Can You Forgive Her? .......................................................................................................................................1

Anthony Trollope .....................................................................................................................................1

Mr Mavasor and His Daughter................................................................................................................2

Lady Macleod.........................................................................................................................................6

John Grey, the Worthy Man ..................................................................................................................12

George Vavasor, the Wild Man.............................................................................................................19

The Balcony at Basle............................................................................................................................24

The Bridge over the Rhine ....................................................................................................................30

Aunt Greenow .......................................................................................................................................36

Mr Cheesacre........................................................................................................................................42

The Rivals.............................................................................................................................................48

Nethercoats...........................................................................................................................................56

John Grey goes to London....................................................................................................................60

Mr George Vavasor at Home ................................................................................................................66

Mr Grimes gets his Odd Money ............................................................................................................70

Alice Vavasor becomes Troubled .........................................................................................................74

Paramount Crescent..............................................................................................................................83

The Roebury Club .................................................................................................................................89

Edgehill .................................................................................................................................................94

Alice Vavasor's Great Relations.........................................................................................................103

Tribute from Oileymead.....................................................................................................................108

Which shall it be? ................................................................................................................................112

Alice is taught to grow Upwards, towards the Light..........................................................................118

Dandy and Flirt...................................................................................................................................122

Dinner at Matching Priory..................................................................................................................129

Three Politicians.................................................................................................................................136

In which much of the History of the Pallisers is told ..........................................................................141

Lady Midlothian.................................................................................................................................149

The Priory Ruins .................................................................................................................................157

Alice leaves the Priory ........................................................................................................................162

Burgo Fitzgerald.................................................................................................................................169

Containing a Loveletter....................................................................................................................175

Among the Fells ..................................................................................................................................179

Containing an Answer to the Loveletter ...........................................................................................186

Monkshade ..........................................................................................................................................191

Mr Vavasor speaks to his Daughter ....................................................................................................196

Passion versus Prudence.....................................................................................................................202

John Grey goes a Second Time to London.........................................................................................208

Mr Tombe's Advice............................................................................................................................214

The Inn at Shap...................................................................................................................................217

Mr Cheesacre's Hospitality.................................................................................................................225

Mrs Greenow's Little Dinner in the Close..........................................................................................230

A Noble Lord Dies ..............................................................................................................................238

Parliament Meets................................................................................................................................244

Mrs Marsham ......................................................................................................................................249

The Election for the Chelsea Districts................................................................................................257

George Vavasor takes his Seat .............................................................................................................262

A Love Gift .........................................................................................................................................266

Mr Cheesacre's Disappointment.........................................................................................................272

Preparations for Lady Monk's Party...................................................................................................281

How Lady Glencora went to Lady Monk's Party...............................................................................285

How Lady Glencora came back from Lady Monk's Party ..................................................................290

Bold Speculations on Murder.............................................................................................................297

What occurred in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall .........................................................................................301

The Last Will of the Old Squire ...........................................................................................................307

Showing how Alice was Punished ......................................................................................................312

The Will..............................................................................................................................................317

Another Walk on the Fells..................................................................................................................324

Showing how the Wild Beast got himself back from the Mountains.................................................330

The Pallisers at Breakfast ....................................................................................................................335

The Duke of St Bungay in Search of a Minister .................................................................................341

Alice Vavasor's Name gets into the Money Market...........................................................................347

The Bills are made all right .................................................................................................................353

Going Abroad ......................................................................................................................................357

Mr John Grey in Queen Anne Street ...................................................................................................363

The Rocks and Valleys.......................................................................................................................369

The First Kiss ......................................................................................................................................377

Lady Monk's Plan...............................................................................................................................382

The Last Kiss......................................................................................................................................388

From London to Baden.......................................................................................................................395

From Baden to Lucerne......................................................................................................................401

At Lucerne..........................................................................................................................................406

Showing how George Vavasor received a Visit.................................................................................412

Showing how George Vavasor paid a Visit ........................................................................................418

In which come Tidings of Great Moment to all the Pallisers.............................................................422

Showing what happened in the Churchyard.......................................................................................428

Rouge et Noir ......................................................................................................................................434

The Landlord's Bill.............................................................................................................................440

The Travellers return Home ................................................................................................................446

Mr Cheesacre's Fate............................................................................................................................451

Diamonds are Diamonds .....................................................................................................................458

The Story is finished within the Halls of the Duke of Omnium.........................................................465

Whether or no, she, whom you are to forgive, if you can, did or did not belong to the Upper Ten Thousand of

this our English world, I am not prepared to say with any strength of affirmation. By blood she was connected

with big people distantly connected with some very big people indeed, people who belonged to the Upper

Ten Hundred if there be any such division; but of these very big relations she had known and seen little, and

they had cared as little for her. Her grandfather, Squire Vavasor of Vavasor Hall, in Westmoreland, was a

country gentleman, possessing some thousand a year at the outside, and he therefore never came up to

London, and had no ambition to have himself numbered as one in any exclusive set. A hotheaded, ignorant,

honest old gentleman, he lived ever at Vavasor Hall, declaring, to any who would listen to him, that the

country was going to the mischief, and congratulating himself that at any rate, in his county, parliamentary

reform had been powerless to alter the old political arrangements. Alice Vavasor, whose offence against the

world I am to tell you, and if possible to excuse, was the daughter of his younger son; and as her father, John

Vavasor, had done nothing to raise the family name to eminence, Alice could not lay claim to any high

position from her birth as a Vavasor. John Vavasor had come up to London early in life as a barrister, and had

failed. He had failed at least in attaining either much wealth or much repute, though he had succeeded in

earning, or perhaps I might better say, in obtaining, a livelihood. He had married a lady somewhat older than

himself, who was in possession of four hundred a year, and who was related to those big people to whom I

have alluded. Who these were, and the special nature of the relationship, I shall be called upon to explain

hereafter, but at present it will suffice to say that Alice Macleod gave great offence to all her friends by her

marriage. She did not, however, give them much time for the indulgence of their anger. Having given birth to

a daughter within twelve months of her marriage, she died, leaving in abeyance that question as to whether

When a man marries an heiress for her money, if that money be within her own control, as was the case with

Miss Macleod's fortune, it is generally well for the speculating lover that the lady's friends should quarrel

with him and with her. She is thereby driven to throw herself entirely into the gentleman's arms, and he thus

becomes possessed of the wife and the money without the abominable nuisance of stringent settlements. But

the Macleods, though they quarrelled with Alice, did not quarrel with her a l'outrance. They snubbed herself

and her chosen husband; but they did not so far separate themselves from her and her affairs as to give up the

charge of her possessions. Her four hundred a year was settled very closely on herself and on her children,

without even a life interest having been given to Mr Vavasor, and therefore when she died the mother's

fortune became the property of the little baby. But, under these circumstances, the big people did not refuse to

interest themselves to some extent on behalf of the father. I do not suppose that any actual agreement or

compact was made between Mr Vavasor and the Macleods; but it came to be understood between them that if

he made no demand upon them for his daughter's money, and allowed them to have charge of her education,

they would do something for him. He was a practising barrister, though his practice had never amounted to

much; and a practising barrister is always supposed to be capable of filling any situation which may come in

his way. Two years after his wife's death Mr Vavasor was appointed assistant commissioner in some office

which had to do with insolvents, and which was abolished three years after his appointment. It was at first

thought that he would keep his eight hundred a year for life and be required to do nothing for it; but a

wretched cheeseparing Whig government, as John Vavasor called it when describing the circumstances of the

arrangement to his father, down in Westmoreland, would not permit this; it gave him the option of taking four

hundred a year for doing nothing, or of keeping his whole income and attending three days a week for three

hours a day during term time, at a miserable dingy little office near Chancery Lane, where his duty would

consist in signing his name to accounts which he never read, and at which he was never supposed even to

look. He had sulkily elected to keep the money, and this signing had now been for nearly twenty years the

business of his life.Of course he considered himself to be a very hardlyused man. One Lord Chancellor after

another he petitioned, begging that he might be relieved from the cruelty of his position, and allowed to take

his salary without doing anything in return for it. The amount of work which he did perform was certainly a

minimum of labour. Term time, as terms were counted in Mr Vavasor's office, hardly comprised half the

year, and the hours of weekly attendance did not do more than make one day's work a week for a working

man; but Mr Vavasor had been appointed an assistant commissioner, and with every Lord Chancellor he

argued that all Westminster Hall, and Lincoln's Inn to boot, had no right to call upon him to degrade himself

by signing his name to accounts. In answer to every memorial he was offered the alternative of freedom with

There can, however, be no doubt that Mr Vavasor was better off and happier with his almost nominal

employment than he would have been without it. He always argued that it kept him in London; but he would

undoubtedly have lived in London with or without his official occupation. He had become so habituated to

London life in a small way, before the choice of leaving London was open to him, that nothing would have

kept him long away from it. After his wife's death he dined at his club every day on which a dinner was not

given to him by some friend elsewhere, and was rarely happy except when so dining. They who have seen

him scanning the steward's list of dishes, and giving the necessary orders for his own and his friend's dinner,

at about half past four in the afternoon, have seen John Vavasor at the only moment of the day at which he is

ever much in earnest. All other things are light and easy to him to be taken easily and to be dismissed

easily. Even the eating of the dinner calls forth from him no special sign of energy. Sometimes a frown will

gather on his brow as he tastes the first half glass from his bottle of claret; but as a rule that which he has

prepared for himself with so much elaborate care, is consumed with only pleasant enjoyment. Now and again

it will happen that the cook is treacherous even to him, and then he can hit hard; but in hitting he is quiet, and

Such had been Mr Vavasor's pursuits and pleasures in life up to the time at which my story commences. But I

must not allow the reader to suppose that he was a man without good qualities. Had he when young possessed

the gift of industry I think that he might have shone in his profession, and have been well spoken of and

esteemed in the world. As it was he was a discontented man, but nevertheless he was popular, and to some

extent esteemed. He was liberal as far as his means would permit; he was a man of his word; and he

understood well that code of bylaws which was presumed to constitute the character of a gentleman in his

circle. He knew how to carry himself well among men, and understood thoroughly what might be said, and

what might not; what might be done among those with whom he lived, and what should be left undone. By

nature, too, he was kindly disposed, loving many persons a little if he loved few or none passionately.

