her go to Bilbury's, and from there 
 he tracks her, with all her boxes piled on another 
 cab as well as her own, to the old place in 
 Jermyn Street. This done, he hurried back 
 to Smith Street, in order to secure evidence 
 other than his own unaided testimony, of Norton 
 and Madame Artaki having been there together, 
 which might be disputed, or flatly denied. 
 For he at once saw that he might now play 
 Norton off against Gould ; fidelity to whom was 
 evidently not one of Madame Artaki' s strong 
 points, or why this assignation in this mys- 
 terious house? Many a less cute person 
 might have been satisfied with what he had dis- 
 covered. Not so Pitt. For he had been trained 
 in a school where Ananias and Sapphira would 
 have been plucked, and was accustomed, since 
 the age of twelve, to discredit all unsupported 
 evidences, — the first thing he had learnt when 
 he mounted a high stool in the office of 
 those eminently respectable legal practitioners, 
 Messieurs Wreck and Beyfus of Abchurch 
 Lane. For there he had been slowly initiated 
 in that deepest of legal mysteries, the 
 preparation of affidavits, where the skill con- 
 sisted in eliminating everything remotely
 
 igo SWIFTER THAN A WE A VER S SHUTTLE. 
 
 resembling truth, and in weaving the web of 
 falsehood so skilfully that Justice had at last 
 grown blind by having the light of truth so 
 long shut out from her eyes, — like fish who 
 dwell in dark caves. 
 
 Having knocked at the door of the house 
 in Smith Street, he was received and admitted 
 by the towzled one, of whom he enquired if he 
 could have a room. This maid replied that 
 the parlour floor had just been vacated : he 
 could have that and could go up and see it for 
 himself. He thanked her, and begged her not 
 to trouble herself to accompany him upstairs, 
 an unnecessary piece of politeness on his part, 
 as she evidently had no intention of putting 
 herself to trouble of any kind. His eye 
 glanced rapidly round the room, and the first 
 thing it alighted on was the envelope of a 
 telegram, thrown in behind the shavings in the 
 grate and addressed to Madame Artaki, No. — 
 Smith Street, Chelsea. This was a very im- 
 portant find, but still did not connect Norton 
 with her, nor prove he had been there to see 
 her. He had, it is true, taken the number of 
 cab in which Norton sat whilst he chased him ; 
 but the cab had stopped at the corner of Smith
 
 CABBING IT." 191 
 
 Street and of course the driver could not swear 
 where his "fare" went after alighting. However 
 Pitt determined to try the effects of a little cross- 
 examination on the maid, and rang the bell. 
 
 " See here, Jane," he says, using the first 
 name that comes to his lips, as the girl comes 
 in, " You're fly enough. There will be half 
 a sovereign for you if you can put me on to 
 what I want to know." 
 
 The girl looks suspiciously. 
 
 " And what may that be ? You tell me fust.' ' 
 
 "Nothing to harm you, or your missus, 
 nothing you need be afraid of. I want to know 
 about the lady with the light hair, she who 
 went off from here about an hour ago, with her 
 box. How long was she here ? " 
 
 " Two or three days," replies the girl. 
 
 ' c And the masher with the light-coloured 
 frock coat and white hat ? " 
 
 " He didn't stop here, he only come an hour 
 afore she went away." 
 
 " She was here three days. Was she hard 
 up?" 
 
 " No, not that I see ; but the masher give her 
 a lot of notes afore he lef, and one of these she 
 sent down, and my missus changed."
 
 1 92 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 "Was it a new one?" says Pitt, with the 
 sudden idea crossing his mind that if new he 
 would connect Norton with this transaction by 
 tracing it through his bankers. 
 
 "Bran new, crisp and clean." 
 
 " Ah ! that's just what I thought ! " and he 
 looks hard at the girl, and very serious. " I 
 advise you to be very careful. Now the best 
 thing for you to do is to speak plain — and 
 then there won't be no rows." 
 
 " What rows? " says she impudently. "My 
 missus ain't afraid of no rows, the perlice 
 never bothers 'er — she is too old an 'and, as 
 they says in the 'Ouse of Commons — down to 
 every move she is, and always keeps on the 
 right side." 
 
 " I have no doubt she is quite fit to be re- 
 turned for Chelsea when women have votes and 
 females are in Parliament, but just now they ain't. 
 All I tell you is that that note is a 'bosher' 
 — a bad un. I know all about your missus. 
 I know she is a most respectable female, and I 
 know all about yourself too. And I know" — 
 and he holds up the envelope of the telegram, 
 " that this person was staying in your house. 
 Now that is awkward ; — for the oldest hand, —
 
 CABBING IT." 193 
 
 for she is a swindler and the note is a 
 forgery." 
 
 " Bless my rags," says the woman, " is that 
 true? " 
 
 "Well — you'll soon see — for I must take 
 you and your missus off to the Station, unless 
 you get me the note, in which case I need not 
 take any more notice." 
 
 " What ! and lose a matter of three pun ten, 
 the change my missus gave for the note? 
 Come — you must be soft — you're a trying of 
 it on." 
 
 "Am I? but you had better be careful. I 
 tell you, I come from Scotland Yard. But I 
 don't intend your missus shall lose. I will 
 give her the five sovereigns for her note. It 
 is the usual way, in detecting forgeries. The 
 Government pays this out of secret service 
 money." 
 
 " Law bless me — do they ? I thought as 
 how all that went in the Caulk-' ouse as they 
 calls it." 
 
 " No, not all — a good deal of it, when 
 the Reds are in — but I ain't come here to 
 teach you politics — you go and ask your 
 mistress if she will take five sovereigns for 
 
 vol. 1 13
 
 i 9 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 her note — and be sharp — for I ain't inclined 
 to waste my time." 
 
 The woman disappears and in a moment or 
 two returns with a new five pound note in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Missus says you can 'ave it, if your sove- 
 reigns is as good as this here note, which she 
 says is as good as the Bank of England. But 
 she wants to see the colour of your gold first." 
 
 " Certainly, here, you can see for yourself — 
 take them down and bring back the note 
 again." 
 
 And again the girl goes downstairs, return- 
 ing next time with the note only, which she 
 hands to Pitt. 
 
 " Ah ! that's all right," says Pitt, looking at 
 it and examining the number. " Yes, it is all 
 right. Now then for your half-sovereign — run 
 down and get me change" — and he hands her 
 another sovereign. 
 
 Her third exit is smarter than the previous 
 ones, and Pitt avails himself of her absence by 
 promptly taking out a pencil from his pocket 
 and making a memorandum of the number of 
 the note and its date, with another as to the 
 exact date and hour when he saw Norton and
 
 CABBING IT." 195 
 
 Madame Artaki issue out of the house, in order 
 that, if it is ever necessary, he can produce them 
 as evidence of what he may wish to prove. 
 Then the towzled-one returns, and having 
 received her promised reward, shows Pitt out 
 of the house, who goes straight to Lupus Street, 
 where he narrates everything that has occurred. 
 
 The confirmation of her suspicions that 
 Norton is playing Rosalie false falls heavily on 
 Madeline, for nothing having transpired during 
 the last few days to confirm these suspicions, 
 she had begun to hope that there was no 
 ground for them. But Pitt's discovery settles 
 that question. It would be impossible for 
 Norton to give any satisfactory explanation, 
 Why was he at that house ? why giving 
 Madame Artaki money ? 
 
 But the more Madeline and Pitt discussed it 
 the more puzzled they became. Nor did the 
 line they should adopt appear very clear. For 
 it seemed obvious to them that Madame Artaki 
 was deceiving Gould, whilst Norton was be- 
 coming mixed up with the people whom Made- 
 line had come to London on purpose to de- 
 nounce and hand over to justice. And yet 
 she could now only do so by sacrificing her
 
 196 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 sister's happiness. For Madeline felt sure that 
 without proof positive Rosalie would not give 
 up Norton. And how could she give these 
 convincing proofs without betraying the fact 
 that she was here in London looking after 
 Gould and this woman, and thus frustrate 
 every possible chance of recovering her bonds. 
 And what did that mean.? That she and her 
 mother were to drag on the life of privation 
 they had so long endured, and leave these 
 vagabonds in quiet possession of their ill- 
 gotten gains. 
 
 Long and anxiously do they discuss the 
 whole matter, Pitt laying stress on the nature 
 of the people with whom Norton is becoming 
 entangled, and inclining to the idea that there 
 is collusion between Gould and Madame 
 Artaki in this affair of Norton's : which view 
 still more complicates matters. 
 
 " The matters are so involved," says Made- 
 line, " for my poor sister is really and truly 
 very attached to Captain Norton. I dread 
 what may be the consequences of this sad 
 disclosure." 
 
 " Anyhow, whatever it is, Madame Ostro- 
 lenka, in my humble judgment there is no
 
 CABBING IT." 197 
 
 mistake as to what you should do. You should 
 tell her all, and give her her choice. Tell 
 her about the note, that ought to convince 
 her. Men don't give women bank notes for 
 nothing." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," says Madeline. 
 " I have only one thing I can do. I must at 
 any price save my sister." 
 
 " God help her if you don't, for she will 
 have a bad time of it, with her husband in tow 
 of this Artaki. The whole crew of them are as 
 bad as can be, mixed up in every swindle, and 
 certain, some of them, to end their days in 
 Portland; if they don't on the gallows." 
 
 "You paint them very black, and yet," — 
 and she pauses, "you have been amongst 
 them a long time." 
 
 " Ah, for God's sake, don't remind me of 
 that ! I am determined to -turn my back on 
 them as soon as I can. You are perfectly 
 justified in thinking the very worst of me, 
 
 but " and he hesitates for a moment, 
 
 possibly thinking his simile will appear profane. 
 
 "But what?" she says quietly. 
 
 " The Thief on the Cross, you know, he 
 got forgiven."
 
 198 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 Madeline remains silent. 
 
 "I hope I'm not irreverent," he says; "I 
 know very little about the Bible, but I have 
 always thought of that man, how he went on 
 badly right up to the end. I have often 
 thought I might be like him." 
 
 (< Fm glad you ever think of anything seri- 
 ously; but it is getting late now, it is nearly 
 nine. I have made up my mind to see my 
 sister, and I intend going at once. The even- 
 ing is the best time, and I don't think that we 
 should lose an hour. It seems to me that this 
 woman Artaki must be an incarnate spirit of 
 evil. Who knows what influence she may not 
 gain over other minds here in London — 
 Rosalie — my father — or anyone?" 
 
 Then Pitt leaves, and judges by her solemn 
 face that her mind is firmly fixed, and that 
 nothing will turn it.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 
 
 Even Norton — a past master in the art of 
 deceiving women — felt a little awkward in 
 meeting Rosalie's gushing and affectionate 
 welcome when he presented himself in Wim- 
 pole Street, exactly at the dinner hour, 
 after his meeting with Hercea in Smith 
 Street. 
 
 " Why didn't you come a little earlier, 
 darling?" says Rosalie, with both hands on 
 his shoulders, and looking up in his face, — as 
 they are left for a moment alone in the back 
 drawing-room, whilst Romeyn is button-holing 
 the only other guest — his friend Captain 
 Hackett of the Engineers, — that genial little 
 man who goes everywhere and quarrels with 
 no one. 
 
 " I couldn't, Rosie. I was engaged all the 
 afternoon about our settlement, and only got
 
 220 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 back from my lawyer in time to dress for 
 dinner." 
 
 " Oh, I have such lots to tell you, Geordie. 
 I have been so miserable — so utterly miserable, 
 the last two days, without you, my love," and 
 she puts her face up and their lips meet. 
 " And here is your flower, darling, a lovely 
 gardenia. I bought it on the way from the 
 station ; the sweetest I could find in Greene's 
 shop," and she places it in his coat. 
 
 Then they go down to dinner, and the fond 
 girl's foot hardly ceases to press or be pressed 
 throughout the, to her, interminably long 
 ceremony. But she consoles herself. There 
 is a good time in store for her. Her father 
 will go out with Hackett, and she and her 
 affianced husband will have a long evening 
 alone. She has so much to tell him. Their 
 marriage is so near at hand. 
 
 But she is disappointed, bitterly, for he, un- 
 able to restrain his burning impatience to see 
 Hercea again, rises before Romeyn and Hackett 
 have finished their cigars, and under the false 
 plea of joining Rosalie, whom he naturally 
 is supposed to be anxious to see after their 
 few days' separation, escapes from the house.
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 201 
 
 In the hall he sees a plump, pretty little 
 woman seated waiting ; a footman is eyeing 
 her, evidently proposing to himself to enter 
 into conversation. As Norton looks for his 
 Gibus the man volunteers an explanation. 
 " Miss Romeyn's dressmaker is with her, 
 Sir, and this here young woman is her com- 
 panion." 
 
 " Oh, is she?" says Norton, delighted at 
 the excuse. Then to himself, " Capital ! I 
 can say it was no use my waiting," and seizing 
 his hat he is off, and — as fast as wheels will 
 take him — is in Jermyn Street. 
 
 Hercea receives him with the greatest cor- 
 diality, something almost approaching to the 
 clinging in her manner ; unlike the usual 
 stand-offishness which she generally assumes. 
 
 "J am deeply indebted to you," she says, 
 looking round the room, " This is better than 
 Smith Street, and all thanks to you. How 
 can I ever repay you? " 
 
 Norton for a moment remains silent, not 
 venturing to suggest how easy that might be, 
 by consenting to run away with him — to the 
 ends of the earth if she chooses. 
 
 "You are silent," she says, slowly raising
 
 202 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 her eyes, their dark lustre seeming to pene- 
 trate him. " You regret this generous offer — 
 this disinterested sacrifice.' ' 
 
 " I swear I do not," says he fervently, and 
 gazing at her with nothing short of adoration. 
 " I love you too well and too truly to regret 
 helping you, whatever may happen. I did not 
 intend to barter love against money. Any- 
 thing I can do in this world, tell me, and I 
 will do it." 
 
 For a moment she appears almost moved 
 by this great devotion, and possibly, even in 
 her heart, this speech finds an echo, for she 
 was a strangely complex nature. For, for 
 human suffering and misery she ever had a 
 pitying tear, although for the feelings of her 
 many admirers, or lovers, she had no con- 
 sideration, and would have clapped her hands 
 at their auto dafe when they had ceased to sub- 
 serve her purpose. She had been known to 
 perform deeds of great charity and self-devo- 
 tion towards the sick and needy ; — she had been 
 seen to employ her surpassing beauty and her 
 irresistibly bewitching manner to lure men to 
 destruction, as surely as Lais or Cleopatra, or 
 any other of those great women, whose names
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 203 
 
 have come down to us bound up with the 
 memory of honour ruined or empires lost. 
 
 But any pity for Norton is transient, for 
 she intends to employ her consummate powers 
 of fascination to beguile him. He, however, 
 hugging himself in his own conceit, is per- 
 suaded he is an uncommonly clever person 
 to have succeeded in laying the most strik- 
 ingly beautiful woman in the whole of London 
 under an obligation of no ordinary kind. But 
 she knows that ninety-nine men out of a 
 hundred are vulnerable either through their 
 passions or their vanity, and a fair proportion 
 through a combination of both. Norton is 
 one of these last, and it is on this hypothesis 
 that she proposes to work on him. She motions 
 him to sit by her on the sofa, on which she 
 has already assumed an attitude which com- 
 bines the utmost grace with abandon, and as he 
 accepts the proffered seat, he is, through his 
 infatuation for her, as much out of his right 
 senses as are half the inmates of Bedlam. His 
 companion knows this well enough ; she can 
 see the turbid madness for her lurking in him, 
 and knows well that it is only restrained 
 by decorum and conventionality, — flimsy safe-
 
 204 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 guards for a weak woman. But it causes her 
 no alarm. She is not weak in any sense, but 
 possesses such moral and physical courage, 
 added to personal strength, that she is fearless 
 under the most trying ordeals. Too many 
 men had sighed their lives out at her feet ; 
 too many had trodden that perilous road 
 over which Norton, with fatuous blindness 
 had now begun to travel, to produce in her 
 anything resembling alarm. A woman at 
 fifteen, brought up in Pera and on the shores 
 of the Bosphorus, she had, long before reaching 
 this her twenty-fifth year, stood many a siege, 
 and had reduced her defence to a complete 
 science. 
 
 Norton sat by her side and leaned towards 
 her, every fibre in his body strained to break- 
 ing, whilst, silently gazing at him, she cast into 
 her eyes a look of the deepest expression, where 
 tenderness and reserve seemed strangely united, 
 
 "You look agitated, Captain Norton, and I 
 should be only telling a falsehood if I pretended 
 not to know the cause. But to-night I have 
 much to tell you, much that you must learn. 
 Accident has thrown us together in a singular 
 way and for me — most fortunately ; for I have
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 205 
 
 benefited immensely by it. Well — now I 
 intend to show myself to you in my real 
 character — my character as it actually is — ■ 
 and I leave you to decide how you will act 
 towards me. I am playing for a great 
 stake — this lawsuit which I have lost is a mere 
 prelude to the greater matters that are before 
 me — and the loss of it does not necessarily 
 deprive me of all hope of success. I do not 
 mind telling you that I have been under a 
 great cloud in Turkey, a suspicion of a dread- 
 ful crime has hung over me for years ; and, I 
 confess, it would seem that I deserved it. But 
 for your own satisfaction — here I solemnly 
 swear I did not commit the crime. All kinds 
 of things hinged on this offence, and people 
 of the highest position got involved. I was 
 practically made a prisoner, and for more than 
 four years was kept in the Harem of a great 
 personage as I told you before, — vigilantly 
 watched night and day by half-a-dozen 
 eunuchs whose duty it was never to lose 
 sight of me. You don't know how these things 
 are done in the East. It seems incredible to 
 you, here in London, that this sort of thing 
 can continue; — still it does. Well — I escaped
 
 206 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 through the help of a man who had loved me 
 most passionately, who came and with the most 
 untiring patience found means to get me away. 
 But it cost him his life. He was suspected 
 or discovered, and was assassinated the night 
 after in the streets of Stamboul. I had a 
 series of adventures — miraculous escapes, for 
 my face betrayed me everywhere. Finally I 
 got away, and here I am. But now that I 
 am safe in European civilisation I intend 
 trying to get back some of the property 
 belonging to myself, at the time of my 
 marriage. This is never difficult in Turkey 
 if you are ready to bribe. But, meanwhile, I 
 must live. But I am not vile — though many 
 pay me the compliment of supposing I am ; 
 if I were, why, see here ! look at some of 
 these letters, letters which come by every 
 post — for every man thinks he may write to a 
 woman in my position, and that he does her 
 honour in making all kinds of proposals. And 
 what is to prevent me answering these if I 
 like ? Nothing except something in myself. 
 Not virtue — for I do not pretend to have any. 
 Do you understand?" 
 
 "Perhaps I do — a little," says Norton, feel-
 
 A BLIND BARGAUV. 207 
 
 ing chilled — for this is not the kind of enter- 
 tainment he had been so eagerly looking 
 forward to. 
 
 " Anyhow — you will learn" she says, "for 
 I see that you are a nature that can sympathise 
 with a woman in distress." 
 
 And here his hopes rise again, like a baro- 
 meter fluttering up and down in a cyclone — 
 for her eyes are looking at him so long and so 
 steadily that he seems to see beyond the dull 
 walls of this lodgment in roaring, common- 
 place London, to some far-off and perfect 
 Paradise, where he and she will be alone. 
 
 Then she takes up her speech again. 
 
 " Now to accomplish these ends of mine, I 
 must have allies — and I have chosen you for 
 one — if you will serve me — faithfully." 
 
 " God knows I will ! " he ejaculates. " I'll 
 serve you as no dog ever served his master, 
 blindly, — any way you like." 
 
 "And my allies must not quarrel amongst 
 themselves," she says gravely. 
 
 " I will quarrel with no one, for your sake, 
 or I will quarrel with any one, if you tell me to." 
 
 " If you can do all this, of all my friends, 
 you shall be one of my nearest and dearest."
 
 208 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Don't, don't speak like that. It is torture 
 to me," says Norton. " If you only knew 
 what it is to feel the love I have for you!" 
 
 " P count on that love," she says quietly. 
 " Why should I not ? What can a man give 
 more than love, which means life and every- 
 thing ? I know that love binds, when no 
 oaths or vows are of the least use." 
 
 " I believe you are quite right," says 
 Norton, with a twitch at his heart as he thinks 
 of his vows to Rosalie. " I feel myself 
 that love will bind me, where nothing else 
 
 can." 
 
 " Let it then bind you to me," she says 
 softly, crossing her hands on her knees, and 
 leaning forward till her sweet breath almost 
 fans his cheek. " Now, at this time, it may 
 appear a barren and unprofitable attachment, 
 but — and I trust to your honour not to make it 
 harder for me to bear — I like you more than 
 any man I have seen for a long time, far more 
 than I imagined possible." 
 
 His heart beats fast, it almost deprives him 
 of speech, but he gasps out, 
 
 " Hercea, my love ! this is infinitely more 
 than I dared expect; I will live in hope.
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 209 
 
 And tell me, tell me how I can help you 
 now ? " 
 
 " To-night I cannot, for it depends on what 
 I learn to-morrow from Mr. Gould, who has 
 gone on business to Boulogne ; " she answers. 
 "But it is on a matter which would not interest 
 you ; beyond that it concerns me." 
 
 " It would interest me immensely," he says, 
 "If you will tell me." 
 
 " It will be placing a deep confidence in 
 you," she says, and then putting her hand 
 on his arm, she adds, " But — I feel I must 
 tell you; I — want your advice and your 
 help." 
 
 His advice ! this wonderful woman, wanting 
 his advice ! After all there must be more in 
 him than he thought, and that was not a 
 little. His hand falls over hers, then he 
 takes hers up, and presses it to his lips. 
 Hers remains passive. 
 
 " I have only told you half my affairs as 
 yet," she says. " There is another very serious 
 affair in which I am involved, and I do not see 
 my way out of it. I sent Gould to Boulogne 
 to meet a man who may be able to arrange 
 it, or to arrange a delay. If Gould fails in 
 
 vol. 1. 14
 
 210 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 this, I do not know what I shall do. If he 
 succeeds I am safe." 
 
 " Money, I suppose? " says Norton. 
 
 " Yes, a large sum. Five thousand pounds,'' 
 she says, and her face looks anxious. 
 
 " Five — thousand — pounds," says Norton 
 slowly. " Yes, it is a biggish figure." 
 
 " But I don't despair of Gould. He is so 
 full of resource. He never fails me at a 
 pinch." 
 
 " But he has not got five thousand farthings, 
 has he?" says Norton, a little piqued at her 
 tone. " At least I thought you said so." 
 
 " You are right, but that does not matter. 
 He would rob the Bank of England rather than 
 leave me in difficulty. He is no ordinary 
 man I can assure you, or you would not see 
 him so near me." 
 
 Norton lapses into thought. This brute 
 Gould, without a farthing, seeming to inspire 
 her with more confidence than himself, with all 
 his money ! Why does she not ask him plump 
 and plain to help her? 
 
 But she has no intention of doing so — not 
 yet — and rises from the sofa saying, 
 
 " Come, let us be off to the Papyrus, or
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 211 
 
 anywhere. I hate going half way to meet my 
 troubles." 
 
 "Stay a moment," he says, detaining her 
 by seizing her hand again. She sees what is 
 coming, and stands before him, close to him, 
 for he holds her hand still. 
 
 " If Gould fails, what will happen ? " he says 
 looking up at her. 
 
 "I cannot say, except that I shall go away." 
 
 " And Gould— Gould ? " 
 
 " Yes, probably Gould with me. He is my 
 most faithful friend." 
 
 " Won't you let me find this ^5,000," he 
 blurts out suddenly. " Let me give it to you ; 
 anyhow, won't you count on it from me if he 
 fails?" 
 
 " How truly you love me," she says slowly, 
 " and so soon too ! You would give me this 
 
 ^5,000? "_ 
 
 " Yes, willingly, and everything else I possess 
 in the world." 
 
 " I cannot accept so generous an offer. I 
 will borrow it from you. I will repay it some 
 day." 
 
 "Anyway you like, if it will make it easier 
 to you," he says. "Not that I shall consider
 
 212 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 it a loan. It is a mere offering to the woman 
 I love beyond everything in the world.' ' 
 
 " But the day would come when you would 
 regret this noble gift — when you could not 
 perhaps bear the thought of me. What if I 
 marry some very wealthy man ? " 
 
 " Don't talk of it ! I should blow my brains 
 out," and he curses his own miserable little 
 fortune of ^"800 pounds a year — thinking how 
 inadequate it would be to her wants — even if 
 multiplied by ten. 
 
 But the words have made her shudder, and 
 Norton is amazed to see the colour leave her 
 cheeks, 
 
 " What is it," he says, getting up hurriedly, 
 " I have said something to offend you ! " 
 
 "No, nothing, but don't talk about blowing 
 out your brains," and she shudders again. 
 " It is something I cannot bear." 
 
 She is thinking of a scene long years before. 
 He thinks it is his brains she is so concerned 
 about. 
 
 " I won't then threaten to blow my brains 
 out," he says, as she turns and leaves him, 
 walking towards her bedroom door. 
 
 Poor fool ! if he only knew how supremely
 
 A BLIND BARGAIN. 213 
 
 indifferent she would be if he did, provided 
 he had previously signed her a cheque for his 
 promised gift. 
 
 She soon reappears, her colour has returned, 
 she is as gay as ever and has her opera cloak 
 on her arm. 
 
 But he, during her absence, has had a few 
 minutes for reflection. 
 
 What is all this strange affair he has got 
 mixed up with ? where will it lead him? Five 
 thousand pounds as good as gone ! Nothing 
 for it ! No, impossible. He can't allow her 
 to play fast and loose like this. No, may he 
 
 be etc., etc., if he will. What a fool 
 
 he would be ! And this woman evidently 
 fond of him, can't bear to hear him even talk 
 about blowing his brains out. 
 
 She at once detects by his tone of voice 
 and familiarity of expression, some change in 
 his manner, bred of these new fancies. 
 
 "Come along, Hercea," he says, and, walking 
 close up, lays hold of her opera cloak in a manner 
 too suggestive of possession to please her. 
 
 " Don't, please don't," — she has a quiet way 
 of putting people down exceedingly hard to 
 bear.
 
 2i 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Oh ! " says he drawing back, "I'm an 
 awful fool, I beg your pardon." 
 
 " No, not so foolish, but you must remem- 
 ber, I am in a lonely position and I am more 
 or less quite in your hands. If you get into 
 a free and easy way it will make it impossible 
 for us to remain friends. I am very frank 
 always. I hate anything of that kind." 
 
 Norton listens with much astonishment. 
 What an extraordinary woman for taking a 
 man up and putting him down ! And he 
 only feels the more passion for her. 
 
 She naturally sees his embarrassment and 
 wishes to restore him to a more comfortable 
 frame of mind again. 
 
 " Come, help me on," and she turns to him 
 and he puts the cloak reverently over her 
 shoulders. " Now get a hansom, and let us 
 be off to the Papyrus."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " love's bubble.' ' 
 
 Roger Pitt has left Madeline plunged in 
 silent cogitation. It is clear to demonstration 
 that Norton is playing Rosalie false, and 
 equally clear that he must be going under 
 water very fast. But it is not clear that he 
 will have sufficient honour to disentangle 
 Rosalie from the wreck before he sinks. From 
 what Madeline has seen in the world she is 
 afraid poor Rosalie will be made to sink with 
 him. For how would a rich marriage inter- 
 fere with his pursuit of this woman Artaki ? 
 Rosalie would not be a solitary instance of 
 a wife robbed to support her husband's 
 mistress. 
 
 And all this came as a heavy blow. She 
 had so fondly hoped that one of their family 
 might, at least, be happy, or enjoy a tranquil, 
 though humdrum life : and this had at first
 
 216 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 appeared likely to be Rosalie's lot — for 
 Madeline thought that any man who could 
 put up so long with her father as Norton 
 had, must be of a mild, equable kind of 
 temper, calculated to run fairly well in the 
 married state. Such a life would best suit 
 Rosalie, thought Madeline, for she well knew 
 her sister was not made of that tough material 
 which will stand much wear and tear. 
 
 But Madeline was never long in making up 
 her mind to any course of action and that she 
 would put Rosalie on her guard she was now 
 firmly resolved, so bidding^ Perotte put on her 
 boots and herself preparing in a similar 
 manner, she started off at once for Wimpole 
 Street ; hoping to get there in time to catch 
 Rosalie before sallying forth to some ball or 
 other festive entertainment. 
 
 Taking a " Royal Blue " they were soon 
 deposited in Oxford Street where, even at that 
 time of the evening, the roar of the incessant 
 traffic seemed to half-daze Perotte, who in- 
 quired of her mistress what special affair, 
 race-meeting or what-not, was going on. It 
 was incomprehensible to her rustic mind that 
 this was the normal condition of London streets.
 
 "LOVE'S BUBBLEr 217 
 
 Rouen had appeared to her always something 
 astonishing, in contrast to her own green 
 fields, with the broad and placid Seine flowing 
 through rows of tall poplars, but this London ! 
 Ah ! who could believe it ! 
 
 Arrived at the door of her father's house, 
 Madeline sent up to enquire if she could see 
 Miss Romeyn. 
 
 Rosalie had just come from the dinner- 
 table ; her astonishment at a visit from Made- 
 line at this hour of the night was great. 
 
 " Tell me quick, darling Madge. What has 
 happened ? Is mother all right ? " 
 
 "Yes, Rosie ; mother is all right. But I 
 have come to have a talk with you on a painful 
 subject. 
 
 " What, Madge ? What is it ? Can I help 
 you ? How white and fatigued you look ! " 
 
 U I am not fatigued; but I hardly know 
 how to tell you, Oh ! Rosie, I wish to Heaven 
 I had not to tell it." 
 
 Rosalie at once takes alarm. 
 
 " Tell me right out. I can't bear suspense, 
 whatever it is." 
 
 "It is about your marriage, Rosie. Do 
 you love him so very, very much ? "
 
 2i8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " George ! " exclaims Rosalie, in astonish- 
 ment ; " it can't be about him! He is here 
 now, dining with us ; I have this moment left 
 him!" 
 
 " It is about him. And you tell me to be 
 plain, and say at once what I have to say. 
 Do you believe he is true, and that he loves 
 you as you deserve, my darling? " 
 
 Madeline, who has drawn Rosalie close to 
 her as they sit on the sofa side by side, feels 
 a tremble go through Rosalie's limbs. 
 
 "Listen, Madge," says Rosalie, with an 
 effort. " I believe he loves me most truly 
 and most devotedly. We seem to be all in 
 all to each other — at least — he is to me. Oh ! 
 for God's sake, Madge, don't say anything 
 that will part us." 
 
 " That may be out of my power, my poor 
 darling; would to Heaven it were anything 
 else ! But Rosie, brace yourself up ; listen 
 to me ; and oh ! believe me, I am doing the 
 best for you. / do not believe he is true to 
 you." 
 
 " Madge, dear," says Rosalie, drawing her- 
 self away a little, " I cannot listen to that, 
 even from you. It is impossible. It is some
 
 LOVE'S BUBBLES 2ig 
 
 horrid falsehood that has been told to you — ■ 
 some invention of some one who wants to 
 take him from me." 
 
 A wild look passes over her face, which 
 quite alarms Madeline. 
 
 u Come, Rosie, calm yourself. It is no 
 falsehood. It is true." 
 