Moreover, at the age of fifty, he was a handsome man, with a fine forehead, round which the hair and beard

was only beginning to show itself to be grey. He stood well, with a large person, only now beginning to

become corpulent. His eyes were bright and grey, and his mouth and chin were sharply cut, and told of gentle

birth. Most men who knew John Vavasor well, declared it to be a pity that he should spend his time in

I have said that Alice Vavasor's big relatives cared but little for her in her early years; but I have also said that

they were careful to undertake the charge of her education, and I must explain away this little discrepancy.

The biggest of these big people had hardly heard of her; but there was a certain Lady Macleod, not very big

herself, but, as it were, hanging on to the skirts of those who were so, who cared very much for Alice. She

was the widow of a Sir Archibald Macleod, K.C.B., who had been a soldier, she herself having also been a

Macleod by birth; and for very many years past from a time previous to the birth of Alice Vavasor she

had lived at Cheltenham, making short sojourns in London during the spring, when the contents of her

limited purse would admit of her doing so. Of old Lady Macleod I think I may say that she was a good

woman that she was a good woman, though subject to two of the most serious drawbacks to goodness

which can afflict a lady. She was a Calvinistic Sabbatarian in religion, and in worldly matters she was a

devout believer in the high rank of her noble relatives. She could almost worship a youthful marquis, though

he lived a life that would disgrace a heathen among heathens; and she could and did, in her own mind,

condemn crowds of commonplace men and women to all eternal torments which her imagination could

conceive, because they listened to profane music in a park on Sunday. Yet she was a good woman. Out of her

small means she gave much away. She owed no man anything. She strove to love her neighbours. She bore

much pain with calm unspeaking endurance, and she lived in trust of a better world. Alice Vavasor, who was

after all only her cousin, she loved with an exceeding love, and yet Alice had done very much to extinguish

such love. Alice, in the years of her childhood, had been brought up by Lady Macleod; at the age of twelve

she had been sent to a school at AixlaChapelle a comitatus of her relatives having agreed that such was

to be her fate, much in opposition to Lady Macleod's judgment; at nineteen she had returned to Cheltenham,

and after remaining there for little more than a year, had expressed her unwillingness to remain longer with

her cousin. She could sympathise neither with her relative's faults or virtues. She made an arrangement,

therefore, with her father, that they two would keep house together in London, and so they had lived for the

last five years for Alice Vavasor when she will be introduced to the reader had already passed her

Their mode of life had been singular and certainly not in all respects satisfactory. Alice when she was

twentyone had the full command of her own fortune; and when she induced her father, who for the last

fifteen years had lived in lodgings, to take a small house in Queen Anne Street, of course she offered to incur

a portion of the expense. He had warned her that his habits were not those of a domestic man, but he had been

content simply so to warn her. He had not felt it to be his duty to decline the arrangement because he knew

himself to be unable to give to his child all that attention which a widowed father under such circumstances

should pay to an only daughter. The house had been taken, and Alice and he had lived together, but their lives

had been quite apart. For a short time, for a month or two, he had striven to dine at home and even to remain

at home through the evening; but the work had been too hard for him and he had utterly broken down. He had

said to her and to himself that his health would fail him under the effects of so great a change made so late in

life, and I am not sure that he had not spoken truly. At any rate the effort had been abandoned, and Mr.

Vavasor now never dined at home. Nor did he and his daughter ever dine out together. Their joint means did

not admit of their giving dinners, and therefore they could not make their joint way in the same circle. It thus

came to pass that they lived apart quite apart. They saw each other, probably, daily; but they did little

more than see each other. They did not even breakfast together, and after three o'clock in the day Mr Vavasor

Miss Vavasor had made for herself a certain footing in society,though I am disposed to doubt her right to be

considered as holding a place among the Upper Ten Thousand. Two classes of people she had chosen to

avoid, having been driven to such avoidings by her aunt's preferences; marquises and such like, whether

wicked or otherwise, she had eschewed, and had eschewed likewise all Low Church tendencies. The

eschewing of marquises is not generally very difficult. Young ladies living with their fathers on very

moderate incomes in or about Queen Anne Street are not usually much troubled on that matter. Nor can I say

that Miss Vavasor was so troubled. But with her there was a certain definite thing to be done towards such

eschewal. Lady Macleod by no means avoided her noble relatives, nor did she at all avoid Alice Vavasor.

When in London she was persevering in her visits to Queen Anne Street, though she considered herself,

nobody knew why, not to be on speaking terms with Mr Vavasor. And she strove hard to produce an intimacy

between Alice and her noble relatives such an intimacy as that which she herself enjoyed an intimacy

which gave her a footing in their houses but no footing in their hearts, or even in their habits. But all this

Alice declined with as much consistency as she did those other struggles which her old cousin made on her

behalf strong, neverflagging, but everfailing efforts to induce the girl to go to such places of worship as

A few words must be said as to Alice Vavasor's person; one fact also must be told, and then, I believe, I may

start upon my story. As regards her character, I will leave it to be read in the story itself. The reader already

knows that she appears upon the scene at no very early age, and the mode of her life had perhaps given to her

an appearance of more years than those which she really possessed. It was not that her face was old, but that

there was nothing that was girlish in her manners. Her demeanour was as staid, and her voice as

selfpossessed, as though she had already been ten years married. In person she was tall and well made,

rather large in her neck and shoulders, as were all the Vavasors, but by no means fat. Her hair was brown, but

very dark, and she wore it rather lower upon her forehead than is customary at the present day. Her eyes, too,

were dark, though they were not black, and her complexion, though not quite that of a brunette, was far away

from being fair. Her nose was somewhat broad, and retrousse too, but to my thinking it was a charming nose,

full of character, and giving to her face at times a look of pleasant humour, which it would otherwise have

lacked. Her mouth was large, and full of character, and her chin oval, dimpled, and finely chiselled, like her

father's. I beg you, in taking her for all in all, to admit that she was a fine, handsome, highspirited young

And now for my fact. At the time of which I am writing she was already engaged to be married.

I cannot say that the house in Queen Anne Street was a pleasant house. I am now speaking of the material

house, made up of the walls and furniture, and not of any pleasantness or unpleasantness supplied by the

inmates. It was a small house on the south side of the street, squeezed in between two large mansions which

seemed to crush it, and by which its fair proportion of doorstep and area was in truth curtailed. The stairs

were narrow; the diningroom was dark, and possessed none of those appearances of plenteous hospitality

which a diningroom should have. But all this would have been as nothing if the drawingroom had been

pretty as it is the bounden duty of all drawingrooms to be. But Alice Vavasor's drawingroom was not

pretty. Her father had had the care of furnishing the house, and he had entrusted the duty to a tradesman who

had chosen green paper, a green carpet, green curtains, and green damask chairs. There was a green damask

sofa, and two green armchairs opposite to each other at the two sides of the fireplace. The room was

altogether green, and was not enticing. In shape it was nearly square, the very small back room on the same

floor not having been, as is usual, added to it. This had been fitted up as a "study" for Mr Vavasor, and was

Most of us know when we enter a drawingroom whether it is a pretty room or no; but how few of us know

how to make a drawingroom pretty! There has come up in London in these latter days a form of room so

monstrously ugly that I will venture to say that no other people on earth but Londoners would put up with it.

Londoners, as a rule, take their houses as they can get them, looking only to situation, size, and price. What

Grecian, what Roman, what Turk, what Italian would endure, or would ever have endured, to use a room with

a monstrous cantle in the form of a parallelogram cut sheerly out of one corner of it? This is the shape of

room we have now adopted or rather which the builders have adopted for us in order to throw the

whole first floor into one apartment which may be presumed to have noble dimensions with such

drawback from it as the necessities of the staircase may require. A sharp unadorned corner projects itself into

these wouldbe noble dimensions, and as ugly a form of chamber is produced as any upon which the eye can

look. I would say more on the subject if I dared to do so here, but I am bound now to confine myself to Miss

Vavasor's room. The monstrous deformity of which I have spoken was not known when that house in Queen

Anne Street was built. There is to be found no such abomination of shape in the buildings of our ancestors

not even in the days of George the Second. But yet the drawingroom of which I speak was ugly, and Alice

knew that it was so. She knew that it was ugly, and she would greatly have liked to banish the green sofa, to

have repapered the wall, and to have hung up curtains with a dash of pink through them. With the green

carpet she would have been contented. But her father was an extravagant man; and from the day on which she

had come of age she had determined that it was her special duty to avoid extravagance.

"Wouldn't that be extravagant, papa? The things have not been here quite four years yet."