 " I can't be calm when you talk of taking 
 George from me ! I can't, and I won't ! " and 
 the girl twists her hands together convulsively, 
 and moans out, " You don't know how I love 
 him, how dear he is to me ! how passionately I 
 love him ! " 
 
 "Poor darling!" says Madeline, with the 
 tears in her own eyes. " But still, will you 
 listen to me ? Will you hear what I have to 
 say?" 
 
 Rosalie remains silent. 
 
 "Can you not bear to hear it? I must 
 ask you, darling, is there any reason why I 
 should not tell you ? " 
 
 "No, Madge, no! " says Rosalie. "None, 
 none," and she hides her head in her sister's 
 bosom, whilst her white neck and even her 
 shoulders and arms flush crimson. " Only 
 Madge — only " and she stops.
 
 220 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 1 ' Only what, darling? Tell me. You are 
 free, surely you are free of him ? ' : 
 
 " How can I say I feel free of a man I have 
 surrendered my whole heart to ? He has been 
 good and noble to me , he has been better 
 and stronger than I have. I have felt myself 
 so entirely his in his presence, and after that — 
 after that — to think of anyone else ! No, 
 Madge, darling, it is impossible. I must 
 marry him ; oh ! I must marry him," and she 
 slid down on her knees and wound her arms 
 round her sister's waist. 
 
 " Oh, Rosie ! my loved sister! what you 
 tell me is terribly painful," says Madeline, 
 bowing her head over her with deep tender- 
 ness. " Yet I must speak. I must warn you ! 
 I can't allow you to go blindfold into a pit, 
 like this would be for you." 
 
 " How do you mean a pit ? " sobs Rosalie. 
 " I suppose George has been flirting with some 
 woman. I knew quite well when I became 
 engaged he was a great flirt. He was per- 
 fectly open and honest about it, and told, me 
 all about his old affairs, but, if that is all, I 
 can forgive him. He is not really my husband 
 yet. I could forgive him that."
 
 love's bubble: 
 
 " Believe me, Rosie, it is more serious than 
 that. Of course there is a woman in this, but 
 it is no mere case of flirtation, or I should 
 not have come here. I would not meddle 
 with your affairs unless I knew it was serious. 
 This is an affair which will drag him down 
 as low as man can go ; and, Rosie, if you 
 marry him, you will go down with him." 
 
 A cold shivering shudder again seizes 
 Rosalie. She knows Madeline is very much 
 in earnest — very certain. 
 
 " Madeline," says Rosalie in a low voice, 
 " this is terrible for me to listen to, but I 
 must hear it. He is not married to some one, 
 is he?" 
 
 " No, not married." 
 
 " Then I think I can win him back ; you say 
 it is a woman, probably some old liaison , some 
 one who has a hold on him, and thinks to break 
 off our marriage, but they shan't, Madge, for 
 with God's help I will win him back again." 
 
 " I trust you may, I don't say that it is too 
 late. He has only just met this woman, — only 
 a few days. He may be infatuated with her, — 
 every man seems to be. He may repent and 
 return, and I trust to Heaven he may, but, /
 
 222 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 cannot promise that. Nor do I intend to 
 try and influence you. I will tell you exactly 
 the whole thing. And then you must decide.- 
 Come, sit up by me, my pet. It is a long- story.' 
 
 And then Madeline narrated everything that 
 Pitt and she had discovered, omitting no detail. 
 And of a truth it made a most damning story. 
 It was impossible for Rosalie to doubt the main 
 outline of the facts, for Pitt's evidence was too 
 complete. It was mere nonsense to pretend to 
 disbelieve it. And tears rained over the poor 
 girl's cheeks and dropped unheeded on her 
 bosom. There she sat silent, turning it over 
 in her mind. But gradually she regained self- 
 possession, and a ray of light began to dawn. 
 
 "I don't disbelieve all this, Madge, for it 
 would be foolish. It is true enough no doubt. 
 But, Madge, can't you see any kind of ex- 
 planation of it ? This man Pitt sees Captain 
 Norton go to a house where this woman is. 
 How can we tell he did not go there to 
 help some other man out of a difficulty ? 
 Perhaps she is some man's wife who has run 
 away, and George went to try and get her to 
 go back, or something." 
 
 " That is all utterly impossible. Rosie, this
 
 "LOVE'S BUBBLE." 223 
 
 woman's history is known to me. I told you 
 she had only just come to London. I wish I 
 could flatter myself that there is any way of 
 explaining- it; I feel sure there is not." 
 
 " Well, Madge darling, you won't think I am 
 ungrateful to you for taking all this trouble, 
 but I feel sure there is some explanation of all 
 this," says Rosalie, with the slightest possible 
 tone of irritation in her voice. " I should be 
 unworthy of George if I cast him off the first 
 moment I hear anything against him." 
 
 " I don't want you to. He may explain, or, 
 he will perhaps deny it all." 
 
 " George will never tell me a falsehood," 
 says Rosalie, " He is incapable of even thinking 
 any underhand or false thing ; he is here now, 
 you wait a little, Madge, I will see him at 
 once. Poor darling Geordie ! I won't harbour 
 a thought against him." 
 
 " I see no harm in your seeking an explana- 
 tion at once," Madge replies. " Only, one 
 thing, I have a most special reason for my 
 name being kept out of this affair, I can't 
 explain why, but you must promise not to 
 mention me, nor Mr. Pitt in it." 
 
 " I promise; I will go now and see George,
 
 22 4 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 you are perfectly safe here in my boudoir, no 
 one comes here " And Rosalie rises up and 
 flutters out her skirts and removes the traces 
 of tears from her cheeks. 
 
 " How sweet and pretty you are, Rosie 
 darling," says Madeline looking fondly at her. 
 
 Rosalie trips off, almost gaily, already her 
 heart tells her that George will easily explain. 
 After all Madeline has made rather a fuss 
 about a thing that men in London are always 
 doing. Rosalie doesn't expect or even want 
 George to be a saint. 
 
 But Madeline has not long to wait, for in a 
 few moments Rosalie bursts into the room, 
 looking angry and disappointed, 
 
 " He has gone away," she says, " and I 
 can't imagine why ! Most unusual and ex- 
 traordinary. Just as I was counting on having 
 him all to myself all the evening ! He said he 
 would stay, before dinner, when I was giving 
 him his gardenia. He has been gone some 
 time the footman says. Papa and little 
 Hackett are still in the dining-room." 
 
 " Can George have discovered I am here? 
 He doesn't even know I am in London, does 
 he?" says Madeline — concernedly.
 
 "LOVE'S BUBBLE:' 225 
 
 " No, Madge, you asked me not to tell 
 anyone, and I haven't." 
 
 " Don't, then, darling - . It is most important 
 that no one should know." 
 
 " I won't, but I am so disappointed not to 
 see George." 
 
 " I must get out of the house without meet- 
 ing father, of course." 
 
 " You must wait then, Madge. I looked 
 into the dining room, through the curtain over 
 the conservatory door, and I heard him settling 
 with Hackett to go off to the Papyrus, and 
 they agreed to leave George alone. They 
 thought he was upstairs with me!" 
 
 " Does father go often to this Papyrus?" 
 says Madeline. " Then, mark my words, 
 Rosie, I am terribly afraid there will be a row 
 with father and Captain Norton. For unless I 
 am vastly mistaken, they will meet at the 
 Papyrus." 
 
 " George gone to the Papyrus ? How do 
 you know? why should you say so? It isn't 
 kind. And to-morrow I will find it all out ; I 
 will ask father if George was there." 
 
 " Yes, do, Rosie darling, and to-morrow 
 come and see me. I am at No. — in Lupus 
 
 vol. 1. 1 =;
 
 226 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER' S SHUTTLE. 
 
 Street. I told you I had picked up a French 
 girl in the steamer. She is a perfect treasure, 
 and thanks to you I am living comfortably." 
 
 "I will come to-morrow, Madge, and I feel 
 perfectly sure I shall be able to explain away 
 all this horrid story, even to your satisfaction.' ' 
 
 Then Rosalie rang the bell, and gave orders 
 to be informed as soon as Mr. Romeyn left 
 the house, which event took place about half 
 an hour after ; when Madeline said good-night 
 to her sister. 
 
 Perotte was waiting in the hall when Made- 
 line came downstairs. 
 
 " Such a beau monsieur left the house a few 
 minutes after we came in, Madame." 
 
 " You must be careful of ces beaux messieurs 
 here in London, Perotte," says Madeline 
 kindly. 
 
 " I am well aware of that, Madame. Did 
 not my poor cousin Jeanne come here, and 
 what became of it ? It broke my Aunt's heart." 
 
 When they got outside Madeline informed 
 Perotte that she wished to go for a little walk. 
 " You are not tired, Perotte, and a stroll in the 
 cool night air will do us both good after being 
 indoors all day."
 
 "LOVE'S BUBBLES ■ 227 
 
 " Nothing will please me better, Madame, 
 that is, if Madame does not lose her way." 
 
 "You need have no fear of that, I was 
 brought up in this part of London." 
 
 They took the direction of Oxford Street 
 it was past eleven, the theatres were discharg- 
 ing their half-asphyxiated audiences, cabs, 
 carriages, rushing in all directions, the pave- 
 ments a motley jumble of respectability and 
 raffishness, the country parson on foot with 
 his wifa on his arm, and timid round-faced 
 daughters, in old-fashioned opera cloaks, bring- 
 ing up the rear, expecting every moment to be 
 robbed, kidnapped, or run over; the jade, of 
 sixteen, with painted face ; the theatre door 
 thief, the swell, the policeman. Perotte, to 
 whom Madeline has given her arm, clings 
 close to her mistress and says, 
 
 " Oh ! what strange people, some of these ! " 
 
 "Yes, some are bad to look at, Perotte, 
 and London is a bad place, where a woman's 
 honour counts for nothing. There is nothing 
 so bad in the whole of Europe, no public 
 exhibition so disgraceful as this street, and the 
 next one, Regent Street." 
 
 But whilst Madeline was speaking-, Perotte
 
 228 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 suddenly gave a start, and twitched her mis- 
 tress' arm. A block in the traffic had brought 
 a hansom to a standstill just where they stood. 
 In it were seated a lady and gentleman. 
 
 " Look, look, Madame ! here, close to us. 
 It is the same man again who left your sister's 
 house!" 
 
 " Yes, you are right," says Madeline, in- 
 stinctively drawing back ; for she instantly 
 recognizes Madame Artaki. " Look, Perotte, 
 what a beautiful woman with him ! " And 
 Madeline is amazed at the rare loveliness 
 of the face before her, exposed under the full 
 light of the street lamps. 
 
 " She is indeed superb, Madame," replies 
 Perotte, unable to take her eyes off Madame 
 Artaki. 
 
 "Come along quick. I want to see where 
 they alight. It will be close by here," says 
 Madeline — and she drags Perotte across the 
 street before the girl knows what she is at, 
 and together they arrive at the entrance of 
 the Papyrus almost as soon as the hansom. 
 The usual small London crowd, to whom a 
 carpet spread across a pavement is an invita- 
 tion to stop and gape, is assembled at the
 
 "LOVKS BUBBLE:' 229 
 
 door, enabling Madeline and the faithful 
 Perotte to halt there too without exciting 
 curiosity. 
 
 Norton is helping Madame Artaki out. 
 
 " What an exquisite foot!" exclaims Perotte, 
 " et quelle jambe ! " as Madame Artaki, having 
 gathered her skirts clear of the wheel, makes 
 a nimble spring on to the carpet, as the 
 restive horse at that moment gives a sudden 
 dart forward. 
 
 " Smart on her pins, aint she, 'Any ? " says 
 one of the on-lookers. 
 
 " Yes — you bet — and my eye, ain't she just 
 prime to look at,'.' remarks another. " 'Ard 
 to beat, she is," says a third. But the jump 
 has shaken a flower out of the bosom of her 
 dress, and before Madeline knows what Perotte 
 is doing, the girl darts forward and picks it up. 
 
 "What a lovely flower," exclaims she, 
 delighted with her prize. " It will brighten 
 up our room, will it not, Madame? " 
 
 But Madeline is very silent and Perotte is 
 quick enough to notice it. 
 
 " Do you also know the lady, Madame ? " 
 
 " I do — but you must promise me not to say 
 anything about this."
 
 2 3 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I promise — but it is hardly necessary, for 
 I know no one but Madame." 
 
 "True, Perotte, but perhaps you may in 
 time. This lady plays a very important part 
 in my affairs. She is a most dangerous, 
 wicked woman, — for all that she is so beau- 
 tiful. She talks French as well as you do, 
 and she may perhaps try and find out things 
 from you, about me, and where I go and what 
 I do. But remember you may do an infinite 
 amount of harm by talking, or indiscretion." 
 
 " Madame, I promise you I will never open 
 my lips to a living soul about your affairs. 
 Though I am your servant I love you, Madame. 
 I will do all I can to prove it to you." 
 
 " Come along, Perotte. I can trust you ; 
 we will go home." 
 
 When they arrived home, Madeline exa- 
 mined the flower that had dropped from 
 Madame Artaki's bosom. It was an exquisite 
 gardenia, arranged with maiden-hair fern for a 
 man's button-hole. 
 
 " Put it in water, Perotte — but do not on any 
 account throw it away," said Madeline, and 
 then to herself, — " Poor Rosalie ! That may 
 have been a flower she gave him ! "
 
 LOVE'S BUBBLE. 
 
 231 
 
 Poor Rosalie, indeed, for was she not 
 closing her eyes deliberately to the falseness 
 of her lover, in spite of all that her sister had 
 told her ! 
 
 Gazing with loving eyes on Norton's photo- 
 graph, the last thing before springing into her 
 soft bed, and speaking tender words to him 
 in his absence, she was deeply contrite in her 
 heart for having allowed even a momentary 
 suspicion of his loyalty to cross her mind. 
 But that was at night — ideas change often in 
 the morning.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 
 
 Norton and Madame Artaki have entered the 
 brilliantly lighted rooms of the Papyrus, and 
 have been greeted with friendly salutations on 
 all sides. A young Italian composer, of 
 rising fame, is at the piano, warbling his latest 
 compositions in a soft voice, every word 
 sounded with the utmost clearness, and with 
 a passion and expression which show how 
 keenly he feels his own music. A new light 
 in the firmament of violoncello players is also 
 present, a Dane with a huge head of hair 
 erect like the bristles of a hedgehog ; with 
 a large white face and pulpy nose and with an 
 air of ineffable conceit and vanity about him. 
 Leading off the principal drawing-room are 
 two cosily-furnished boudoirs, into which by 
 the unwritten law of the place no third person 
 ever enters when two are already there. Not
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 235 
 
 that they are in any sense salons particuliers, 
 for they have curtains instead of doors, scarcely 
 dividing them from the big room. Never- 
 theless, they are to all intents and purposes 
 private as far as conversation is concerned, 
 and into one of these Norton conducts Hercea, 
 first peeping in discreetly to satisfy himself that 
 the ground is not already occupied. Madame 
 Artaki prefers this comparative seclusion, for 
 she can hear the music, of which she is pas 
 sionately fond, without being bored with the 
 unmeaning remarks of the men who gather 
 round her, and also she is not so much en 
 evidence for the gaze of all and sundry. 
 
 She is particularly gracious to-night, and 
 asks Norton a great deal about his past 
 life in which she affects a deep interest. 
 And naturally enough she soon finds out 
 that there is something he has not told her 
 hitherto. 
 
 " Are you married ? " she says point blank. 
 
 " And if I were," he replies, watching her 
 face narrowly. 
 
 " I should probably like you better. It 
 would make a considerable difference in our 
 positions. For I am too."
 
 234 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " You are then married ! And is your hus- 
 band alive ? " he says in surprise. 
 
 "Well, I can't say he is dead; he is dead 
 to me, though. I am divorced, but by the 
 Ottoman Law." 
 
 " And that is binding? " 
 
 " It now depends on me. I can make it 
 binding or not, as I please. It is a convenient 
 position." 
 