Then Mr Vavasor had shrugged his shoulders and said nothing more about it. It was little to him whether the

drawingroom in Queen Anne Street was ugly or pretty. He was on the committee of his club, and he took

It was now June; and that month Lady Macleod was in the habit of spending among her noble relatives in

London when she had succeeded in making both ends so far overlap each other at Cheltenham as to give her

the fifty pounds necessary for this purpose. For though she spent her month in London among her noble

friends, it must not be supposed that her noble friends gave her bed and board. They sometimes gave her tea,

such as it was, and once or twice in the month they gave the old lady a secondrate dinner. On these

occasions she hired a little parlour and bedroom behind it in King Street, Saint James's, and lived a hot,

uncomfortable life,going about at nights to gatherings of fashionable people of which she in her heart

disapproved, seeking for smiles which seldom came to her, and which she excused herself for desiring

because they were the smiles of her kith and her kin, telling herself always that she made this vain journey to

the modern Babylon for the good of Alice Vavasor, and telling herself as often that she now made it for the

last time. On the occasion of her preceding visit she had reminded herself that she was then seventyfive

years old, and had sworn to herself that she would come to London no more; but here she was again in

London, having justified the journey to herself on the plea that there were circumstances in Alice's

engagement which made it desirable that she should for a while be near her niece. Her niece, as she thought,

was hardly managing her own affairs discreetly. "Well, aunt," said Alice, as the old lady walked into the

drawingroom one morning at eleven o'clock. Alice always called Lady Macleod her aunt, though, as has

been before explained, there was no such close connexion between them. During Lady Macleod's sojourn in

London these morning visits were made almost every day. Alice never denied herself, and even made a point

of remaining at home to receive them unless she had previously explained that she would be out; but I am not

prepared to say that they were, of their own nature, agreeable to her. "Would you mind shutting the window,

my dear?" said Lady Macleod, seating herself stiffly on one of the small ugly green chairs. She had been

educated at a time when easy chairs were considered vicious, and among people who regarded all easy

postures as being so; and she could still boast, at seventysix, that she never leaned back. "Would you mind

"You don't mean to say that you've walked from King Street," said Alice, doing as she was desired.

"Indeed I do every step of the way. Cabs are so ruinous, It's a most unfortunate thing; they always say it's

just over the two miles here. I don't believe a word of it, because I'm only a little more than the halfhour

"But what can I do, my dear? I must come, when I've specially come up to London to see you. I shall have a

cab back again, because it'll be hotter then, and dear Lady Midlothian has promised to sendher carriage at

"It's out of the question, aunt. The idea of my going in that way at the last moment, without any invitation!"

"It wouldn't be without an invitation, Alice. The marchioness has said to me over and over again how glad

"My dear, you've no right to expect it; you haven't indeed. She never calls even on me."

"I know I've no right, and I don't expect it, and I don't want it. But neither has she a right to suppose that,

under such circumstances, I shall go to her house. You might as well give it up, aunt. Cartropes wouldn't

"I think you are very wrong particularly under your present circumstances. A young woman that is going

"That's nonsense, Alice. Of course you are; and for his sake you are bound to cultivate any advantages that

naturally belong to you. As to Lady Midlothian or the marchioness coming to call on you here in your father's

"That sort of people are not expected to call. If you'll think of it, how could they do it with all the demands

"Nobody can say of me, I'm sure, that I run after great people or rich people. It does happen that some of the

nearest relations I have indeed I may say the nearest relations are people of high rank; and I do not see

that I'm bound to turn away from my own flesh and blood because of that, particularly when they are always

"I was only speaking of myself, aunt. It is very different with you. You have known them all your life."

"And how are you to know them if you won't begin? Lady Midlothian said to me only yesterday that she was

"Upon my word I'm very much obliged to her ladyship. I wonder whether she considered that she married

respectably when she took Lord Midlothian?" Now Lady Midlothian had been unfortunate in her marriage,

having united herself to a man of bad character, who had used her ill, and from whom she had now been for

some years separated. Alice might have spared her allusion to this misfortune when speaking of the countess

to the cousin who was so fond of her, but she was angered by the application of that odious word respectable

to her own prospects; and perhaps the more angered as she was somewhat inclined to feel that the epithet did

suit her own position. Her engagement, she had sometimes told herself, was very respectable, and had as

often told herself that it lacked other attractions which it should have possessed. She was not quite pleased

with herself in having accepted John Grey or rather perhaps was not satisfied with herself in having loved

him. In her many thoughts on the subject, she always admitted to herself that she had accepted him simply

because she loved him that she had given her quick assent to his quick proposal simply because he had

won her heart. But she was sometimes almost angry with herself that she had permitted her heart to be thus

easily taken from her, and had rebuked herself for her girlish facility. But the marriage would be at any rate

respectable. Mr Grey was a man of high character, of good though moderate means; he was, too, well

educated, of good birth, a gentleman, and a man of talent. No one could deny that the marriage would be

highly respectable, and her father had been more than satisfied. Why Miss Vavasor herself was not quite

satisfied will, I hope, in time make itself appear. In the meanwhile it can be understood that Lady

"Alice, don't be uncharitable," said Lady Macleod severely. "Whatever may have been Lady Midlothian's

"Yes, they can, aunt, if she married a man whom she knew to be a scapegrace because he was very rich and

"She was the daughter of a nobleman herself, and only married in her own degree. But I don't want to discuss

that. She meant to be good natured when she mentioned your marriage, and you should take it as it was

"But she admits the claim, and is quite anxious that you should know her. She has been at the trouble to find

out everything about Mr Grey, and told me that nothing could be more satisfactory."

"Upon my word I am very much obliged to her." Lady Macleod was a woman of much patience, and

possessed also of considerable perseverance. For another halfhour she went on expatiating on the

advantages which would accrue to Alice as a married woman from an acquaintance with her noble relatives,

and endeavouring to persuade her that no better opportunity than the present would present itself. There

would be a place in Lady Midlothian's carriage, as none other of the daughters were going but Lady Jane.

Lady Midlothian would take it quite as a compliment, and a concert was not like a ball or any customary

party. An unmarried girl might very properly go to a concert under such circumstances as now existed

without any special invitation. Lady Macleod ought to have known her adopted niece better. Alice was

immoveable. As a matter of course she was immoveable. Lady Macleod had seldom been able to persuade

her to anything, and ought to have been well sure that, of all things, she could not have persuaded her to this.

Then, at last, they came to another subject, as to which Lady Macleod declared that she had specially come

on this special morning, forgetting, probably, that she had already made the same assertion with reference to

the concert. But in truth the last assertion was the correct one, and on that other subject she had been hurried

on to say more than she meant by the eagerness of the moment. All the morning she had been full of the

matter on which she was now about to speak. She had discussed it quite at length with Lady Midlothian

though she was by no means prepared to tell Alice Vavasor that any such discussion had taken place. From

the concert, and the effect which Lady Midlothian's countenance might have upon Mr Grey's future welfare,

she got herself by degrees round to a projected Swiss tour which Alice was about to make. Of this Swiss tour

she had heard before, but had not heard who were to be Miss Vavasor's companions until Lady Midlothian

had told her. How it had come to pass that Lady Midlothian had interested herself so much in the concerns of

a person whom she did not know, and on whom she in her greatness could not be expected to call, I cannot

say; but from some quarter she had learned who were the proposed companions of Alice Vavasor's tour, and

"Early in July, I believe. It will be very hot, but Kate must be back by the middle of August." Kate Vavasor

"Oh! Kate is to go with you?" "Of course she is. I could not go alone, or with no one but George. Indeed it

"Of course you could not go alone with George," said Lady Macleod, very grimly. Now George Vavasor was

Kate's brother, and was therefore also first cousin to Alice. He was heir to the old squire down in

Westmoreland, with whom Kate lived, their father being dead. Nothing, it would seem, could be more

rational than that Alice should go to Switzerland with her cousins; but Lady Macleod was clearly not of this

opinion; she looked very grim as she made this allusion to cousin George, and seemed to be preparing herself

"That is exactly what I say," answered Alice. But, indeed, he is simply going as an escort to me and Kate, as

we don't like the r�le of unprotected females. It is very good natured of him, seeing how much his time is

"No; certainly I don't know him." She did not add that she had no wish to know Mr George Vavasor, but she

"And does " Lady Macleod hesitated a little before she went on, and then finished her question with a

little spasmodic assumption of courage. "And does Mr Grey know that he is going?"

Alice remained silent for a full minute before she answered this question, during which Lady Macleod sat

watching her grimly, with her eyes very intent upon her niece's face. If she supposed such silence to have

been in any degree produced by shame in answering the question, she was much mistaken. But it may be

doubted whether she understood the character of the girl whom she thought she knew so well, and it is

"I might tell you simply that he does," said Alice at last, "seeing that I wrote to him yesterday, letting him

know that such were our arrangements; but I feel that I should not thus answer the question you mean to ask.

You want to know whether Mr Grey will approve of it. As I only wrote yesterday of course I have not heard,

and therefore cannot say. But I can say this, aunt, that much as I might regret his disapproval, it would make

"Would it not? Then I must tell you, you are very wrong. It ought to make a change. What! the disapproval of

the man you are going to marry make no change in your plans?" "Not in that matter. Come, aunt, if we must

discuss this matter let us do it at any rate fairly. In an ordinary way, if Mr Grey had asked me to give up for

any reason my trip altogether, I should have given it up certainly, as I would give up any other indifferent

project at the request of so dear a friend a friend with whom I am so so so closely connected.

But if he asked me not to travel with my cousin George, I should refuse him absolutely, without a word of

parley on the subject, simply because of the nature and closeness of my connection with him. I suppose you

"I suppose I do. You mean that you would refuse to obey him on the very subject on which he has a right to

"He has no right to claim my obedience on any subject," said Alice; and as she spoke Aunt Macleod jumped

up with a little start at the vehemence of the words, and of the tone in which they were expressed. She had

heard that tone before, and might have been used to it; but, nevertheless, the little jump was involuntary. "At

present he has no right to my obedience on any subject, but least of all on that," said Alice. "His advice he

"If he tells me that I had better not travel with my cousin George I shall certainly not take his advice.