 " And where is he ? " says Norton with 
 deepening interest. 
 
 " He is now the Vali at Adrianople, a good 
 enough post." 
 
 "And you never think of returning to 
 him?" 
 
 " No, for many reasons. First, I should 
 have to get over many difficulties and troubles, 
 and secondly, and best reason of all, because 
 I hate and loathe him." 
 
 " Was he bad to you then ? " 
 
 " He is a brute, a man lost to every 
 sense of honour, an incarnate devil. He 
 married me at fifteen, hurrying me away 
 from my home because he thought I was 
 falling in love with some one else. He had 
 at first promised to wait a year. Then after
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 235 
 
 I was married, this old lover turned up again, 
 and that was the beginning of all my troubles." 
 " What a life you must have led ? " 
 
 " I did, — for you cannot imagine what a 
 wretch my husband is. He is a Christian, 
 of course, but he tried to rise in power with 
 the Turks by use of my beauty. He stopped 
 at nothing. He made me the pivot of all his 
 intrigues for place and power, and before I 
 was seventeen he had actually sold me to an 
 exalted personage for the governorship of 
 Jerusalem. He went to Jerusalem ; I remained 
 behind in Pera." 
 
 " I should like to have my hand on his throat 
 for five minutes," says Norton with a blood- 
 thirsty expression. 
 
 " Gracious me, my friend, how fierce you 
 look ! Forget him, as I do, or as I shall forget 
 your wife; — who has been probably almost as 
 great a nuisance to you." 
 
 " I cannot forget he ill-treated you, and I — 
 I am not married." 
 
 " Then you mean to be— you are engaged ! " 
 
 "I am engaged, but, I have not yet quite 
 decided whether I shall go on with this affair 
 or not. It depends on one or two things."
 
 236 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " And they are ? " 
 
 4 'First of all that I passionately love another 
 woman." 
 
 " Apresl " she says smiling. 
 
 "That my future intended's father is a peculiar 
 kind of person, not easily managed, who may 
 make this discovery any day. As to the girl, 
 I am not afraid. I can always talk her over." 
 
 " Is she rich — pretty ? " 
 
 " Rich, yes, at least for me; she will have 
 ^45,000 down and about the same when her 
 father dies. She is decidedly pretty. I 
 thought her beautiful until I knew you — but 
 now ! she is only a wayside plant to an 
 orchid." 
 
 "You are quite poetical, mon a?ni, but 
 joking apart, tell me all about it, why don't 
 you marry her ? " 
 
 " Because there is such a woman as you in 
 the world. I grow to idolize you more and 
 more every hour." 
 
 Hercea remains silent a moment and then 
 says, 
 
 " Shall I tell you what I think ? You will be 
 a fool if you don't marry this girl ; for it 
 cannot affect your position as to me. I have
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 237 
 
 told you frankly, I am very ambitious. I 
 could never marry you; we should both be 
 penniless in a few months." 
 
 " I never thought you would, but I thought 
 that perhaps " . 
 
 " Think what you like. It is more sensible. 
 That is one of those things it is impossible 
 to foresee." 
 
 " I could not live a day if I thought I were 
 never to be more to you than I am," says 
 Norton with energy and a certain boldness. 
 
 " Many have thought that and — have not 
 lived," she says gloomily. " I told you an 
 alliance with me was dangerous." 
 
 " I would take all risks. I will marry 
 this girl to-morrow, if it would please you." 
 
 " Then, George, do so." It is the first 
 time she has used his Christian name. The 
 sound of it in her lips sends a thrill through 
 him, and but for the fact that at that moment 
 he catches the eye of the Society Journal man 
 fixed on him, he must have put his arms round 
 her. 
 
 " Are you in earnest," he says. "Will 
 it make no difference to you, — to me? " 
 
 "I am soberly in earnest. And it will
 
 2 3 8 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 make a difference, but a difference you should 
 appreciate. You are not rich, your money 
 may soon all be frittered away. What will 
 you have to live on ? And what chance then 
 would you and I have of meeting? " 
 
 The baseness of this proposition does not 
 shock him. It is already familiar to him in 
 his own cogitations. He has thought of it 
 long and continuously, and now he hears it 
 sanctioned by her lips. 
 
 " I have thought just the same for some 
 time. I could not easily pick up a girl with 
 ,£45,000 again, with another ,£45,000 when 
 her father dies ; all of which I am to have a 
 life interest in." 
 
 "I do not think you could very easily, 
 though you might win many a woman." 
 
 He feels mightily pleased. Poor Rosalie! 
 He is thinking what a lucky girl she is to have 
 secured the man on whom the great beauty 
 smiles. 
 
 " And now, tell me what she is like ; who 
 her father is, and all about them." 
 
 " She is a brown-eyed girl, with a very 
 winning manner; is very accomplished and 
 nice, and awfully affectionate and loving, you
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 239 
 
 know. Her father is a very rich man, a hand- 
 some, well-preserved man of fifty, or there- 
 abouts, but looks about two-and-forty. He 
 is enormously rich. He married, when he was 
 about two or three and twenty, in New 
 Zealand. He has a family of two daughters 
 and a son. The son is married, i^ in the 
 Army, and is entirely dependent on his father. 
 
 " And does all the money go to this 
 son?" 
 
 " Oh ! dear, no ! At least, no one knows, 
 for the father is most peculiar, and may do 
 anything that is unexpected." 
 
 "And the mother is dead, I suppose, as 
 you don't mention her? And the other 
 daughter? " 
 
 "No; both alive. The mother is separated 
 from her husband — has been for many years, 
 and lives in Paris ; the other daughter is a 
 widow, and lives with her mother. But the 
 father is a most peculiar fellow, as I said 
 before. He takes intense likes and dislikes 
 for no rhyme or reason. He is' at the present 
 moment cuts with his wife, and with this 
 widowed daughter ; and next door to cuts 
 with his son. He may be cuts with me to-
 
 2 4 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 morrow, and then my marriage would be off, 
 as sure as a gun." 
 
 " That would clearly be your own fault," 
 says she, looking at him with meaning w r hich 
 he only half interprets. " And what is the 
 name? " 
 
 " Rom^eyn." 
 
 " Romeyn ! " she echoes, in a voice of un- 
 usual surprise ; but checks herself again, for it 
 may be only a coincidence — this wife and 
 widowed daughter — and yet it does not seem 
 possible. # 
 
 " Why, — do you know the name ? " he says, 
 noticing her look and tone. 
 
 "Tell me all about them," she replies, 
 evading his question. 
 
 " There is not much to tell. This other 
 daughter, Madeline, married a Greek, 
 against her father's wish. He died or 
 disappeared. She came back to Paris 
 and took refuge with her mother. Romeyn 
 heard of it, and, so furious was he still 
 with Madeline, that he swore he would 
 stop the mother's allowance if she lived with 
 her. But the mother stuck to her 
 daughter. Romeyn stopped the coin, and
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 241 
 
 God knows how they have lived since. I have 
 heard all kinds of things — that they took to 
 dressmaking and concert-singing." 
 
 " And the name of the daughter ? " 
 
 " Ostrolenka," replies Norton. " Did you 
 ever hear of them in the East ? " 
 
 " I did, and I did not," says Hercea, exer- 
 cising powerful self-control to prevent Norton 
 discovering how this singular coincidence has 
 affected her. " I never knew her, but I knew 
 him. He did something very disreputable, as 
 perhaps you know, and got thrown into prison. 
 And do you know her yourself? " 
 
 "No, I do not," replies Norton. "I have 
 never seen her, but Rosalie, my fiancee, says 
 she is a very beautiful woman, with grey 
 eyes, delicate features, and a refined face, with 
 any amount of pluck, and very clever, in many 
 ways." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard very much that descrip- 
 tion of her before ; a dangerous woman for an 
 enemy. What a narrow world w T e live in! To 
 think that you are engaged to the Ostrolenka's 
 sister! " 
 
 And Madame Artaki lapses into thought, 
 endeavouring to grasp all the combinations 
 vol. 1. 16
 
 242 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 of this fortuitous meeting with old associates. 
 After a while she speaks again. 
 
 " But to come back to your own affairs. 
 Do you really wish to please me, and give me 
 a proof of it ? " 
 
 " Can you doubt it? " he says earnestly. 
 
 " Then promise me that you will marry this 
 girl Rosalie. Let nothing come in the way of 
 it. Don't on any account quarrel with the 
 father, and on that account be circumspect 
 with me. And listen, you shall lose nothing 
 by it." 
 
 " All this I promise." 
 
 " Then there is something else. I must get 
 to know your fiancee. If once I do she will 
 never be jealous of me. I can win women 
 when I like. She will see you with me, and 
 you must do your part properly, for you are 
 not an idiot, as are so many men. And last 
 of all, I must make the acquaintance of Mr. 
 Romeyn, as soon as I can." 
 
 " The last wish can be gratified now," says 
 Norton, looking into the next room. " He has 
 this moment come in. He is late to-night. I 
 left him at home, he has been somewhere else 
 in the meanwhile."
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 2A 3 
 
 " Which is he?" says Madame Artaki with 
 much interest. 
 
 "That tall, clean-shaven grey man with the 
 square jaw; you can't mistake him, you don't 
 see a man like him once in a blue moon." 
 
 "I see him perfectly, a very striking-looking 
 man indeed, with a face as if it were chiselled 
 out of stone ; I like the way he stands, he 
 reminds me of some Greek head I have seen." 
 
 " Yes, he is a striking-looking man. He 
 is the most resolute self-willed devil alive. 
 Nothing turns him." 
 
 "Come into the next room," says Hercea, 
 rising, and turning to the glass to adjust her 
 hair, by giving it two pushes on each side of 
 her head. " Ah, how unfortunate ! I have 
 dropped your gardenia!" she exclaims, now 
 noticing its loss for the first time. 
 
 "Is it unfortunate? Is it a bad omen? 
 Rosalie gave it to me." 
 
 " I am superstitious about some things, and 
 have presentiments. But come and introduce 
 me to Mr. Romeyn if you get a good oppor- 
 tunity." 
 
 Signor Bentostati, the Italian composer, has 
 just finished singing another of his songs, with
 
 244 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 a plaintive refrain in the minor key where the 
 words, ' Non vorrei gia cti egli partisse ' come 
 over and over again, and there is a hush of 
 approval through the room as his voice ceases, 
 Romeyn who is keenly appreciative of music, 
 a paradox in his hard nature, is drawing near 
 the piano, to thank the performer, and intend- 
 ing in his own fashion, instantly to invite 
 Signor Bentostati to his house. 
 
 But in his transit across the room he has 
 to pass where stands Hercea, her face lighted 
 with emotion produced by the soft, flexible 
 voice of the Italian, and, for a moment, wonder 
 seems to betray itself on Romeyn' s usually 
 impassive features. Such a vision of loveli- 
 ness has never even visited him in his dreams. 
 But his surprise is heightened when Norton 
 suddenly appears from the portiere behind her, 
 and, laying his hand on Romeyn's sleeve, pre- 
 sents him forthwith to this goddess, dropped 
 from the skies. 
 
 Romeyn immediately recovers his imper- 
 turbable manner, and bows with a courtesy 
 long since obsolete. 
 
 " You are fond of music, Mr. Romeyn," 
 says Madame Artaki returning his salutation
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 245 
 
 with equal grace, " I saw it on your face as 
 you listened to Signor Bentostati." 
 
 " Madam," says Romeyn, bowing again, 
 " your discernment does you credit, and it is 
 an honour to me to have afforded you an 
 opportunity of exercising it. I am devotedly 
 fond of music. It is one of the few things that 
 draws me out of myself," and he lifts his eyes, 
 keen and grey, and meets hers with a steadi- 
 ness she is not always accustomed to. 
 
 " I should have thought you would have 
 had many resources," she says. 
 
 " In a way I have, and if I may say so 
 without being suspected of a personality, I 
 should say that the contemplation of the 
 beautiful is also an absorbing passion with me. 
 The love of beauty for itself — of outline and 
 curves has become a secret cult with me. I 
 search for it everywhere — and," — he hesitates 
 for a moment — " and I find it rarely," 
 
 " And when found, makes a note on't," cuts 
 in Norton. " Like Cuttle, isn't it, or Bunsby 
 or one of the characters in Dickens ? ' : 
 
 u Ah ! yes, exactly, Norton," says Romeyn 
 coolly. " I wish you would look up the 
 quotation. There is a copy of all Dickens'
 
 246 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 works upstairs in the Library. A man can 
 spend hours over them." 
 
 This is so pointed and so absurd that 
 Madame Artaki cannot help smiling. But 
 Norton feels exceedingly incensed, and, but 
 for a sudden thought of Rosalie and his 
 promise to Hercea not to quarrel with Romeyn, 
 he would probably have there and then said 
 something which would have changed the 
 position of all parties very materially, How- 
 ever, restraining his wrath, and with a look at 
 Madame Artaki as if calling her to witness 
 what he was enduring for her sake, he took 
 himself off, consoling himself with the sweet 
 memory of the past, and of the benefits it was 
 in his power to bestow, and leaving Romeyn 
 and Madame Artaki tete-a-tete. 
 
 "Do you wish to walk about?" says 
 Romeyn, " or shall we sit down?" 
 
 " I should prefer to sit down. This little 
 room is very comfortable," and she motions 
 towards the room she has just left. 
 
 They sit down together and evidently their 
 conversation is mutually agreeable, for they 
 monopolize each other's society until nearly 
 two in the morning. For the " Pap " is a
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 247 
 
 late establishment — turns night into day — and 
 during all this long time Norton wanders 
 about aimlessly, and is even detected by 
 Hercea peering in where she sits with an 
 expression of annoyance and disappointment 
 on his face which, in its turn, irritates her. 
 
 Nor does Norton fail to observe that 
 Romeyn evidently finds her not one whit 
 less charming than the general verdict of 
 Society proclaims her. For the sparkle of her 
 conversation, her universal knowledge and 
 information, her deep insight into human 
 nature, — all matters that had remained like a 
 closed book to Norton, — soon became manifest 
 to this well-read and highly-cultivated man. 
 He is fairly amazed to find her so intellectual 
 and entertaining. Music, literature, politics 
 and Personages — all are familiar to her, and 
 he can scarcely believe how late it is when 
 Norton, at length unable to stand it any 
 longer, comes up and says it is past two, that 
 nearly every one is gone, and volunteers his 
 services to see her home. But Romeyn clearly 
 thinks he has more right to this honour than the 
 man about to become his son-in-law, and, as 
 he has a peculiar and obstinate way of quietly
 
 248 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 doing as he likes, Norton has the mortifi- 
 cation of seeing Madame Artaki drive off with 
 Romeyn, leaving him to his own reflections. 
 
 Norton gets his hat, cursing himself ; 
 cursing her ; and cursing Romeyn. Here he 
 has been dangling about all night for this ! 
 And how he had longed for that short drive to 
 Jermyn Street ! the unavoidable contact with 
 her in the hansom, the pressure of her hand, 
 and the possible, dimly possible, half hour 
 alone with her when they reached her house. 
 For had she not still so much to tell him ? Had 
 she not said so herself? So much to settle 
 about her private affairs of which he — and he 
 alone — in all London — was the repository ? 
 
 But he had not a thought for the betrayed 
 girl not half a mile away, in Wimpole Street, 
 who lay asleep, still holding to her bosom the 
 flower he had exchanged with her for the one 
 lost by Hercea at the door of the Papyrus. 
 
 And Romeyn, having said good night to 
 Madame Artaki at her door, walks home 
 leisurely, pondering over this very remarkable 
 woman, who, however, is not so entirely a 
 stranger as he had at first thonght. For in 
 their conversation her Eastern experiences
 
 THE PAPYRUS. 249 
 
 nave naturally cropped up, and he learns that 
 she had heard of Ostrolenka and of all his 
 doings, and was glad to find that the current 
 opinion in the East was the same as that held 
 by himself; that this man — his son in-law 
 malgre lui — was a common rogue and swindler, 
 as indeed he must have been to run off with 
 his, Romeyn's, daughter without his consent. 
 And as he got into bed he promised himself 
 that it should not be long before he saw 
 Madame Artaki again.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "AN amiable husband." 
 