Moreover, I should be careful to let him know how much I was offended by any such counsel from him. It

would show a littleness on his part, and a suspicion of which I cannot suppose him to be capable." Alice, as

she said this, got up from her seat and walked about the room. When she had finished she stood at one of the

windows with her back to her visitor. There was silence between them for a minute or two, during which

Lady Macleod was deeply considering how best she might speak the terrible words, which, as Alice's nearest

female relative, she felt herself bound to utter. At last she collected her thoughts and her courage, and spoke

out. "My dear Alice, I need hardly say that if you had a mother living, or any person with you filling the place

"Of course, Aunt Macleod, if you think I am wrong you have quite a right to say so."

"I do think you are wrong very wrong, indeed; and if you persist in this I am afraid I must say that I shall

think you wicked. Of course Mr Grey cannot like you to travel with George Vavasor." "And why not, aunt?"

Alice, as she asked this question, turned round and confronted Lady Macleod boldly. She spoke with a steady

voice, and fixed her eyes upon the old lady's face, as though determined to show that she had no fear of what

"But I do wish you to say why not. How can I defend myself till the accusation is made?"

"You are now engaged to marry Mr Grey, with the consent and approbation of all your friends. Two years

"Had what, aunt? If you mean to say that two years ago I was engaged to my cousin George you are

mistaken. Three years ago I told him that under certain conditions I would become engaged to him. But my

conditions did not suit him, nor his me, and no engagement was ever made. Mr Grey knows the history of the

whole thing. As far as it was possible I have told him everything that took place."

"The fact was, Alice, that George Vavasor's mode of life was such that an engagement with him would have

"Dear aunt, you must excuse me if I say that I cannot discuss George Vavasor's mode of life. If I were

thinking of becoming his wife you would have a perfect right to discuss it, because of your constant kindness

to me. But as matters are he is simply a cousin; and as I like him and you do not, we had better say nothing

"I must say this that after what has passed, and at the present crisis of your life "

"Yes, you are, Alice; in the most special crisis of a girl's life. You are still a girl, but you are the promised

wife of a very worthy man, who will look to you for all his domestic happiness. George Vavasor has the

"The worthy man and the wild man must fight it out between them. If I were going away with George by

"Monstrous or not, it isn't what I'm about to do. Kate and I have put our purses together, and are going to

have an outing for our special fun and gratification. As we should be poor travellers alone, George has

promised to go with his sister. Papa knows all about it, and never thought of making any objection."

Lady Macleod shook her head. She did not like to say anythingagainst Mr Vavasor before his daughter; but

the shaking of her head was intended to signify that Mr Vavasor's assent in such a matter was worth nothing.

"I can only say again," said Lady Macleod, that I think Mr Grey will be displeased and that he will have

very great cause for displeasure. And I think, moreover, that his approbation ought to be your chief study. I

believe, my dear, I'll ask you to let Jane get me a cab. I shan't have a bit too much time to dress for the

Alice simply rang the bell, and said no further word on the subject which they had been discussing. When

Lady Macleod got up to go away, Alice kissed her, as was customary with them, and the old lady as she went

uttered her customary valediction. "God bless you, my dear. Goodbye! I'll come tomorrow if I can." There

was therefore no quarrel between them. But both of them felt that words had been spoken which must

probably lead to some diminution of their past intimacy. When Lady Macleod had gone Alice sat alone for an

hour thinking of what had passed between them thinking rather of those two men, the worthy man and the

wild man, whose names had been mentioned in close connection with herself. John Grey was a worthy man, a

man worthy at all points, as far as she knew him. She told herself that it was so. And she told herself, also,

that her cousin George was wild very wild. And yet her thoughts were, I fear, on the whole more kindly

towards her cousin than towards her lover. She had declared to her aunt that John Grey would be incapable of

such suspicion as would be shown by any objection on his part to the arrangements made for the tour. She

had said so, and had so believed; and yet she continued to brood over the position which her affairs would

take, if he did make the objection which Lady Macleod anticipated. She told herself over and over again, that

under such circumstances she would not give way an inch. "He is free to go," she said to herself. "If he does

not trust me he is quite free to go." It may almost be said that she came at last to anticipate from her lover that

very answer to her own letter which she had declared him to be incapable of making.

Mr Grey's answer to Alice Vavasor's letter, which was duly sent by return of the post and duly received on

the morning after Lady Macleod's visit, may perhaps be taken as giving a sample of his worthiness. It was

dated from Nethercoats, a small country house in Cambridgeshire which belonged to him at which he already

spent much of his time, and at which he intended to live altogether after his marriage.

"I am glad you have settled your affairs foreign affairs, I mean so much to your mind. As to your home

affairs they are not, to my thinking, quite so satisfactorily arranged. But as I am a party interested in the latter

my opinion may perhaps have an undue bias. Touching the tour, I quite agree with you that you and Kate

would have been uncomfortable alone. It's a very fine theory, that of women being able to get along without

men as well as with them; but, like other fine theories, it will be found very troublesome by those who first

put it in practice. Gloved hands, petticoats, feminine softness, and the general homage paid to beauty, all

stand in the way of success. These things may perhaps some day be got rid of, and possibly with advantage;

but while young ladies are still encumbered with them a male companion will always be found to be a

comfort. I don't quite know whether your cousin George is the best possible knight you might have chosen. I

should consider myself to be infinitely preferable, had my going been upon the cards. Were you in danger of

meeting Paynim foes, he, no doubt, would kill them off much quicker than I could do, and would be much

more serviceable in liberating you from the dungeons of oppressors, or even from stray tigers in the Swiss

forests. But I doubt his being punctual with the luggage. He will want you or Kate to keep the accounts, if

any are kept. He will be slow in getting you glasses of water at the railway stations, and will always keep you

waiting at breakfast. I hold that a man with two ladies on a tour should be an absolute slave to them, or they

will not fully enjoy themselves. He should simply be an upper servant, with the privilege of sitting at the

same table with his mistresses. I have my doubts as to whether your cousin is fit for the place; but, as to

myself, it is just the thing that I was made for. Luckily, however, neither you nor Kate are without wills of

"As to the home affairs I have very little to say here in this letter. I shall of course run up and see you

before you start, and shall probably stay a week in town. I know I ought not to do so, as it will be a week of

idleness, and yet not a week of happiness. I'd sooner have an hour with you in the country than a whole day in

London. And I always feel in town that I've too much to do to allow of my doing anything. If it were sheer

idleness I could enjoy it, but it is a feverish idleness, in which one is driven here and there, expecting some

gratification which not only never comes, but which never even begins to come. I will, however, undergo a

week of it say the last seven days of this month, and shall trust to you to recompense me by as much of

"And now again as to those home affairs. If I say nothing now I believe you will understand why I refrain.

You have cunningly just left me to imply, from what you say, that all my arguments have been of no avail;

but you do not answer them, or even tell me that you have decided. I shall therefore imply nothing, and still

lust to my personal eloquence for success. Or rather not trust not trust, but hope.

"The garden is going on very well. We are rather short of water, and therefore not quite as bright as I had

hoped; but we are preparing with untiring industry for future brightness. Your commands have been obeyed

in all things, and Morrison always says "The mistress didn't mean this", or "The mistress did intend that".

God bless the mistress is what I now say, and send her home, to her own home, to her flowers, and her fruit,

and her house, and her husband, as soon as may be, with no more of those delays which are to me so

"Yours ever and always, J. G." "I didn't give commands," Alice said to herself, as she sat with the letter at her

solitary breakfasttable. "He asked me how I liked the things, and of course I was obliged to say. I was

obliged to seem to care, even if I didn't care." Such were her first thoughts as she put the letter back into its

envelope, after reading it the second time. When she opened it, which she did quickly, not pausing a moment

lest she should suspect herself of fearing to see what might be its contents, her mind was full of that rebuke

which her aunt had anticipated, and which she had almost taught herself to expect. She had torn the letter

open rapidly, and had dashed at its contents with quick eyes. In half a moment she had seen what was the

nature of the reply respecting the proposed companion of her tour, and then she had completed her reading

slowly enough "No; I gave no commands," she repeated to herself, as though she might thereby absolve

herself from blame in reference to some possible future accusations, which might perhaps be brought against

Then she considered the letter bit by bit, taking it backwards, and sipping her tea every now and then amidst

her thoughts. No; she had no home, no house, there. She had no husband not as yet. He spoke of their

engagement as though it were a betrothal, as betrothals used to be of yore; as though they were already in

some sort married. Such betrothals were not made nowadays. There still remained, both to him and to her, a

certain liberty of extricating themselves from this engagement. Should he come to her and say that he found

that their contemplated marriage would not make him happy, would not she release him without a word of

reproach? Would not she regard him as much more honourable in doing so than in adhering to a marriage

which was distasteful to him? And if she would so judge him judge him and certainly acquit him, was it

not reasonable that she under similar circumstances should expect a similar acquittal? Then she declared to

herself that she carried on this argument within her own breast simply as an argument, induced to do so by

that assertion on his part that he was already her husband that his house was even now her home. She had

no intention of using that power which was still hers. She had no wish to go back from her pledged word. She

thought that she had no such wish. She loved him much, and admired him even more than she loved him. He

was noble, generous, clever, good so good as to be almost perfect; nay, for aught she knew he was perfect.

Would that he had some faults! Would that he had! Would that he had! How could she, full of faults as she

knew herself to be how could she hope to make happy a man perfect as he was! But then there would be

no doubt as to her present duty. She loved him, and that was everything. Having told him that she loved him,

and having on that score accepted his love, nothing but a change in her heart towards him could justify her in

seeking to break the bond which bound them together. She did love him, and she loved him only.