 Mr. Richard Gould was last seen in Madame 
 Artaki's drawing-room, a railway rug over his 
 arm, and about to journey to Boulogne, 
 whither we must accompany him ; for incidents 
 fruitful of destiny will occur in that happy 
 hunting-ground of decayed and bankrupt 
 British rips. Arrived in the steamer and 
 having deposited his portmanteau in a Hotel on 
 the Port, he proceeds on foot to a solitary 
 and out of the way place, (since pulled down), 
 and known by the name of the Impasse des 
 Amants, in the Hauteville, a place where 
 lovers or others might easily have imagined 
 themselves entrapped; where the rickety 
 houses seem to be leaning their aged backs 
 against the ramparts behind them ; their roofs 
 below the level of the promenade round those 
 now useless bastions, and consequently being 
 made to receive all kinds of disjecta membra
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 251 
 
 thrown on to them by roguish boys belonging 
 to the school hard by; such as broken tins, 
 old bottles, dead cats, and any vegetable refuse 
 that happened to be lying handy. In byegone 
 days— when the British who occupied Boulogne 
 were its lords and masters, these houses in 
 the Impasse were of some importance, but for 
 centuries since those days they had fallen to 
 base uses, and were let out in flats to char- 
 women and retired Douaniers, or to some 
 escaped Gaol Bird from the opposite shores of 
 Albion, one and all looking like people whose 
 visible means of subsistence it was impossible 
 to divine, and whose removal to a better world 
 would not inflict irreparable loss on their 
 country, whilst, for themselves, to exchange 
 this life for a worse would be very difficult. 
 Up the open stair of one of these houses 
 Mr. Gould ascends with the air of a man 
 who is evidently not there for the first time. 
 No one meets him as he goes up, for the 
 dwellers in these tenements are largely of the 
 night-hawk order ; whose predatory instincts 
 take them abroad when other people are in 
 bed, and who consequently are not very early 
 risers. Carefully picking his way he finally
 
 252 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 reaches the top floor where he gives three 
 distinct taps with the flat of his hand against 
 the door which bars farther progress. It 
 is evidently a preconcerted signal, for the 
 door almost immediately opens, and a young 
 woman, looking the mere wreck of herself, 
 in a costume to which even the term neglige 
 can only be extended in courtesy, presents 
 herself, whilst clinging to her solitary red 
 petticoat — which gives to view a region of 
 spotlessly white stockings — is the phantom 
 form of a small girl, apparently some five or 
 six years old, with a restless expression and a 
 small white face, which visibly grows whiter as 
 she catches sight of Gould. Evidently every 
 childish or playful instinct is checked in his 
 presence, if it has not been permanently ob- 
 literated by a life of privation and want. But 
 she is a fair little specimen of her Creator's 
 handiwork, — a delicate imagery, possibly, of 
 some higher created beings — with large wonder- 
 ing eyes the colour of the purple Iris, shaded 
 by long dark lashes, a small nose and well- 
 formed childish mouth, like the arc of a bow; 
 masses of dark hair, flowing back and showing 
 her small coral-like ears. She is well looked
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 253 
 
 after as to cleanliness, and her garments, such 
 as they are, are in good repair. Her pale face, 
 however, is to be attributed to confinement in 
 those dingy unwholesome quarters, and to want 
 of proper nourishment, and certainly not to 
 neglect on the part of the woman whom she 
 calls mother, but who, a casual observer 
 might see, did not stand in that relationship to 
 the child. The woman also, unlike any other 
 woman in the immediate neghbourhood, is 
 clean and tidy, in spite of the fact that her 
 costume consists apparently of nothing but 
 stays and the aforesaid petticoat, with a knitted 
 shawl thrown over her bare white arms. She 
 is of that fresh fair type, of whitest skin and 
 russet hair, of blue eyes and well-marked 
 features so common in the Highlands of Perth- 
 shire, but now, alas ! only looking like the 
 ghost of some bonnie Scotch lass, as she 
 wearily drags her limbs after her, having lost 
 that elastic step and quick swinging gait which 
 seems to speak of the breezy heather, and the 
 scented moors, where the curlew calls to his 
 mate under the grey boulders, and where the 
 whirr of the grey-winged grouse startles the 
 ear with its suddenness.
 
 254 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER' S SHUTTLE. 
 
 The woman is a true Northern type ; the 
 child, Classic, an unmistakable oriental pearl 
 even in the sordid setting of her present 
 surroundings ; such a child as Sappho might 
 have been, in her days of innocence. 
 
 "I knew your knock, Richard/' says the 
 woman. " How are you? Had you a good 
 crossing?" her voice seemed humble and 
 deprecating. 
 
 "D n my crossing," replies Gould 
 
 politely. " Let me in, don't stand gaping," 
 and he pushes past her. 
 
 The woman makes no reply — so accus- 
 tomed is she to his blasphemy and brutality 
 than neither call for comment on her part. 
 
 " Mummy," whispers the child, cowering 
 behind her petticoat, " he's werry cross to- 
 day, isn't he?" 
 
 " Hush, pet," says the woman, gently push- 
 ing the child still farther behind her, for if her 
 words have reached Gould's ears she will 
 assuredly receive a cuff on the head. 
 
 "Has Restigouche been? " says Gould, as 
 he leans for a moment against the wall to 
 recover breath, for he ascended the stairs 
 rather quickly.
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 255 
 
 " Yes, he was here yesterday, and is coming 
 again this morning, at nine. He is anxious 
 to see you, very anxious I think, and he goes 
 back to Paris to-night.' ' 
 
 " You've bundled him off again, I suppose, 
 without being in the least polite ? " says Gould 
 angrily. 
 
 " I have not bundled him off. He was 
 here as long as he chose to remain. He talks 
 a great deal about things I think would be 
 better left unsaid." 
 
 " There, hold your d d tongue/' inter- 
 rupts Gould. " It goes like the clapper of a 
 fog-bell and with no more sense." 
 
 " I only told you for your own good." 
 
 " My good ! I like that, why, you would 
 gladly see me on the gallows ! " and he gives 
 her a terrible look. "But come, I've a bone 
 to pick with you." 
 
 At this the woman's face turns deadly white. 
 A bone ! How well she knows that terrible 
 metaphor, how often her poor bones have been 
 beaten, if not literally picked, when he is in 
 this humour, beaten to a degree that, after it, 
 even picking would be a painless process. 
 
 " Oh ! Richard," she says deprecatingly,
 
 256 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 "can I never please you! God knows how 
 hard I try — to do my duty," she adds lowly to 
 herself. 
 
 " There, — shut up your infernal whining and 
 all that Presbyterian cant, you know how I 
 hate it ! I should have thought you'd had 
 enough of Scotch religion from Carnegie. ,, 
 
 She stands mute, — the taunt, so often made 
 has at last began to fail of effect — Carnegie ! 
 Ah ! God forgive her ! 
 
 Then he pushes roughly past her, and enters 
 the room, designated a sitting-room, though 
 why anyone should sit there, as far as comfort 
 goes, unless the alternative is the gallows, no 
 human being could say. The furniture is of 
 the most comfortless description, a bare deal 
 table, a few chairs, suffering from every 
 disease that chairs are heir to, with legs which 
 lean forwards, lean backwards, lean side-ways ; 
 lean anywhere as long as the strain of remain- 
 ing in the perpendicular is not expected of 
 them ; a miserable patch of carpet, clinging 
 desperately to the corners of the room, with 
 the tenacity of old age to life — under the most 
 hopeless conditions of existence ; a large cup- 
 board in which lie a few plates, cups and
 
 "AJV AMIABLE HUSBAND." 257 
 
 saucers, several empty brandy bottles, and 
 half a loaf of bread. A large chest completes 
 the furniture of the room. 
 
 Beyond the sitting-room is a bedroom, — the 
 door ajar — no better furnished than the rest of 
 the house, a poor mean bed, a small table with 
 a jug and basin, a few clothes pegs and one 
 solitary trunk. At the end of the passage is a 
 kitchen destitute of all cooking appliances but 
 one or two battered saucepans, and a black 
 kettle. Into this place the little girl has 
 scuttled away, snatching up a kitten under her 
 arms, en route, who stretches out its claws, but 
 apparently with no intention of scratching. 
 It seems used to this kind of treatment, and as 
 the child sets it down on the floor, stands still, 
 without running away, with its tail in the air 
 as straight as a ramrod. 
 
 " Give me the key," says Gould gruffly to 
 the woman, who has followed him into the room. 
 
 From a linen bag tied round her waist 
 she produces a large key of excellent work- 
 manship, with which Gould proceeds to open 
 the chest. The contents are motley, some 
 wigs, some false beards, bundles of papers, a 
 tin box with initals on the lid in white letters ; 
 
 vol. 1. 17
 
 258 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 some early finery belonging to the child, a 
 few disused toys, telling their dumb story of 
 better days. 
 
 Gould dives amongst these relics, and fishes 
 up some papers, which he opens and spreads 
 before him. 
 
 " Shall I make you some coffee, Richard? 
 perhaps you are tired after your night's 
 journey," says the woman gently, and turning 
 to the door. 
 
 " I don't want any coffee, or I'd ask for it. 
 I had breakfast before I came up." 
 
 " I'm glad you did, for I have nothing to 
 offer you that is worth having." 
 
 "Why, how is that? Have you spent all 
 the money I left with you," says Gould with 
 a scowl, looking up from his papers. 
 
 " All the money ! Why, it was only thirty 
 francs, and that is more than a month ago. 
 You forget Restigouche has been here twice. 
 That costs me half a bottle of brandy each 
 time. And as to the rest — well, I have pinched 
 and starved as much as I can, as you said you 
 could not afford any more ; but really, ten 
 sous a day is not much for Gracie and me to 
 live on."
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 259 
 
 " Well, you must fish for yourself, for a bit. 
 I don't give my money away to be played the 
 fool with. We are all desperately hard up. 
 Madame Artaki has had to put down all kinds 
 of expenses, and sell her jewels even. You 
 don't think you can go on spending money 
 like this, do you?" and his face looks so 
 angry and evil that she shrinks away from him. 
 She does not dare retort, or question the mode 
 of life this woman in London is leading. But 
 her silence annoys him as much as her conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " Why don't you speak? — bottling up all 
 your thoughts and fancies. As if other 
 women, better than you, and with no spot on 
 their lives, haven't got to make their own 
 livelihood ! Pah ! I hate all this mock modest, 
 sentimental twaddle; when you might put on 
 your bonnet, and go down to the Etablisse- 
 ment and really have a jolly good time of it, 
 and save me no end of worry and expense." 
 
 " Oh ! Richard ; don't. Let me starve here 
 alone. Take the child; feed her and clothe 
 her yourself, if you and Madame Artaki are 
 afraid I am spending money too freely on 
 myself. Take her, and leave me to myself."
 
 260 SWIFTER THAN A WE A VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 "Don't be a fool," he roars, rising as if 
 intending to come and strike her. " Leave you ! 
 Leave you to go off and blab all over the world 
 what you know ! Look here, you had better 
 not talk about leaving me, or my leaving you. 
 It will be a bad day for you when you do, for 
 as true as God's in heaven I will find you out, 
 and do for you." 
 
 The woman grew paler. Well does she 
 know that she must remain silent. His heavy 
 fist has too often inculcated that lesson. But 
 his brutal words have conjured up the vision 
 of a home seldom absent from her mind, a 
 large bay-windowed farm-house on the Perth- 
 shire moors ; her father, stalwart, red-bearded 
 and simple-minded; her mother, with all the 
 comeliness of middle age, with no furrows of 
 care before she, their daughter, had been lost 
 to their sight, after beginning so well ; she 
 thinks of the lark going up from amongst the 
 early springing oats, and the wild cry of the 
 pee-wit as he flits away through the mist lying 
 on the fallow; and last of all, of a stately 
 country mansion embowered . in great beech 
 trees, an ancient feudal abode; the home of 
 the Laird of Ardoch. She can see him,
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 261 
 
 too, clearer than all, as he sits thinking, 
 thinking. 
 
 Then her thoughts come back to her present 
 surroundings, her eyes wander round the 
 wretched lodging, the paper hanging in strips 
 from the damp walls, the few worthless chattels 
 for furniture which the morning sun, streaming 
 in through the cracked windows over the neigh- 
 bouring house tops, seems to light up in de- 
 rision ; one or two dresses, in the last stage of 
 tatters, — the remnant of her wardrobe that she 
 has saved from the pawnshop, — hanging on 
 pegs in the passage. And then her eye falls 
 on the worst horror of all ; the dark scowling 
 face, the beadlike eyes behind the gold-rimmed 
 glasses, the coarse hooked nose, the flash 
 dress, the jewelled fingers of this worse than 
 brute, this man-devil whom she calls husband. 
 
 She is awakened from her reverie by a fresh 
 burst of oaths from Gould, who is disturbed 
 by the thin little voice of the child playing 
 with the kitten in the kitchen. 
 
 " Stop her confounded row, can't you ? " he 
 says. " It is enough to drive a man mad." 
 
 But at that moment there is a diversion, a 
 knock at the door, followed by the appearance
 
 262 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 of Monsieur Restigouche. Like most of his 
 countrymen, except those of the extreme upper 
 class, he travels for days or weeks with no 
 more preparations for a journey than an 
 Englishman might make in going from the 
 City to South Kensington. To encumber 
 himself with a sponge, clean shirt, or night 
 apparel is, to the average Gaul, an idea that 
 never crosses his mind, and if he has a small 
 hand-bag, or box with him, its contents, will 
 generally prove, on examination, to consist 
 of provisions brought away to save expense 
 whilst away from home, and possibly a pair of 
 odoriferous carpet slippers which no one but 
 the most reckless scavenger would touch with 
 a pitch fork. And, like many Parisians, Resti- 
 gouche, when out of the Capital, dispenses with 
 the formality of shaving; partly because he 
 despises provincials and does not care what 
 they think of him, and partly because he is 
 abonne to a barber in Paris, and to get shaved 
 over and above this subscription would be 
 simple extravagance. Restigouche is not there- 
 fore a very pleasant person this morning, as, in 
 addition to the wear and tear of travel, he 
 diffuses a general reek of bad brandy and stale
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 263 
 
 tobacco — the result of last night's debauch — 
 through such pores of his skin as are not entirely 
 choked up. But, with all this, he is perfectly 
 well pleased with himself, and, as he stands 
 bowing and scraping with the airs of a stage 
 Marquis, his greasy hat in his hand, is 
 thoroughly persuaded that he is producing 
 quite an impression on the Scotch lady. She 
 however, who before this has donned her dress, 
 stands eyeing him with a mingled expression 
 of fear, loathing, and contempt, which no neces- 
 sity of circumstances can prevent. Fallen 
 as she is from her higher estate she yet retains 
 unimpaired that genuine love for the noble 
 which distinguishes most women. 
 
 " Come in — come in, Restigouche ! " calls 
 out Gould, catching sight of him through the 
 open door. "Don't standing Jack-acting there." 
 
 " Oh ! you are so droll, my good Gould, 
 with your Jack-acting,'' replies the Frenchman 
 in very good English, but with a strong accent. 
 " But I hasten to come in, for I have important 
 things, that press, to talk about." 
 
 " I know you must have, for we are all 
 au sec. Have you brought the bonds with you 
 this time? "
 
 264 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 "No, my friend, I have not. Now don't 
 rave ! " holding up his hand as he sees Gould 
 beginning to look fierce. "It is your fault. 
 You give your word to my friend Dubois, — you 
 do not keep it. He most positively will not 
 part with them until you pay him his 25,000 
 francs." 
 