But she had once loved her cousin. Yes, truly it was so. In her thoughts she did not now deny it. She had

loved him, and was tormented by a feeling that she had had a more full delight in that love than in this other

that had sprung up subsequently. She had told herself that this had come of her youth that love at twenty

was sweeter than it could be afterwards. There had been a something of rapture in that earlier dream which

could never be repeated which could never live, indeed, except in a dream. Now, now that she was older

and perhaps wiser, love meant a partnership, in which each partner would be honest to the other, in which

each would wish and strive for the other's welfare, so that thus their joint welfare might be ensured. Then, in

those early girlish days, it had meant a total abnegation of self. The one was of earth, and therefore possible.

And she had been mistaken in her first love. She admitted that frankly. He whom she had worshipped had

been an idol of clay, and she knew that it was well for her to have abandoned that idolatry. He had not only

been untrue to her, but, worse than that, had been false in excusing his untruth. He had not only promised

falsely, but had made such promises with a deliberate, premeditated falsehood. And he had been selfish,

coldly selfish, weighing the value of his own low lusts against that of her holy love. She had known this, and

had parted from him with an oath to herself that no promised contrition on his part should ever bring them

again together. But she had pardoned him as a man, though never as a lover, and had bade him welcome

again as a cousin and as her friend's brother. She had again become very anxious as to his career, not hiding

her regard, but professing that anxiety aloud. She knew him to be clever, ambitious, bold and she believed

even yet, in spite of her own experience, that he might not be bad at heart. Now, as she told herself that in

truth she loved the man to whom her troth was plighted, I fear that she almost thought more of that other man

from whom she had torn herself asunder. "Why should he find himself unhappy in London?" she said, as she

went back to the letter. "Why should he pretend to condemn the very place which most men find the fittest

for all their energies? Were I a man, no earthly consideration should induce me to live elsewhere. It is odd

how we differ in all things. However brilliant might be his own light, he would be contented to hide it under a

And at last she recurred to that matter as to which she had been so anxious when she first opened her lover's

letter. It will be remembered how assured she had expressed herself that Mr Grey would not condescend to

object to her travelling with her cousin. He had not so condescended. He had written on the matter with a

pleasant joke, like a gentleman as he was, disdaining to allude to the past passages in the life of her whom he

loved, abstaining even from expressing anything that might be taken as a permission on his part. There had

been in Alice's words, as she told him of their proposed plan, a something that had betrayed a tremor in her

thoughts. She had studiously striven so to frame her phrases that her tale might be told as any other simple

statement as though there had been no trembling in her mind as she wrote. But she had failed, and she

knew that she had failed. She had failed; and he had read all her effort and all her failure. She was quite

conscious of this; she felt it thoroughly; and she knew that he was noble and a gentleman to the last drop of

his blood. And yet yet yet there was almost a feeling of disappointment in that he had not written such

During the next week Lady Macleod still came almost daily to Queen Anne Street, but nothing further was

said between her and Miss Vavasor as to the Swiss tour; nor were any questions asked about Mr Grey's

opinion on the subject. The old lady of course discovered that there was no quarrel, or, as she believed, any

probability of a quarrel; and with that she was obliged to be contented. Nor did she again on this occasion

attempt to take Alice to Lady Midlothian's. Indeed, their usual subjects of conversation were almost

abandoned, and Lady Macleod's visits, though they were as constant as heretofore, were not so long. She did

not dare to talk about Mr Grey, and because she did not so dare, was determined to regard herself as in a

degree illused. So she was silent, reserved, and fretful. At length came the last day of her London season,

and her last visit to her niece. "I would come because it's my last day," said Lady Macleod; "but really I'm so

hurried, and have so many things to do, that I hardly know how to manage it." "It's very kind," said Alice,

"I'm keeping the cab, so I can stay just twentyfive minutes. I've marked the time accurately, but I know the

"You'll have no more trouble about cabs, aunt, when you are back in Cheltenham."

"The flys are worse, my dear. I really think they're worse. I pay the bill every month, but they've always one

down that I didn't have. It's the regular practice, for I've had them from all the men in the place."

"Or honest women either. What do you think of Mrs Green wanting to charge me for an extra week, because

she says I didn't give her notice till Tuesday morning? I won't pay her, and she may stop my things if she

dares. However, it's the last time. I shall never come up to London again, my dear."

"But I do say it, my dear. What should an old woman like me do, trailing up to town every year, merely

"To see your friends, of course. Age doesn't matter when a person's health is so good as yours."

"If you knew what I suffer from lumbago though I must say coming to London always does cure that for

the time. But as for friends ! Well, I suppose one has no right to complain when one gets to be as old as I

am; but I declare I believe that those I love best would sooner be without me than with me."

"No, my dear, I don't mean you. Of course my life would have been very different if you could have

consented to remain with me till you were married. But I didn't mean you. I don't know that I meant any one.

"No, indeed. I don't know why I stayed the last week. I did say to Lady Midlothian that I thought I should go

on the 20th; and, though I know that she knew that I really didn't go, she has not once sent to me since. To be

sure they've been out every night; but I thought she might have asked me to come and lunch. It's so very

"And yet you never will come and dine with me." "No, my dear; no. But we won't talk about that. I've just

one word more to say. Let me see. I've just six minutes to stay. I've made up my mind that I'll never come up

"And what's that, aunt?" Alice, as she asked the question, well knew what that one thing was.

"I'll come for your marriage, my dear. I do hope you will not keep me waiting long."

"And why should there be no knowing? I always think that when a girl is once engaged the sooner she's

Alice was silent for a moment, during which Lady Macleod's face assumed a look of almost tragic horror.

Was there something wrong on Mr Grey's side of which she was altogether unaware? Alice, though for a

second or two she had been guilty of a slight playful deceit, was too honest to allow the impression to remain.

"No, aunt," she said; "Mr Grey is not putting it off. It has been left to me to fix the time."

"It is such a serious thing! After all it is not more than four months yet since I I accepted him. I don't

"Well, perhaps I shall some day, aunt. I'm going to think about it, and you mustn't drive me."

"Ah! that's just it. People always do seem to think it so terrible that a girl should have her own way in

anything. She mustn't like any one at first; and then, when she does like someone, she must marry him

directly she's bidden. I haven't much of my own way at present; but you see, when I'm married I shan't have it

"I am not advocating anything like hurry, my dear. But, goodness gracious me! I've been here twentyeight

minutes, and that horrid man will impose upon me. Goodbye; God bless you! Mind you write." And Lady

Macleod hurried out of the room more intent at the present moment upon saving her sixpence than she was on

And then John Grey came up to town, arriving a day or two after the time that he had fixed. It is not, perhaps,

improbable that Alice had used some diplomatic skill in preventing a meeting between Lady Macleod and her

lover. They both were very anxious to obtain the same object, and Alice was to some extent opposed to their

views. Had Lady Macleod and John Grey put their forces together she might have found herself unable to

resist their joint endeavours. She was resolved that she would not at any rate name any day for her marriage

before her return from Switzerland; and she may therefore have thought it wise to keep Mr Grey in the

country till after Lady Macleod had gone, even though she thereby cut down the time of his sojourn in

London to four days. On the occasion of that visit Mr Vavasor did a very memorable thing. He dined at home

with the view of welcoming his future soninlaw. He dined at home, and asked, or rather assented to Alice's

asking, George and Kate Vavasor to join the dinnerparty. "What an auspicious omen for the future

nuptials!" said Kate, with her little sarcastic smile. "Uncle John dines at home, and Mr Grey joins in the

dissipation of a dinnerparty. We shall all be changed soon, I suppose, and George and I will take to keeping

"Kate," said Alice, angrily, I think you are about the most unjust person I ever met. I would forgive your

"Yes; it was Mr Grey whom you meant to attack. If I can forgive him for not caring for society, surely you

"Exactly; but that's just what you can't do, my dear. You don't forgive him. If you did you might be quite sure

that I should say nothing. And if you choose to bid me hold my tongue I will say nothing. But when you tell

me all your own thoughts about this thing you can hardly expect but what I should let you know mine in

return. I'm not particular; and if you are ready for a little good, wholesome, useful hypocrisy, I won't balk

you. I mayn't be quite so dishonest as you call me, but I'm not so wedded to truth but what I can look, and act,

"I know it's very hard to understand what you do wish. I know that for the last year or two I have been trying

to find out your wishes, and, upon my word, my success has been very indifferent. I suppose you wish to

marry Mr Grey, but I'm by no means certain. I suppose the last thing on earth you'd wish would be to marry

"Alice ! sometimes you drive me too hard; you do, indeed. You make me doubt whether I hate or love you

most. Knowing what my feelings are about George, I cannot understand how you can bring yourself to speak

of him to me with such contempt!" Kate Vavasor, as she spoke these words, left the room with a quick step,

and hurried up to her own chamber. There Alice found her in tears, and was driven by her friend's real grief

into the expression of an apology, which she knew was not properly due from her. Kate was acquainted with

all the circumstances of that old affair between her brother and Alice. She had given in her adhesion to the

propriety of what Alice had done. She had allowed that her brother George's behaviour had been such as to

make any engagement between them impossible. The fault, therefore, had been hers in making any reference

to the question of such a marriage. Nor had it been by any means her first fault of the same kind. Till Alice

had become engaged to Mr Grey she had spoken of George only as her brother, or as her friend's cousin, but

now she was constantly making allusion to those past occurrences, which all of them should have striven to

forget. Under these circumstances was not Lady Macleod right in saying that George Vavasor should not

The little dinnerparty went off very quietly; and if no other ground existed for charging Mr Grey with

London dissipation than what that afforded, he was accused most unjustly. The two young men had never

before met each other; and Vavasor had gone to his uncle's house, prepared not only to dislike but to despise

his successor in Alice's favour. But in this he was either disappointed or gratified, as the case may be. "He has

plenty to say for himself," he said to Kate on his way home. "Oh yes; he can talk."