 Gould does not think it necessary to tell the 
 man Restigouche that Madame Artaki has 
 every hope of being able to procure the money 
 soon to redeem these bonds, so he snarls at 
 him. 
 
 " Then you had better find the money 
 yourself." 
 
 " My friend, do not talk nonsense. I am 
 afraid we know each other too well," replies 
 Restigouche, with more spirit than one would 
 have given him credit for. But he has heard 
 from some one that this Gould is an arrant 
 coward in spite of all his bluster. "And 
 pray observe — for I have come here to tell you 
 this — if you or Madame Artaki cannot release 
 these bonds before the end of this week, or 
 early in next, my partner, Monsieur Dubois, 
 will probably place the whole affair before the 
 Commissaire of Police."
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 265 
 
 " Don't you talk nonsense to me, Sir," says 
 Gould. " Do you think I don't know he 
 would not dare ! " 
 
 " Monsieur Dubois can do a great deal. He 
 is not a fool. He is dangerous. I tell you 
 plainly, if it is not as I say, then you and 
 Madame Artaki had better make your packages 
 for New York. Dubois is furious. He won't 
 be fooled and put off any more." 
 
 " As I said before, he will not dare," says 
 Gould. "Why did he let me give up my 
 rooms ? Simply because he knew, and you all 
 knew, that the thing might be arranged more 
 easily." 
 
 " Better to 'old your tongue," says the 
 Frenchman. " For as you say in English, 
 * Walls have ears,' and I don't want to get 
 into any trouble." 
 
 " I think you must see the best way to keep 
 
 out of trouble is to keep Dubois quiet for a bit. 
 
 He is sure to get his money, if he is not a fool." 
 
 And Gould gives a violent kick at the kitten 
 
 which has strayed incautiously near his boot. 
 
 "You see, my friend," says Restigouche, 
 wishing to get him into a better frame of mind 
 again, " Dubois is getting perhaps alarmed.
 
 266 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VER> S SHUTTLE. 
 
 These English ladies have not taken things so 
 quietly; they have not given up all hope/' 
 
 " What are they at now ? " 
 
 " With Madame's permission I will take a 
 seat," says the Frenchman bowing; " for I 
 am fatigued." 
 
 " Give him some brandy, Nellie," says 
 Gould. " Why didn't you offer it before ? " 
 
 Nellie pours out a glass of * Trots six' the 
 Frenchman again bowing, swallows it at a gulp. 
 
 " I am better now," he says, " that is 
 fortifying. And now for business, my. friend." 
 And he settles himself so as to command 
 a view of ' La Belle £cossaise ' as he calls 
 her, and on whom he has long since cast 
 amorous glances. That person, however, 
 withdraws into the kitchen, to the company of 
 the child — and the men are left alone. " The 
 fact is the English ladies in the Rue St. Anne 
 seem to be up to something," goes on Resti- 
 gouche. " They have been making all kinds of 
 enquiries of the concierge, and then, Paff ! " 
 and he strikes his hands together, " all of a 
 sudden, off goes the younger lady, — leaves 
 the old one alone, — goes off to London ! Elle 
 rh est pas la pour des prunes I "
 
 11 AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 267 
 
 " Gone to London ! " exclaims Gould, 
 whilst Restigouche notes how this man, usually 
 so at his ease in business matters, manifests 
 signs of the greatest concern. x 
 
 " Yes, to London, my friend, and that is the 
 strange thing, — where does the money come 
 from for the voyage ? Perhaps the Ostrolenka 
 is being helped." 
 
 " She may be," says Gould, thoughtfully, 
 " but you forget, she has been singing for 
 some time at the Cafe Perigord, and may have 
 saved up enough for the journey." 
 
 " Yes, for the journey, but I hear that the 
 old lady is now allowing herself all kinds of 
 indulgences she did not before. She is begin- 
 ning to have plenty of good food and some 
 wine, and has sent to get her dresses and 
 things from the pawn shop. Now that all 
 means money, and where does it come from ? " 
 
 "You amaze me," says Gould. "What 
 h — ll's tricks is the infernal woman up to now. 
 She has not got a lover ? the Ostrelenka I 
 mean." 
 
 " No, certainly not. She has had no lover 
 that we know of, since you left Paris. She is 
 discreet, she is farouche, always farouche.
 
 268 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 even if I only venture the smallest look, and 
 this, when I know they have had nothing to 
 eat for two days. It is — in — croy — able I ' : 
 
 I suppose you are quite right about all 
 this ? " says Gould. 
 
 " Quite, for Jeanne, on the same floor, keeps 
 me well imformed." 
 
 Gould paces up and down the room im- 
 mersed in thought. Then he turns to 
 Restigouche. 
 
 " Look here, there's mischief in this, or 
 may I be d d. Go you back to Paris to- 
 night. I will go at once to London and will 
 telegraph to you. Tell Dubois to be ex- 
 tremely careful what he is at, for more serious 
 consequences may come of this than he thinks. 
 Tell him, too, that I am positively sure I can 
 send him the 25,000 francs in a day or two." 
 
 " Is it true this time or only blague again ?" 
 says Restigouche, sucking the last drop out of 
 his tumbler. 
 
 " True as Gospel. Madame Artaki tells me 
 so, and she never disappoints one or makes a 
 mistake." 
 
 " I hope it is, for I believe Dubois will 
 makes things unpleasant this time ; he is deter-
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 269 
 
 mined to have his money back or to do some- 
 thing with the bonds you would not like." 
 
 "I am positive it will be all right. The 
 money will be paid certainly within ten 
 days." 
 
 " Tant mieux, my friend. My heart will be 
 lighter. And you return to London ? I have 
 no train until the afternoon. Might I be per- 
 mitted to offer Madame Gould some little 
 excursion, say a drive to Samer. She is white, 
 she has too much confinement in this house. " 
 
 " By all means, Restigouche, if you like, but 
 I am busy, I cannot accompany you." 
 
 But Madame Gould refuses point blank. 
 She dreads Gould's fists less than love-making 
 from Restigouche. 
 
 During this parley, Gould has been busy 
 with his papers, one large bundle in parti- 
 cular, tied up carefully with red tape ; and, 
 from the exceeding care he takes of these, 
 Restigouche, who rarely misses anything, 
 perceives that great importance is attached 
 to them. 
 
 " Those documents are precious, my friend," 
 says Restigouche. " This is hardly a safe 
 place for them."
 
 270 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " You are very good to interest yourself in 
 them, but as the keys are with her I feel no 
 alarm," replies Gould with a sneer. Then 
 taking up his hat and his gold-headed stick 
 which rarely leaves his hand, and without any 
 further ceremony or adieu, he walks off out of 
 the house, leaving Restigouche to the society 
 of his wife. 
 
 The Frenchman has made up his mind to 
 have an interview with the woman, although 
 she, with the child, has withdrawn into the 
 bedroom and shut the door. 
 
 " Madame, if I might be permitted !" he 
 says in what he intends for a blandishing 
 voice — approaching the key-hole with his 
 mouth. 
 
 " Please go away, Monsieur; I have given 
 you my answer.'' 
 
 11 Ah, Madame ! " and he breaks into French, 
 which she speaks perfectly and he finds more 
 convenient in love-making. " I swear I am 
 dying for love for you. See, why are you so 
 cold, so ungrateful ! And your husband ! So 
 indifferent — indifferent to all your beauty, to 
 charms that devour me and burn my soul ! " 
 
 " Go away, you abominable little man," she
 
 AN AMIABLE HUSBAND: 
 
 replies with the door still shut. " You may 
 remain there all day, but I will not listen to 
 you." 
 
 "Ah! the hardness of women ! but see! why 
 this obstinacy — this pruderie} I tell you, in 
 all the quarter you are compromised, for people 
 think already you are mine. ,, 
 
 She makes no response ; she has been sub- 
 jected to this kind of thing for many months 
 past. 
 
 And apparently Restigouche knows by ex- 
 perience that it is no use sitting there, he may 
 sit till doomsay, so after coolly helping himself 
 to some more brandy, he takes up his hat and 
 leaves the room, and the child, looking out 
 of the window, sees him turn and kiss his hand 
 towards their house ; much to the edification 
 of two old hags who are leaning out of the 
 windows of a house opposite. 
 
 " Son amant" says the one to the other. 
 
 " Pas beau" replies her companion. 
 
 Gould has not left his wife a farthing of money, 
 he is too hard up, nevertheless he orders him- 
 self the best dejeuner d la fourchette that his 
 hotel can command and which he will have 
 ample time to eat before the sailing of the after-
 
 272 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER' S SHUTTLE. 
 
 noon boat. But before the boat leaves he re- 
 ceives a telegram from Madame Artaki begging 
 him not to leave Boulogne before he receives 
 a letter from her. Annoyed at the delay he 
 nevertheless acquiesces in her request, for she 
 is a woman whose wishes are law with those 
 who propose to remain friends with her. And 
 her most abject slave is Gould himself, for he 
 loves her with a force that is only measured 
 by its hopelessness. Constantly thrown into 
 her presence on occasions of the most intimate 
 kind, seeing her in the privacy of home life, 
 but always baffled by her consummate tact, 
 nerve and self-reliance, his sullen and devour- 
 ing passion, — which began years before but 
 has been re-awakened by meeting her once 
 more, — has completely gained the mastery over 
 him in the last few days. The fury of his 
 brutish nature, betraying itself by a deadly 
 pallor that spreads over his face when night and 
 solitude whisper, ' Opportunity/ in his ear, 
 would have terrified a weaker woman than 
 Hercea. She knew full well the force of his 
 unbridled passions, but she knew more, — that 
 he himself stood in deadly awe of a small keen 
 Turkish dagger which always lay ready to her
 
 " AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 273 
 
 hand amongst the folds of her dress, the 
 substitute, in her, for shrieks and the ringing 
 of the bells. And thus, perforce, on these 
 occasions he exercised a wise control over 
 himself, when with others he would have given 
 full rein to his desires, for he dearly loved his 
 own vile skin and strongly objected to have a 
 hole punched in it. That he was jealous, with 
 a jealousy that would well-nigh madden him 
 to commit any crime, it is unnecessary to say. 
 Murder, or any other iniquity whereby his end 
 could be obtained he would have joyfully com- 
 mitted — a fact Madame Artaki had long since 
 taken into account, and relied on, as one 
 that might be rendered serviceable in certain 
 eventualities. It was for this reason, there- 
 fore, as much as from his too great knowledge 
 of her antecedents that she treated him with 
 forbearance; and indeed, when alone together, 
 with almost a show of affection, much as she 
 really abhorred him. But he never got beyond 
 the outworks of the citadel, as it were, — her 
 hand, her cheek ; and, on one or two excep- 
 tionally rare occasions, even the nectar of her 
 rosy lips. And thus Gould felt, and in truth 
 felt rightly, that he had graduated in the 
 vol. 1. 18
 
 274 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 highest honours she permitted to mortals, 
 hugging himself with the infatuated idea that 
 some day or other he would be her lord and 
 master. For she had a quality not uncommon 
 with beautiful women. Every man whom she 
 chose to beguile began to think immensely 
 well of himself, the least of her favours raising 
 up in him a world of vanity and conceit. It 
 is not to be wondered at, therefore, that Gould 
 was fooled to the top of his bent, seeing that 
 nature had already afflicted him with no ordi- 
 nary amount of arrogance, and that through 
 persistent lying he had actually come to believe 
 in his own powers of fascination for all women. 
 Not permitted to return to London, Gould 
 spends the rest of his day on the sands of 
 Boulogne, having borrowed a binocular to 
 watch the bathers. But to Gould's taste, vitiated 
 by the immodesty and nakedness of Atlantic 
 City or Cape May, where girls presumably well- 
 bred, endure, almost unclothed, the gaze of 
 the United States 'Any (a peculiarly offensive 
 animal) as unblushingly as a dead woman on 
 a dissecting table that of the medical students, 
 the decorum of this French watering place falls 
 flat, so he soon tires of it, and retires to the
 
 11 AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 275 
 
 Etablissement, — where he ogles the people 
 generally — until the English post comes in. 
 
 The expected letter comes. How eagerly 
 does he seize it ! His fierce love seems to 
 leap up at sight of the paper on which her 
 hand has rested — which brings to him, from 
 across the water, through all the dust and 
 mustiness of the post bags, that sweet 
 fragrance which pervades all things belong- 
 ing to her. He presses the letter to his lips 
 with insensate energy, and then fastens his 
 eyes on her signature, " Yours ever, Hercea." 
 
 It is brief, and by no means amatory, and, 
 worse still, bitterly disappointing, for it is no 
 summons to return. She has left Jermyn 
 Street in furtherance of her plan. In a day or 
 two Norton will be permitted to rescue her ; 
 another day and she will have the money. 
 Restigouche is to have the most positive 
 assurances that this will be done. Then she 
 will telegraph. Their plans after that will be 
 discussed — on his return which she awaits 
 anxiously (the only word of comfort in the 
 letter!) She enquires after the child and 
 trusts that she is well. 
 
 "Ah! yes," says Gould bitterly. " The
 
 276 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 child ! She thinks a d d sight more of 
 
 that infernal child than she does of me!" 
 
 The interval before he receives the summons 
 to return passes wearily in spite of his having 
 picked up an acquaintance of the fair sex, with 
 whom he makes one or two jaunts up the 
 Lianne. But at last after two or three days 
 it comes, and he is back again in London. 
 
 " I have missed you very much." says the 
 Syren, " I always feel that if I have the brain 
 to conceive, you have the will to execute.' , 
 
 "I am not one of the weak-minded fools you 
 meet at the Papyrus. You say "execute;" 
 well, joking apart, I have been so miserable the 
 last three days that I would willingly have 
 executed any one, to get back to you." 
 
 " I know that, I know how devoted you are 
 and have been, ever since our old days in 
 Constantinople. But I have a great deal to 
 tell you. A new person has come on our 
 scene, a person who I think will be of great 
 importance. He is clever and immensely 
 rich." 
 
 " That sounds well ; rich ; really rich ? " 
 
 " Really rich, they say worth a million and a 
 half. But it is not his riches alone. For
 
 «A2V AMIABLE HUSBAND." 277 
 
 strangely enough, he is connected with some 
 of our affairs already. It is no less a person 
 than the Ostrolenka's father, a Mr. Romeyn, 
 who lives here in London." 
 
 Gould starts in surprise. " Nonsense ! " he 
 says. " You cannot really mean it." 
 
 "I do really, the very man ; and such a 
 remarkable man." 
 
 " He must be precious old, — the Ostrolenka 
 is no chicken ! " And Gould soothes the momen- 
 tary feeling of jealousy which the mention of 
 any man by her always produces in him by 
 rising, thrusting his hands far down into his 
 pockets, his feet well apart, and gazing down 
 at his nether limbs as if comparing the advan- 
 tages of his manhood in its prime with the 
 drivelling old age which his fancy assigns to 
 this man Romeyn. 
 
 But Madame Artaki who sees what is passing 
 in his mind, says quietly, 
 
 " Oh ! dear no, he is by no means old ! He 
 married when quite young, and Madame Ostro- 
 lenka can't be more than twenty-five or twenty- 
 six. She is his eldest child. Her father is a 
 very striking-looking man, perfectly well-pre- 
 served, not over fifty I should say ; upright as
 
 278 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 at twenty, with a singularly good head, — almost 
 handsome." 
 
 " Hum," snarls Gould. " He evidently has 
 made a great impression." 
 
 " I do not deny it," replies Hercea, with a 
 frankness which makes him wince, " I have met 
 few men I think so highly of. His character is 
 perhaps not lovable, for he is so masterful 
 that he won't allow any one to think differently 
 from him. But he is above all petty prejudices, 
 does not care two straws for public or private 
 opinion, and leads a highly intellectual life, as 
 far as reading many deep subjects, seriously, 
 goes." 
 
 Again Gould winces. He half suspects that 
 Hercea intends this as a snub for himself; for 
 he, Gould, is utterly illiterate, all his education 
 having been acquired in some humble charity 
 school in the back slums of Poplar, where his 
 father, a German Jew had kept an establish- 
 ment for receiving stolen goods. But even 
 at the risk of offending Hercea he cannot 
 prevent having another fling at this unknown 
 man, on whom she is pleased to bestow so 
 much praise, so he says, 
 
 " It is wonderful how even a clever woman
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 279 
 
 can be taken in. I'll be bound to say he is a 
 purse-proud conceited old prig." 
 
 "I don't intend to discuss Mr. Romeyn 
 with you," says Hercea, in a tone of voice he 
 understands. 
 
 "I don't want to; but still, we must talk 
 this out. Does it not seem rather awkward 
 your stumbling on to the Ostrolenka's father 
 at this particular time ? " 
 
 " I confess I have thought of that, and it 
 is that I wish to talk to you about, if you will 
 sit down and recover your temper. It has 
 struck me that it may be either very advan- 
 tageous, or just the reverse; according to our 
 management of things. If he becomes a great 
 friend it may be less awkward, in the event of 
 Madame Ostrolenka making any unpleasant 
 discovery. In the meanwhile we have him all 
 to ourselves. She is in Paris, and cannot in- 
 terfere, even if she knew." 
 
 " Ah, there ! that is precisely where you are 
 wrong," he breaks in, half pleased to be able 
 to annoy her by upsetting her calculations, in 
 return for the snubbing she has administered 
 to him. " At this particular moment that 
 particular female happens to be in London."
 
 280 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Madame Ostrolenka in London ! " exclaims 
 Hercea, in surprise. " How do you know ? 
 Have you seen her ? Has she seen us ? I 
 thought she had no money ! " 
 
 " One thing at a time. I'll answer them all. 
 First of all, I know she is in town, because 
 Restigouche has informed me of the fact. He 
 knows it for certain. Secondly, I have not 
 seen her, naturally, or I should have told you 
 before. Thirdly, it is impossible for me to 
 say whether she has seen us or either of us. 
 And as to money, it is plain if she is here that 
 she has paid her passage, — has money to live 
 on whilst here, and, probably, has enough to 
 go back with. But more than that. She must 
 have got money lately from some one, because 
 Restigouche says that her mother, the old 
 woman in Paris is beginning to live better, 
 and to get her things out of pawn. All this 
 ain't done with what Madeline got from the 
 Perigord, and you know as well as 1 do that 
 she would not make money in any other 
 way." 
 
 "But what do you suppose brings her here?" 
 
 " God knows. I can't even guess. Per- 
 haps she has followed us over; though I wiil
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 281 
 
 swear I never mentioned a word about you to 
 her all the time I knew her. I used to say I 
 had an influential friend who would work to 
 recover the bonds, but that was all. The only 
 possible clue I have is that she has somehow or 
 other connected Restigouche with the robbery 
 of the bonds. It was rather a weak plan, the 
 whole of that affair, but the time to pay those 
 other things was so desperately short, and I 
 could think of no other dodge." 
 
 " Yes ! you know well what / think of that 
 dastardly robbery" — replies Hercea — whilst a 
 deep frown passes over her face. 
 
 Gould remains silent — and she continues, 
 
 " And what after that ? " 
 
 " Well, I think she may connect Restigouche 
 and myself — for she knew I knew him, and so 
 it is just possible she has come over here to 
 see what she can fish out." 
 
 " She can't fish out anything, that I can see. 
 She does not know me by sight, for I never 
 saw her. But stop ! do you think she ever 
 saw me with you in Paris ? " 
 
 " That is difficult to say. You know how 
 infernally sharp she is. Do you remember my 
 pointing her out to you that day in the Champs
 
 2S2 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHoii^E. 
 
 Elysees, just before we saw that snob Pitt, who 
 would thrust himself on us ? " 
 
 "Yes; I remember perfectly. She may 
 have noticed me then." 
 
 " And would remember you again amongst 
 ten million." 
 
 " Probably." 
 
 " But now, let me ask you. You talked to 
 this old fogey of a Romeyn last night a good 
 deal. He must have mentioned his family, 
 and, in the natural order of things, would 
 have mentioned Ostrolenka as he knew you 
 came from the Levant." 
 
 " You are quite right. He talked about 
 their affair, and had the view I wished him to 
 hold. But he told me, quite gratuitously, that 
 he had never seen Madeline Ostrolenka since 
 she left her home. I am sure she is not 
 getting money from him." 
 
 " And could she not get it from other 
 members of the family ? " 
 
 "No. I think not. There is another daugh- 
 ter called Rosalie ; and I have a strange thing 
 to tell you about her, too — but she would not 
 dare help anyone her father had abandoned. 
 This Rosalie is engaged to be married to
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 283 
 
 Captain Norton. It was he introduced me to 
 Mr. Romeyn." 
 
 " How singular ! " says Gould. " Hang me 
 if we haven't got into a regular nest of them." 
 
 " We seem to, really ; but don't alarm your- 
 self. I have already thought a good deal 
 about the whole affair. And even the Ostro- 
 lenka being here causes me no alarm, only 
 it necessitates prompt action. I must exert 
 myself and carry out my plans." 
 
 " And what are they? " 
 
 " They are not quite formed," says Hercea, 
 musing. " I can't see so far ahead to-day. 
 But of one thing I am resolved, this man 
 Norton, who is a fool or anything else you 
 like, must marry Rosalie Romeyn. I have 
 many reasons for it ; too long to explain. 
 Things have so entirely changed since you 
 went away ! If I could have foreseen meet- 
 ing Mr. Romeyn I should have resisted that 
 insane, and idiotic scheme more than I did. 
 But now it can't be helped ; we must get 
 hold of these bonds, and perhaps — if we are 
 well enough off — we may be able to send them 
 anonymously to the Ostrolenka, and so finish 
 off all that affair."
 
 284 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 " But Norton, — is he not to bring you this 
 ,£5,000? " says Gould. 
 
 " Yes, he will bring it to-day or to-morrow. 
 Directly it comes you must be ready to go to 
 Paris. And you will be able then to see and 
 hear what is going on in the Rue St. Anne." 
 
 " I shall be ready to go — but — I say, look 
 here, you know, promise me one thing, I think 
 I deserve it. I have served you so faithfully 
 all these years, promise me that this old 
 Romeyn " 
 
 "How can you be so foolish ?" she says, 
 suddenly changing her voice and looking him 
 kindly in the face. "You make things hard 
 for me to bear." 
 
 " Ah ! that is all very well, but what are 
 they to me" he says passionately. "I have 
 waited so long that I feel I would rather end 
 my life than go on like this." 
 
 She gives a long sigh — a sigh as if she too 
 found life unendurable. 
 
 " It is not ?ny fault that I cannot marry you, 
 Dick ! If Nellie ran off with this Frenchman, 
 things might be different," and she rises and 
 goes to a bunch of flowers, from amongst 
 which she selects a rare rose.
 
 "AN AMIABLE HUSBAND." 285 
 
 " Take this for my sake," she says, putting- 
 it into his button-hole. 
 
 His hands involuntarily clasp her waist as she 
 stands before him. She yields and he draws her 
 to him, for one moment, and kisses her cheek. 
 
 " If this cursed Nellie was out of the road ? " 
 he mutters in a hoarse voice. " Tell me, my 
 love! could I — could I " 
 
 She looks at him, sees the evil light in his 
 eye, and gives a shudder. For one moment 
 her abhorrence of him almost gains the 
 mastery, but she conquers the feeling. 
 
 " Now go, my friend,' ' she says, releasing her- 
 self. " Go into the City and see Chertsey, and 
 perhaps it would be a good idea to get him to 
 employ some one to watch the Ostrolenka, or to 
 find out where she is living. Pitt seemed a sharp 
 fellow. If Chertsey can trust him, it would be 
 better to set him on her than a detective." 
 
 " Infinitely better ! I think a good deal of 
 that fellow's cuteness, he is down to every 
 move. It is an excellent idea." 
 
 " Good-bye, then. It is now twelve, you 
 can come back here at two and take me out." 
 
 And with the sweetest smile she dismissed 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 EAVESDROPPING. 
 
 Mr. Belmore Chertsey, as he prefers to be 
 styled, sits in his office in Cannon Street, 
 waiting for Mr. Gould — anxiously waiting — 
 an unusual thing with him, for he is rarely 
 disturbed by anything. 
 
 A large fat man is Mr. Chertsey, with a 
 broad face and a fat smile which seems to flow 
 out of his mouth like oil over the sides of a too 
 full pot. He has a large double chin continued 
 by a roll of fat completely round his neck, 
 giving him something the appearance of a 
 sacred ox, and forcing his ears, which are very 
 coarse and hairy, higher than nature intended 
 them to be placed. His head is round and 
 looks soft like a pincushion, and the hair like 
 pins point up. His eyes are keen, grey, and 
 twinkling, with a look of humour and vivacity 
 in them, not in keeping with the grave,
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 287 
 
 portentous appearance of his person. He 
 has a short, wobbly kind of nose which one 
 always expects to see left lying in his large 
 silk handkerchief after he has done blowing it, 
 from the vicious way he catches hold of it, as 
 if it had done him some personal affront in 
 requiring to be attended to. His lips are 
 broad but not badly formed, and his teeth 
 white and regular. He has no moustache or 
 beard ; but wears small whiskers well shaved 
 back. In his person and attire he is scrupu- 
 lously neat at all times ; his large fat hands 
 are carefully tended, and his nails are so 
 even and the moons kept so free from en- 
 croaching skin as to be quite aggravating in 
 their regularity. He is always in a frock-coat, 
 a dark one in winter, a light one in summer, 
 and always in a white waistcoat starched to the 
 stiffness of card-board, and presenting a quite 
 phenomenal expanse of chest and stomach re- 
 minding one of a white-washed buoy, swaying 
 gently with the waves. His trousers, that 
 key to a goodly appearance, are never bagged 
 at the knee ; but seem to be invariably 
 new ; whilst buff- coloured spats serve to lessen 
 the size of his broad flat feet. In his button-
 
 288 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 hole is that City emblem of ultra respectability, 
 a beautiful hot-house flower, happily uncon- 
 scious of the incongruity of its own purity and 
 of the craft and wickedness of the heart over 
 which it lies. For though steeped to the. lips 
 in every form of rascality, your rogue, on his 
 way to the City, adorns himself regularly with 
 some rare flower before presenting himself on 
 the scene of his depredations. 
 
 Before Mr. Chertsey is a mass of printed 
 papers and several books of reference, whilst 
 all the requirements of a city office are within 
 reach of his hand, including a telephone, and 
 a speaking tube connected with his clerk's 
 office. 
 
 Pitt is Mr. Chertsey's time damnee ; and is 
 as much in his confidence as any human being 
 has ever been ; especially in business matters. 
 He has been brought up in a manner after Mr. 
 Chertsey's own heart, beginning in the office 
 of his esteemed friends Wreck and Beyfus of 
 Abchurch Lane, where he learnt a class of 
 business particularly qualifying him for his 
 present situation ; then going through some 
 occult course of instruction entitling him to 
 dub himself Actuary and Public Accountant,
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 289 
 
 and after that, passing two years with a 
 person into whose hands fell the Liquidation of 
 many large Companies, where he learnt the 
 mysteries by which every fraction of the assets 
 and unpaid calls, and everything, down to the 
 postage stamps and the proceeds of the sale 
 of the office furniture, was divided between 
 that official and the Solicitor to the Liquidation. 
 This was capital training, for hardly second 
 in importance to the knowledge how to create 
 a company comes how to wreck it. For 
 persons of the Chertsey school would consider 
 it mere waste of time to launch a company 
 without at the same time preparing for a not 
 distant date when their confederates shall bring 
 it to grief; when they will divide all round, — a 
 matter easy enough, for the ordinary share- 
 holder knows no more about the Joint Stock 
 Companies Act than a Hottentot of Wagner's 
 music. 
 
 To this general knowledge Pitt had added 
 a deep study of all lists containing the names 
 and addresses of her Majesty's lieges, of 
 all denominations and professions, and had 
 thoroughly grasped the science of issuing 
 prospectuses, so that by no possibility should 
 
 vol. 1. 19
 
 2 9 o SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 the recipients be in a position to form any 
 idea as to the merits of the undertaking. 
 
 But Pitt was really only an Acolyte, stand- 
 ing outside the Veil which hid the true mysteries 
 of Rascality. On the other hand his Master, 
 Chertsey, was one of the High Priests of the 
 Profession, and was held in great veneration 
 in his own set. His knowledge of the weak- 
 ness and credulity of human nature as exemp- 
 lified by clergymen, retired officers, widows 
 and maiden ladies in their corporate capacity 
 as shareholders, seemed veritable inspiration. 
 The genius he displayed in launching an 
 ' undertaking ' (as he ominously called these 
 affairs, with a prophetic instinct that he would 
 be their undertaker and grave-digger) consisted 
 in an extraordinary perception as to when the 
 share-taking public were disposed to swallow 
 particular kinds of bait. This had been 
 acquired by a careful study of the rise and 
 fall of speculation, extending over many years, 
 and by dint of this he had gradually evolved 
 laws out of what, to less close observers, 
 appeared mere chaos. He infallibly knew 
 when any particular kind of investment would 
 have a run, and generally prepared a Pros-
 
 EA VESDRGPPING. 291 
 
 pectus and got all the machinery together long 
 before he thought it necessary to procure the 
 specific article he was about to sell to the 
 public. For instance, if it was a Gold Mine, 
 the last thing he troubled himself about was 
 the property itself, or the title to it. The 
 fictitious samples of ore and highly-coloured 
 Reports by experts were much more important. 
 The name of the property could be stuck in 
 afterwards. 
 
 But to-day things seem to be going wrong 
 to judge by the expression of anxiety which 
 sits on Mr. Chertsey's broad face. It is unlike 
 Mr. Chertsey to stand staring out of window, 
 regardless of the curious clerks of a rival 
 Promoter across the street, who may plainly 
 see for themselves that old * Anno Domini ' as 
 they call him, (a perversion of his initials B. C. 
 — for they are nothing in the. City if not 
 jocular), is not doing much business, for the 
 only thing worse than having no business to 
 do is to let others find it out. He is too 
 absorbed to-day to think of matters which at 
 other times are a careful study. And as the 
 time passes when Gould should have arrived, 
 Mr. Chertsey grows so restless and impatient
 
 2 9 z SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 that Pitt stops in the act of sallying forth to 
 luncheon, determined, by means of his own, 
 to see and hear what it is that is causing 
 his employer so much uneasiness. So Pitt 
 sits down again and spreads some fresh 
 papers before him, but whether it is that Mr. 
 Chertsey is specially anxious as to his clerk's 
 health to-day or whether it is that he is afraid 
 Gould's loud voice may be overheard in the 
 next office, certain it is he wishes Pitt to go 
 out now for his midday refreshment, and, 
 before Pitt has had time to settle down to 
 his papers, a dull whistle through the speaking 
 tube sounds at his elbcw, promptly followed 
 by a curt message, " Go to luncheon." 
 
 " Ay! ay! Sir," replies Pitt, now convinced 
 there is ' something up, ' and more deter- 
 mined than ever to stay and hear what it is. 
 So instead of going away he merely locks 
 the door of communication between his office 
 and that of Mr. Chertsey, as is always his 
 custom when going out to luncheon ; then he 
 opens the outer door leading on to the stair- 
 case with considerable noise ; closes it again 
 with himself still on the inside and turns the 
 key. He then sits down quietly and waits.
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 293 
 
 It is true he is assailed by some twinges of 
 conscience, for he feels he is not acting up to 
 Madame Ostrolenka's standard, but he reasons, 
 with pardonable sophistry, that he is about to 
 play the eavesdropper in a righteous cause. 
 He argues that a man is perfectly justified in 
 listening to any conversation which may lead 
 to the exposure of a crime, and he has now 
 grown so fully persuaded that Gould, and 
 probably Chertsey, have had a hand in robbing 
 Madame Ostrolenka that he thinks he would 
 simply be acting the part of a Quixotic fool if he 
 purposely missed what, he hoped, he now had 
 a chance of learning. And his common sense 
 had its reward, for he had not been seated long 
 before a knock came at his outer door. He 
 however made no reply, but advancing on 
 tiptoe and applying his eye to a portion of 
 the glass partition which looked out on to 
 the staircase where the white paint had been 
 scraped away with this express object, he 
 recognised Mr. Gould. Then Gould knocks 
 again and, getting no answer, goes to the 
 other door, Chertsey' s entrance, and knocks 
 there. Chertsey immediately opens. 
 