"And he doesn't talk like a prig either, which was what I expected. He's uncommonly handsome."

"I see it in every animal in men, women, horses, dogs, and even pigs. I like to look on handsome things. I

"No, I'm not. I very seldom go into raptures about anything. But he talks in the way I like a man to talk. How

he bowled my uncle over about those actors; and yet if my uncle knows anything about anything it is about

the stage twenty years ago." There was nothing more said then about John Grey; but Kate understood her

brother well enough to be aware that this praise meant very little. George Vavasor spoke sometimes from his

heart, and did so more frequently to his sister than to any one else; but his words came generally from his

On the day after the little dinner in Queen Anne Street, John Grey came to say goodbye to his betrothed

for his betrothed she certainly was, in spite of those very poor arguments which she had used in trying to

convince herself that she was still free if she wished to claim her freedom. Though he had been constantly

with Alice during the last three days, he had not hitherto said anything as to the day of their marriage, He had

been constantly with her alone, sitting for hours in that ugly green drawingroom, but he had never touched

the subject. He had told her much of Switzerland, which she had never yet seen but which he knew well. He

had told her much of his garden and house, whither she had once gone with her father, whilst paying a visit

nominally to the colleges at Cambridge. And he had talked of various matters, matters bearing in no

immediate way upon his own or her affairs; for Mr Grey was a man who knew well how to make words

pleasant; but previous to this last moment he had said nothing on that subject on which he was so intent.

"Well, Alice," he said, when the last hour had come, "and about that question of home affairs?"

"No; you haven't started. But we've had the discussion. Is there any reason why you'd rather not have this

"No; I don't repent it what you call my goodness! I love you too entirely for that."

"My darling!" And now he passed his arm round her waist as they stood near the empty fireplace. "And if you

"But, Alice, you must have wished it altogether when you consented to be my wife."

"Instantly! Come; I have not been hard on you. This is still June. Will you say the middle of September, and

we shall still be in time for warm pleasant days among the lakes? Is that asking for too much?"

"Nay, but it is, love. Grant it, and I will swear that you have granted me everything."

She was silent, having things to say but not knowing in what words to put them. Now that he was with her

she could not say the things which she had told herself that she would utter to him. She could not bring

herself to hint to him that his views of life were so unlike her own, that there could be no chance of happiness

between them, unless each could strive to lean somewhat towards the other. No man could be more gracious

in word and manner than John Grey; no man more chivalrous in his carriage towards a woman; but he always

spoke and acted as though there could be no question that his manner of life was to be adopted, without a

word or thought of doubting, by his wife. When two came together, why should not each yield something,

and each claim something? This she had meant to say to him on this day; but now that he was with her she

"But then you will say the time is short. It would be short then." "I cannot answer you now indeed, I

cannot. That is, I cannot answer in the affirmative. It is such a solemn thing."

It will no doubt be understood that George Vavasor did not roam about in the woods unshorn, or wear leather

trapings and sandals, like Robinson Crusoe instead of coats and trousers. His wildness was of another kind.

Indeed, I don't know that he was in truth at all wild, though Lady Macleod had called him so, and Alice had

George Vavasor had lived in London since he was twenty, and now, at the time of the beginning of my story,

he was a year or two over thirty. He was and ever had been the heir to his grandfather's estate; but that estate

was small, and when George first came to London his father was a strong man of forty, with as much promise

of life in him as his son had. A profession had therefore been absolutely necessary to him; and he had, at his

uncle John's instance, been placed in the office of a parliamentary land agent. With this parliamentary land

agent he had quarrelled to the knife, but not before he had by his talents made himself so useful that he had

before him the prospects of a lucrative partnership in the business. George Vavasor had many faults, but

idleness absolute idleness was not one of them. He would occasionally postpone his work to pleasure.

He would be at Newmarket when he should have been at Whitehall. But it was not usual with him to be in

bed when he should be at his desk, and when he was at his desk he did not whittle his ruler, or pick his teeth,

or clip his nails. Upon the whole his friends were pleased with the first five years of his life in London in

spite of his having been found to be in debt on more than one occasion. But his debts had been paid; and all

was going on swimmingly, when one day he knocked down the parliamentary agent with a blow between the

eyes, and then there was an end of that. He himself was wont to say that he had known very well what he was

about, that it had behoved him to knock down the man who was to have been his partner, and that he

regretted nothing in the matter. At any rate the deed was looked upon with approving eyes by many men of

good standing or, at any rate, sufficient standing to help George to another position; and within six weeks

of the time of his leaving the office at Whitehall, he had become a partner in an established firm of wine

merchants. A greataunt had just then left him a couple of thousand pounds, which no doubt assisted him in

In this employment he remained for another period of five years, and was supposed by all his friends to be

doing very well. And indeed he did not do badly, only that he did not do well enough to satisfy himself. He

was ambitious of making the house to which he belonged the first house in the trade in London, and scared

his partners by the boldness and extent of his views. He himself declared that if they would only have gone

along with him he would have made them princes in the wine market. But they were men either of more

prudence or of less audacity than he, and they declined to walk in his courses. At the end of the five years

Vavasor left the house, not having knocked any one down on this occasion, and taking with him a very nice

The two last of these five years had certainly been the best period of his life, for he had really worked very

hard, like a man, giving up all pleasure that took time from him and giving up also most pleasures which

were dangerous on account of their costliness. He went to no races, played no billiards, and spoke of

Cremorne as a childish thing, which he had abandoned now that he was no longer a child. It was during these

two years that he had had his love passages with his cousin; and it must be presumed that he had, at any rate,

intended at one time to settle himself respectably as a married man. He had, however, behaved very badly to

He had also during the last two years quarrelled with his grandfather. He had wished to raise a sum of money

on the Vavasor estate, which, as it was unentailed, he could only do with his grandfather's concurrence. The

old gentleman would not hear of it would listen with no patience to the proposition. It was in vain that

George attempted to make the squire understand that the wine business was going on very well, that he

himself owed no man anything, that everything with him was flourishing but that his trade might be

extended indefinitely by the use of a few thousand pounds at moderate interest. Old Mr Vavasor was furious.

No documents and no assurances could make him lay aside a belief that the wine merchants, and the

business, and his grandson were all ruined and ruinous together. No one but a ruined man would attempt to

raise money on the family estate! So they had quarrelled, and had never spoken or seen each other since. "He

shall have the estate for his life," the squire said to his son John. "I don't think I have a right to leave it away

from him. It never has been left away from the heir. But I'll tie it up so that he shan't cut a tree on it." John

Vavasor perhaps thought that the old rule of primogeniture might under such circumstances have been

judiciously abandoned in this one instance, in his own favour. But he did not say so. Nor would he have

said it had there been a chance of his doing so with success. He was a man from whom no very noble deed

After that George Vavasor had become a stockbroker, and a stockbroker he was now. In the first twelve

months after his leaving the wine business the same being the first year after his breach with Alice he

had gone back greatly in the estimation of men. He had lived in open defiance of decency. He had spent

much money and had apparently made none, and had been, as all his friends declared, on the high road to

ruin. Aunt Macleod had taken her judgment from this period of his life when she had spoken of him as a man

who never did anything. But he had come forth again suddenly as a working man; and now they who

professed to know, declared that he was by no means poor. He was in the City every day; and during the last

two years had earned the character of a shrewd fellow who knew what he was about, who might not perhaps

be very mealymouthed in affairs of business, but who was fairly and decently honourable in his money

And during these two years he had stood a contest for a seat in Parliament, having striven to represent the

metropolitan borough of Chelsea, on the extremely Radical interest. It is true that he had failed, and that he

had spent a considerable sum of money in the contest. "Where on earth does your nephew get his money?"

men said to John Vavasor at his club. "Upon my word I don't know," said Vavasor. "He doesn't get it from

me, and I'm sure he doesn't get it from my father." But George Vavasor, though he failed at Chelsea, did not

spend his money altogether fruitlessly. He gained reputation by the struggle, and men came to speak of him

as though he were one who would do something. He was a stockbroker, a thoroughgoing Radical, and yet

he was the heir to a fine estate, which had come down from father to son for four hundred years! There was

something captivating about his history and adventures, especially as just at the time of the election he

became engaged to an heiress, who died a month before the marriage should have taken place. She died

George Vavasor bore this last disappointment like a man, and it was at this time that he again became fully

reconciled to his cousin. Previous to this they had met; and Alice, at her cousin Kate's instigation, had

induced her father to meet him. But at first there had been no renewal of real friendship. Alice had given her

cordial assent to her cousin's marriage with the heiress, Miss Grant, telling Kate that such an engagement was

the very thing to put him thoroughly on his feet. And then she had been much pleased by his spirit at that

Chelsea election. "It was grand of him, wasn't it?" said Kate, her eyes brimming full of tears. "It was very

spirited," said Alice. "If you knew all, you would say so. They could get no one else to stand but that Mr

Travers, and he wouldn't come forward, unless they would guarantee all his expenses." "I hope it didn't cost

George much," said Alice. "It did, though; nearly all he had got. But what matters? Money's nothing to him,

except for its uses. My own little mite is my own now, and he shall have every farthing of it for the next

election, even though I should go out as a housemaid the next day." There must have been something great

about George Vavasor, or he would not have been so idolized by such a girl as his sister Kate.