 " Your clerk is out, I suppose," says Gould.
 
 294 SWIFTER THAN A WEA VERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " I have been banging away at his door 
 without getting an answer." 
 
 " Gone to luncheon. But come in, come in, 
 man. You're late in keeping your appointment." 
 
 "I couldn't get here any sooner, I had so 
 many things to talk over with Madame." 
 
 " Yes, no doubt. She is difficult to get 
 away from, I should think." 
 
 "Devilish difficult, by Jove! especially if 
 you're at all thick with her." 
 
 "No doubt, but then you see I have not 
 that privilege. But tell me, — about this affair 
 in Paris, — I am most anxious to know. 
 Dubois, — is he keeping quiet ? " 
 
 " Is it all right? " says Gould with a jerk 
 of the head in the direction of Pitt's office. 
 
 " Perfectly right, he's gone to luncheon, 
 and even if he were not, I trust him entirely, 
 you won't mind my saying so ? — quite as 
 much as I do any one in this business, which 
 J look on as a bad one." 
 
 "Well, you're right. It isn't in our usual 
 line of business, but needs must when the 
 Devil drives, and we were regularly cleaned 
 out. But I swear there is no risk now. And 
 I see no use in letting Pitt into it."
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 295 
 
 " Confound it ! how frightened you are about 
 Pitt ! See, I tell you he is out," and Chertsey 
 walks across the office and tries the door 
 leading into Pitt's room. " There, I told you 
 he was out," Chertsey goes on, finding the 
 door locked. " He locks the door when he 
 goes to luncheon in case I go out the front 
 way. Now go on." 
 
 But Pitt has drawn noiselessly to the door, 
 his short-hand note-book in his hand. Every 
 word falls plainly on his ear and is exactly 
 recorded. Gould takes up the speech. 
 
 " I have some strange things to tell you, 
 but as I have to get back again by two I won't 
 waste time. You know that Madame Artaki 
 has picked up a fool called Norton, an Army 
 man?" 
 
 4f Yes, you told me so." 
 
 " Well, this man is to give her ^"5,000, 
 either to-day or to-morrow. I have seen 
 Restigouche. I believe Dubois will wait. 
 We can then send Pitt over with the ^1,000, 
 pay off Dubois and secure the bonds." 
 
 " That seems simple enough. What else ? " 
 says Chertsey, with an expression of relief. 
 
 " Why, a very strange coincidence has
 
 2 9 6 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 occurred. This fool Norton is engaged to a 
 girl with a heap of money, and who on earth 
 should this girl be but our Ostrolenka's sister ! 
 Then, as is natural enough, he has introduced 
 Madame Artaki to the father of his future 
 intended — at the Papyrus. He is enormously 
 rich. ,, 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " And it will be deuced rum if Madame can't 
 get some of his stuff off his back," says Gould, 
 with a broad grin. 
 
 " She is quite capable of accomplishing 
 anything in that line, I should think," says 
 Chertsey with a smile. Gould allows the remark 
 to pass unheeded. 
 
 " I have something else to tell you, which I 
 do not think is very pleasant. That infernal 
 Ostrolenka woman is in London." And Gould 
 forthwith, to Chertsey's great astonishment 
 goes over all that he has learnt from Resti- 
 gouche, and all that he and Madame Artaki 
 think necessary to be done. 
 
 "Madame Artaki is quite right," says 
 Chertsey. " This woman must be found, and 
 watched. You suggested Pitt, — well, I have no 
 objection to his being employed in that way.
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 297 
 
 He is a very sharp fellow. But then you 
 must remember he is young, and Madame 
 Ostrolenka is, I believe, pretty." 
 
 " Oh ! you need have no fear of that kind of 
 thing. In the first place he will have nothing 
 to do but to watch her, and secondly she is the 
 kind of woman, who however poor she is, sticks 
 herself up." 
 
 " I thought you were so very thick with 
 her?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear fellow, but d — n it all, there's 
 a slight difference between a man in my posi- 
 tion and a poor devil of a clerk like Pitt. I 
 don't say she is any more virtuous than other 
 women, but she draws the line, you know — at 
 gentlemen." 
 
 "Ah! I see," says Chertsey, slowly, "and 
 that will make it quite safe to employ Pitt." 
 
 " Oh ! perfectly, I tell you, she wouldn't look 
 at him. She's a deuced sight too handsome 
 to go chucking herself at every fellow's head." 
 
 " Then you think she must be here trying to 
 ferret out something about these confounded 
 bonds," says Chertsey/ musing. 
 
 " There is no doubt in my mind that it is 
 something of the sort."
 
 2 9 3 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 " Have you formed no plan?" enquires 
 Chertsey. 
 
 " No, none yet," replies Gould. 
 
 "Stop then, let me think of it," and 
 Chertsey sits back and taps his big white 
 teeth with a large ivory paper cutter, a trick 
 which seems to assist him in the process of 
 thinking. 
 
 Gould goes to the window and looks out. 
 In a few minutes Chertsey calls him. 
 
 " I say now, — listen ; this is what / think. 
 The danger that presents itself to me is this. 
 First of all Madame Ostrolenka being here 
 in London, may be in constant communication 
 with her sister — for all we know. From her 
 she learns all about Madame Artaki, having 
 put her sister up to making Norton find 
 out all he can and thus she cannot fail to 
 discover in time more about the Eastern 
 business than you would care for her to know. 
 Then, too, you tell me she has long ago been 
 to the Turkish Embassy, and kicked up a row 
 about the bonds. We don't know whether she 
 got the numbers or not, but in my judgment 
 Madame Artaki should not lose a day in getting 
 Raschid Bey, the Secretary, to destroy the
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 299 
 
 book where the numbers were entered. It 
 would be so perfectly simple." 
 
 " Perfectly. I see no reason why it should 
 not be done. And then ? " 
 
 " Then comes the crux of my whole plan. I 
 would lay this confounded Ostrolenka woman 
 by the heels, once and for all." 
 
 "How pray?" says Gould. " God knows 
 I would do anything to serve her out, she is 
 giving us such a confounded lot of trouble." 
 
 44 Yes. She ill requites all your delicate at- 
 tentions to her, — women will, you know. But 
 I am going on. You say Dubois is entirely in 
 with you ? " 
 
 " He will be — directly I have paid him the 
 ,£1,000." 
 
 " And that will be in a day or two ? " 
 
 " Yes, for certain." 
 
 "Then you will cross over at once, and 
 finish off the affair with Dubois," says 
 Chertsey. 
 
 Gould makes no immediate reply. He is 
 turning it over in his mind. His burning 
 jealousy as he thinks of Norton — and now of 
 Romeyn, — makes this second absence from the 
 idol of his thoughts anything but a pleasant
 
 300 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 prospect. Then, too, is there no risk in going 
 to Paris ? May not the Ostrolenka be on the 
 look-out ? May she not have some one watch- 
 ing him ? May he not, after all, become impli- 
 cated in the robbery of the bonds ? Chertsey's 
 quick eye detects the indecision on his face. 
 
 "You don't want to go— eh ! Gould — can't 
 tear yourself away ! " 
 
 " Not that, exactly, but you are right. I 
 don't want to go. Let us send some one else." 
 
 " Whom can we send ? You object to Pitt. 
 I have no one else." 
 
 " Well — I should not, perhaps, object to Pitt 
 — if — if you think he is really all right." 
 
 " I have already given you my opinion," 
 says Chertsey curtly. 
 
 "Come, don't cut up rough," says Gould. 
 " Pitt is a d d cad — a pushing, free-and- 
 easy cad — but I daresay he is honest enough, 
 where his interests lie. Yes — I should be 
 delighted if you will let him go and manage 
 this matter." 
 
 "As you like," replies Chertsey. " Pitt is a 
 man anyone can trust who treats him properly." 
 
 Gould winces — he remembers the ' cut ' in 
 the Bois de Boulogne.
 
 EAVESDROPPING. 301 
 
 "I always treated him well," says he — 
 " though sometimes one has to keep him in 
 his place." 
 
 " We won't argue about that," says Chertsey ; 
 " I never find him forget himself. There is 
 real good stuff in him." 
 
 " Let's say no more about it, then. Will you 
 let him go ? " 
 
 " By all means," replies Chertsey; " if you 
 wish it." 
 
 "I do." 
 
 ''Then that's settled," replies Chertsey. 
 " This is my idea. Let us decoy the Ostrelenka 
 back to Paris under pretence of her recovering 
 her bonds there. There will be no real risk, 
 for Pitt will have got them from Dubois and 
 can stow them away at your place in Boulogne 
 where I advise we let them lie quiet a bit." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; well, go on," says Gould. 
 
 " The Ostrelenka goes to Paris, Dubois 
 gives her and her mother notice to quit 
 their apartments, on the gounds that they are 
 immoral people. The young one has been 
 your mistress, and I suppose Restigouche 
 would not be thin-skinned in laying claim to 
 the same honour. She sings at the Perigord.
 
 302 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 She comes home late, later than is necessary. 
 She associates with improper persons. In 
 fact, Dubois turns her out and gives the 
 Secret Police a hint. He is in with all those 
 fellows, is he not ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is — but go on, you are quite 
 first-class." 
 
 " Well, that is about all. Let me see her 
 dare show her nose in a witness box, after a 
 week or two at St. Lazare." 
 
 " By Jove, Chertsey, that is a brilliant idea. 
 I really think it would act admirably." 
 
 " I am sure it will, but I do not propose to 
 put it in motion unless it is necessary. If she 
 keeps quiet, well and good, but if she makes a 
 move, then strike. You and Dubois could do 
 this easily enough." 
 
 " I wish to G — d we could strike at once," 
 says Gould, who hates Madeline with a deadly 
 hatred. 
 
 "And I don't. It is better to let sleeping 
 dogs lie. And now, to return to the bonds. 
 You say you wish Pitt to be sent for them ; 
 well and good, so long as you don't hold me 
 responsible. He can start the moment you 
 have the money for Dubois. And shall he
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 3 oj 
 
 take the bonds to Boulogne, or bring them 
 here, to your lodgings ? For I won't have 
 them in my office." 
 
 "We will decide that afterwards; but in 
 case he starts without my remembering to 
 give him the address, you can put it down. I 
 call her Richard, like a French name." 
 
 Then Chertsey writes down — 
 
 " Madame Richard \ 
 
 " Impasse des Amants, 
 
 " Boulogne- sur-mer." 
 
 "You can trust this person? " says Chert- 
 sey. 
 
 " Trust her ! I should think so. She does 
 not dare call her life her own. I have 
 moulded her into a proper shape." 
 
 "A wise proceeding," remarks Chertsey, "ex- 
 cept that sometimes even a worm will turn." 
 
 " Not that worm. I know her too well." 
 
 " Ah ! you know how to manage women, 
 but I try to keep away from them." 
 
 " That ought not to be very difficult for you, 
 my dear fellow!" laughs Gould with an 
 impudent glance at Chertsey' s white waist- 
 coat.
 
 304 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVERS SHUTTLE. 
 
 But Chertsey's temper is proof against 
 banter. He merely smiles, — the smile of a 
 man who likes fools to laugh at their own wit. 
 
 " It is time for Pitt to be back, is it not ? " 
 says Gould. " I must be off west, as I promised 
 to take Madame out." 
 
 " He ought to be in soon, but I do not think 
 you need wait to see him. If you get the 
 money this afternoon, come back here. I will 
 wait for you. When Pitt comes in, I will 
 prepare him for the journey, and he can cross 
 over to-night. Meanwhile I will send him out 
 for a preliminary reconnaissance after Madame 
 Ostrolenka. It is well to lose no time over 
 that " 
 
 " Yes, it will be as well, but only let me get 
 hold of the bonds and I will give her leave to 
 do her worst." 
 
 Then Gould departs, after elaborately 
 brushing his hat, during which operation both 
 he and Chertsey hear the outer door of Pitt's 
 office unlock. 
 
 " Ah, there he is, just come in now," says 
 Chertsey. And as Gould goes out at one 
 door Pitt, having been summoned by the 
 whistle, enters the inner office by the other.
 
 EA VESDR OPPING. 3 05 
 
 "Come in, Pitt," says Mr. Chertsey in a 
 confidential tone of voice. 
 
 "Ta-ta!" calls out Gould, holding the 
 handle of the door. " I shall be back again in 
 the afternoon ; Mr. Pitt will be here ? " 
 
 "Yes, all right," replies Chertsey. "Now 
 Pitt, I am about to repose a great confidence 
 in you. Some one is in London whom I wish 
 watched, or rather, first of all, I want to find 
 where this person lives. I will make a clear 
 story of the thing. She is a Madame Ostro- 
 lenka, connected with some affairs with Mr. 
 Gould, and Madame Artaki, whom you saw 
 in Paris. This person, Ostrolenka, is in 
 London, and the only clue I can give you as 
 yet is her father's address, in Wimpole 
 Street. His name is Romeyn. Can you 
 suggest anything?" 
 
 " Let me think, Sir. Yes, I can ; I happen to 
 know a public house in Harley Street, where 
 all the footmen of the neighbourhood go. If 
 Romeyn has a footman he will be found there, 
 and if there, he will drink ; if drink, talk, or take 
 money, or both." 
 
 " Quite right, that is not a bad idea, but I am 
 afraid this lady is not in the habit of calling at 
 
 vol. 1. 20
 
 306 SWIFTER THAN A WEAVER'S SHUTTLE. 
 
 her father's house. He and she have quarrelled. 
 She comes from Paris where she lives with her 
 mother. So possibly the servants at Mr. 
 Romeyn's may know nothing of her. Anyhow 
 it is worth trying — but do it discreetly. Here, 
 you will want some money." And Chertsey 
 gives him a few sovereigns. " And now, 
 for another affair. You must be ready to go 
 to Paris to-night. It is a most urgent matter, 
 and I put every trust in you, that you will keep 
 your wits about you. Mr. Gould will give you 
 all the details of this business, which is, to go 
 to Dubois, — Restigouche will introduce you to 
 him if you did not meet him when you were 
 over there, — and get from him some Ottoman 
 Bank Bonds on which he has alien of ^"1,000. 
 You will have the money to pay him and then 
 you will dispose of these bonds as Mr. Gould 
 directs." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir," says Pitt, with intense 
 earnestness and scarcely able to contain all the 
 import of this, that Madame Ostrolenka's miss- 
 ing bonds are not only traced, but by a most 
 providential circumstance will actually be con- 
 fided to his own keeping. So Pitt has no 
 difficulty in vehemently protesting to Chertsey
 
 EA VESDROPPING. 307 
 
 that he will take the most absolute care that 
 these bonds, if once he gets hold of them, shall 
 go into the proper hands. 
 
 " Yes, yes, Pitt, that's all right. I know I 
 can trust you to do what is right in this matter." 
 
 " You can, Sir, most assuredly. And now, 
 as it is quite early, shall I go and have a look 
 about in Harley and Wimpole Streets ? " 
 
 •' Yes. I have nothing particular for you to 
 do, and time presses in that affair. Go ; and 
 come back here by four o'clock, when Mr. 
 Gould will be here again." 
 
 So Pitt goes off to search for Madeline and 
 finds her with such facility, that Chertsey and 
 Gould would have done well to go after him. 
 
 END of vol. 1.
 
 
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