Early in the present spring, before the arrangements for the Swiss journey were made, George Vavasor had

spoken to Alice about that intended marriage which had been broken off by the lady's death. He was sitting

one evening with his cousin in the drawingroom in Queen Anne Street, waiting for Kate, who was to join

him there before going to some party. I wonder whether Kate had had a hint from her brother to be late! At

any rate, the two were together for an hour, and the talk had been all about himself. He had congratulated her

on her engagement with Mr Grey, which had just become known to him, and had then spoken of his own last

"Yes, I did for her, herself. Of course the world has given me credit for lamenting the loss of her money.

But the truth is, that as regards both herself and her money, it is much better for me that we were never

"I did not love her as a man should love his wife, if you mean that. As for my liking her, I did like her. I liked

"I don't know. I don't find that task of loving so very easy. It might have been that I should have learned to

"It is better. I am sure of it. And yet I grieve for her, and in thinking of her I almost feel as though I were

"Oh no. But she was not given to think much of such things. She took all that for granted. Poor girl! she is at

"Yes; with such feelings as yours are about her, her money would have been a burden to you."

"I would not have taken it. I hope, at least, that I would not have taken it. Money is a sore temptation,

especially to a poor man like me. It is well for me that the trial did not come in my way."

"But you are not such a very poor man now, are you, George? I thought your business was a good one."

"It is, and I have no right to be a poor man. But a man will be poor who does such mad things as I do. I had

three or four thousand pounds clear, and I spent every shilling of it on the Chelsea election. Goodness knows

whether I shall have a shilling at all when another chance comes round; but if I have I shall certainly spend it,

"I feel sure that I shall. But, in the mean time, I cannot but know that my career is perfectly reckless. No

woman ought to join her lot to mine unless she has within her courage to be as reckless as I am. You know

"Do you mean that you're gambling?" "No. I have given that up altogether. I used to gamble, but I never

do that now, and never shall again. What I mean is this that I hold myself in readiness to risk everything at

any moment, in order to gain any object that may serve my turn. I am always ready to lead a forlorn hope.

That's what I mean by tossing up every day for every shilling that I have." Alice did not quite understand

him, and perhaps he did not intend that she should. Perhaps his object was to mystify her imagination. She

did not understand him, but I fear that she admired the kind of courage which he professed. And he had not

only professed it: in that matter of the past election he had certainly practised it.

In talking of beauty to his sister he had spoken of himself as being ugly. He would not generally have been

called ugly by women, had not one side of his face been dreadfully scarred by a cicatrice, which in healing,

had left a dark indented line down from his left eye to his lower jaw. That black ravine running through his

cheek was certainly ugly. On some occasions, when he was angry or disappointed, it was very hideous; for he

would so contort his face that the scar would, as it were, stretch itself out, revealing all its horrors, and his

countenance would become all scar. "He looked at me like the devil himself making the hole in his face

gape at me," the old squire had said to John Vavasor in describing the interview in which the grandson had

tried to bully his grandfather into assenting to his own views about the mortgage. But in other respects

George's face was not ugly, and might have been thought handsome by many women. His hair was black, and

was parted in the front. His forehead, though low, was broad. His eyes were dark and bright, and his

eyebrows were very full, and perfectly black. At those periods of his anger, all his face which was not scar,

was eye and eyebrow. He wore a thick black moustache, which covered his mouth, but no whiskers. People

said of him that he was so proud of his wound that he would not grow a hair to cover it. The fact, however,

was that no whisker could be made to come sufficiently forward to be of service, and therefore he wore none.

The story of that wound should be told. When he was yet hardly more than a boy, before he had come up to

London, he was living in a house in the country which his father then occupied. At the time his father was

absent, and he and his sister only were in the house with the maidservants. His sister had a few jewels in her

room, and an exaggerated report of them having come to the ears of certain enterprising burglars, a little plan

was arranged for obtaining them. A small boy was hidden in the house, a window was opened, and at the

proper witching hour of night a stout individual crept upstairs in his stockingfeet, and was already at Kate

Vavasor's door when, in the dark, dressed only in his nightshirt, wholly unarmed, George Vavasor flew at

the fellow's throat. Two hours elapsed before the horrorstricken women of the house could bring men to the

place. George's face had then been ripped open from the eye downwards, with some chisel, or housebreaking

instrument. But the man was dead. George had wrenched from him his own tool, and having first jobbed him

all over with insufficient wounds, had at last driven the steel through his windpipe. The small boy escaped,

carrying with him two shillings and threepence which Kate had left upon the drawingroom mantelpiece.

George Vavasor was rather low in stature, but well made, with small hands and feet, but broad in the chest

and strong in the loins. He was a fine horseman and a hard rider; and men who had known him well said that

he could fence and shoot with a pistol as few men care to do in these peaceable days. Since volunteering had

come up, he had become a captain of Volunteers, and had won prizes with his rifle at Wimbledon.

Such had been the life of George Vavasor, and such was his character, and such his appearance. He had

always lived alone in London, and did so at present; but just now his sister was much with him, as she was

staying up in town with an aunt, another Vavasor by birth, with whom the reader will, if he persevere,

become acquainted in course of time. I hope he will persevere a little, for of all the Vavasors Mrs Greenow

was perhaps the best worth knowing. But Kate Vavasor's home was understood to be in her grandfather's

On the evening before they started for Switzerland, George and Kate walked from Queen Anne Street, where

they had been dining with Alice, to Mrs Greenow's house. Everything had been settled about luggage, hours

of starting, and routes as regarded their few first days; and the common purse had been made over to George.

That portion of Mr Grey's letter had been read which alluded to the Paynims and the glasses of water, and

everything had passed in the best of good humour. "I'll endeavour to get the cold water for you," George had

said; "but as to the breakfasts, I can only hope you won't put me to severe trials by any very early hours.

When people go out for pleasure it should be pleasure." The brother and sister walked through two or three

"That I have no fixed wishes on the subject. Of course she'll marry this man John Grey, and then no one will

"She will no doubt, if you don't interfere. Probably she will whether you interfere or not. But if you wish to

"Yes; she has got four hundred a year, and she is more handsome now than ever she was. I know that you

think so and that you love her and love no one else unless you have a sneaking fondness for me."

"And as for me I only love two people in the world; her and you. If ever you mean to try, you should try

I am not going to describe the Vavasor's Swiss tour. It would not be fair on my readers. "Six Weeks in the

Bernese Oberland, by a party of three" would have but very small chance of success in the literary world at

present, and I should consider myself to be dishonest if I attempted to palm off such matter on the public in

the pages of a novel. It is true that I have just returned from Switzerland, and should find such a course of

writing very convenient. But I dismiss the temptation, strong as it is. Retro age, Satanas. No living man or

woman any longer wants to be told anything of the Grimsell or of the Gemmi. Ludgate Hill is nowadays

The Vavasors were not very energetic on their tour. As George had said, they had gone out for pleasure and

not for work. They went direct to Interlaken and then hung about between that place and Grindelwald and

Lauterbrunnen. It delighted him to sit still on some outer bench, looking at the mountains, with a cigar in his

mouth, and it seemed to delight them to be with him. Much that Mr Grey prophesied had come true. The two

"What fine fellows those Alpine club men think themselves," he said on one of these occasions, "and how

thoroughly they despise the sort of enjoyment I get from mountains. But they're mistaken."

"But they are mistaken," he continued. They rob the mountains of their poetry, which is or should be their

greatest charm. Mont Blanc can have no mystery for a man who has been up it half a dozen times. It's like

getting behind the scenes at a ballet, or making a conjuror explain his tricks."

"And they all botanise," said Alice. "I don't believe it. I believe that the most of them simply walk up the

mountain and down again. But if they did, that avoids the question also. The poetry and mystery of the

mountains are lost to those who make themselves familiar with their details, not the less because such

familiarity may have useful results. In this world things are beautiful only because they are not quite seen, or

not perfectly understood. Poetry is precious chiefly because it suggests more than it declares. Look in there,

through that valley, where you just see the distant little peak at the end. Are you not dreaming of the

unknown beautiful world that exists up there beautiful, as heaven is beautiful, because you know nothing

of the reality? If you make your way up there and back tomorrow, and find out all about it, do you mean to

"Then you've no poetry in you. Now I'm made up of poetry." After that they began to laugh at him and were

I think that Mr Grey was right in answering Alice's letter as he did; but I think that Lady Macleod was also

right in saying that Alice should not have gone to Switzerland in company with George Vavasor. A peculiar

familiarity sprang up, which, had all its circumstances been known to Mr Grey, would not have entirely

satisfied him, even though no word was said which might in itself have displeased him. During the first

weeks of their travelling no word was said which would have displeased him; but at last, when the time for

their return was drawing nigh, when their happiness was nearly over, and that feeling of melancholy was

coming on them which always pervades the last hours of any period that has been pleasant then words

became softer than they had been, and references were made to old days allusions which never should

Alice had been very happy more happy perhaps in that she had been a joint minister with Kate to her

cousin George's idle fantasies, than she would have been hurrying about with him as her slave. They had

tacitly agreed to spoil him with comforts; and girls are always happier in spoiling some man than in being

spoiled by men. And he had taken it all well, doing his despotism pleasantly, exacting much, but exacting

nothing that was disagreeable. And he had been amusing always, as Alice thought, without any effort. But

men and women, when they show themselves at their best, seldom do so without an effort. If the object be

near the heart the effort will be pleasant to him who makes it, and if it be made well, it will be hidden; but,

not the less, will the effort be there. George Vavasor had on the present occasion done his very best to please

They were sitting at Basle one evening in the balcony of the big hotel which overlooks the Rhine. This big

hotel is always full of tourists who are either just beginning or just completing their Swiss doings. The

balcony runs the length of the house, and is open to all the company; but it is spacious, and little parties can

be formed there with perfect privacy. The swift broad Rhine runs underneath, rushing through from the

bridge which here spans the river; and every now and then on summer evenings loud shouts come up from

strong swimmers in the water, who are glorying in the swiftness of the current. The three were sitting there,

by themselves, at the end of the balcony. Coffee was before them on a little table, and George's clear, as

"It's nearly all over," said he, after they had remained silent for some minutes.

"And I do think it has been a success," said Kate. "Always excepting about the money. I'm ruined for ever."

"Indeed you'll do nothing of the kind," said Kate. I'm ruined, but you are ruineder. But what signifies? It is

such a great thing ever to have had six weeks' happiness, that the ruin is, in point of fact, a good speculation.

"And now you've got to go home to John Grey and Cambridgeshire! It's no wonder you should be

melancholy." That was the thought in Kate's mind, but she did not speak it out on this occasion.

"That's good of you, Alice," said Kate. Is it not, George? I like a person who will give a hearty meed of

"I like a person even to do that heartily," said Kate. "Not that George and I are thankful for the compliment.

We are prepared to admit that we owe almost everything to you are we not, George?"

"Well, I am, and I expect to have something pretty said to me in return. Have I been cross once, Alice?" "No;

"He would have been the most ungrateful man alive if he had," said Alice. "We've done nothing since we've

started but realize for him that picture in "Punch" of the young gentleman at Jeddo who had a dozen ladies to

"And now he has got to go home to his lodgings, and wait upon himself again. Poor fellow! I do pity you,

"No, you don't nor does Alice. I believe girls always think that a bachelor in London has the happiest of

all lives. It's because they think so that they generally want to put an end to the man's condition."

"It's the devil in some shape, as often as not," said he. "With a man, marriage always seems to him to be an

"Not always," said Alice. Almost always but he does it, as he takes physic, because something worse will

come if he don't. A man never likes having his tooth pulled out, but all men do have their teeth pulled out

"I do like George's philosophy," said Kate, getting up from her chair as she spoke; "it is so sharp, and has

such a pleasant acid taste about it; and then we all know that it means nothing. Alice, I'm going upstairs to

"No, don't. To tell the truth I'm only going into that man's room because he won't put up a single thing of his

own decently. We'll do ours, of course, when we go up to bed. Whatever you disarrange tonight, Master

George, you must rearrange for yourself tomorrow morning, for I promise I won't go into your room at five

"I'll be down again very soon," said Kate. Then we'll take one turn on the bridge and go to bed." Alice and

George were left together sitting in the balcony. They had been alone together before many times since their

travels had commenced; but they both of them felt that there was something to them in the present moment

different from any other period of their journey. There was something that each felt to be sweet, undefinable,

and dangerous. Alice had known that it would be betterfor her to go upstairs with Kate; but Kate's answer had

been of such a nature that had she gone she would have shown that she had some special reason for doing.

Alice was seated quite at the end of the gallery, and Kate's chair was at her feet in the corner. When Alice and

Kate had seated themselves, the waiter had brought a small table for the coffee cups, and George had placed

his chair on the other side of that. So that Alice was, as it were, a prisoner. She could not slip away without

some special preparation for going, and Kate had so placed her chair in leaving, that she must actually have

asked George to move it before she could escape. But why should she wish to escape? Nothing could be more

lovely and enticing than the scene before her. The night had come on, with quick but still unperceived

approach, as it does in those parts; for the twilight there is not prolonged as it is with us more northern folk.

The night had come on, but there was a rising moon, which just sufficed to give a sheen to the water beneath

her. The air was deliciously soft of that softness which produces no sensation either of warmth or cold,

but which just seems to touch one with loving tenderness, as though the unseen spirits of the air kissed one's

forehead as they passed on their wings. The Rhine was running at her feet, so near, that in the soft half light it

seemed as though she might step into its ripple. The Rhine was running by with that delicious sound of

rapidly moving waters, that fresh refreshing gurgle of the river, which is so delicious to the ear at all times. If

you be talking, it wraps up your speech, keeping it for yourselves, making it difficult neither to her who

listens nor to him who speaks. If you would sleep, it is of all lullabies the sweetest. If you are alone and

would think, it aids all your thoughts. If you are alone, and, alas! would not think if thinking be too

painful it will dispel your sorrow, and give the comfort which music alone can give. Alice felt that the air

kissed her, that the river sang for her its sweetest song, that the moon shone for her with its softest light

that light which lends the poetry of halfdeveloped beauty to everything that it touches. Why should she

Nothing was said for some minutes after Kate's departure, and Alice was beginning to shake from her that

half feeling of danger which had come over her. Vavasor had sat back in his chair, leaning against the house,

with his feet raised upon a stool; his arms were folded across his breast, and he seemed to have divided

himself between his thoughts and his cigar. Alice was looking full upon the river, and her thoughts had

strayed away to her future home among John Grey's flowerbeds and shrubs; but the river, though it sang to

her pleasantly, seemed to sing a song of other things than such a home as that a song full of mystery, as

"Oh, George!" said she. You ask me a question as though you were putting a pistol to my ear."

"I didn't say that it was unpleasant; but you asked it so suddenly! The truth is, I didn't expect you to speak at

"Before the expiration of the ten years, I suppose. Anything more exact than that I can't say."

"The idea of it the anticipation. You look forward with satisfaction to the kind of life you will lead at

Nethercoats? Don't suppose I am saying anything against it, for I have no conception what sort of a place

"It has been very pleasant to me, also but the pleasure has had its alloy. Alice, I have nothing to ask from

"Certainly; if you wish it you shall go." He still held his foot against the chair which barred her passage, and

did not attempt to rise as he must have done to make way for her passage out. "Certainly you shall go to Kate,

if you refuse to hear me. But after all that has passed between us, after these six weeks of intimate

companionship, I think you ought to listen to me. I tell you that I have nothing to ask. I am not going to make

Alice had commenced some attempt to rise, but she had again settled herself in her chair. And now, when he

paused for a moment, she made no further sign that she wished to escape, nor did she say a word to intimate

"I am not going to make love to you," he said again. "As for making love, as the word goes, that must be over

between you and me. It has been made and marred, and cannot be remade. It may exist, or it may have been

"So, no doubt, any propergoing duenna would say, and so, too, little children should be told; but between

you and me there can be no necessity for falsehood. We have grown beyond our sugartoothed ages, and are

now men and women. I perfectly understood your breaking away from me. I understood you, and in spite of

my sorrow knew that you were right. I am not going to accuse or to defend myself; but I knew that you were

"Yes; there must be more about it. I did not understand you when you accepted Mr Grey. Against him I have

not a whisper to make. He may be perfect for aught I know, But, knowing you as I thought I did, I could not

understand your loving such a man as him. It was as though one who had lived on brandy should take himself

suddenly to a milk diet and enjoy the change! A milk diet is no doubt the best. But men who have lived on

"But you will tell me the cure was made. I thought so, and therefore thought that I should find you changed. I

thought that you, who had been all fire, would now have turned yourself into softflowing milk and honey,

and have become fit for the life in store for you. With such a one I might have travelled from Moscow to

Malta without danger. The woman fit to be John Grey's wife would certainly do me no harm could not

touch my happiness. I might have loved her once might still love the memory of what she had been; but

her, in her new form, after her new birth such a one as that, Alice, could be nothing to me. Don't mistake

me. I have enough of wisdom in me to know how much better, aye, and happier a woman she might be. It

was not that I thought you had descended in the scale; but I gave you credit for virtues which you have not

acquired. Alice, that wholesome diet of which I spoke is not your diet. You would starve on it, and perish."

He had spoken with great energy, but still in a low voice, having turned full round upon the table, with both

his arms upon it, and his face stretched out far over towards her. She was looking full at him; and, as I have

said before, that scar and his gloomy eyes and thick eyebrows seemed to make up the whole of his face. But

the scar had never been ugly to her. She knew the story, and when he was her lover she had taken pride in the

mark of the wound. She looked at him, but though he paused she did not speak. The music of the river was

still in her ears, and there came upon her a struggle as though she were striving to understand its song. Were

the waters also telling her of the mistake she had made in accepting Mr Grey as her husband? What her

cousin was now telling her was it not a repetition of words which she had spoken to herself hundreds of

times during the last two months? Was she not telling herself daily hourly always in every thought

of her life, that in accepting Mr Grey she had assumed herself to be mistress of virtues which she did not

possess? Had she not, in truth, rioted upon brandy, till the innocence of milk was unfitted for her? This man

now came and rudely told her all this but did he not tell her the truth? She sat silent and convicted; only

"I have learned this since we have been again together, Alice; and finding you, not the angel I had supposed,

finding you to be the same woman I had once loved the safety that I anticipated has not fallen to my lot.

"George," said Kate, speaking before she quite got up to them, "will you tell me whether you have been

preparing all your things for an open sale by auction?" Then she stole a look at Alice, and having learned

from that glance that something had occurred which prevented Alice from joining her in her raillery, she went

on with it herself rapidly, as though to cover Alice's confusion and give her time to rally before they should

"But not with three razors at once; and three hairbrushes, and half a dozen toothbrushes, and a small

collection of combs, and four or five little glass bottles, looking as though they contained poison all with

silver tops. I can only suppose you desired to startle the weak mind of the chambermaid. I have put them all

up; but remember this, if they are taken out again you are responsible. And I will not put up your boots,

"When you have completed the list of my wardrobe we'll go out upon the bridge. That is, if Alice likes it."

"Come along then," said Kate. And so they moved away. When they got upon the bridge Alice and Kate were

together, while George strolled behind them, close to them, but not taking any part in their conversation as

though he had merely gone with them as an escort. Kate seemed to be perfectly content with this

arrangement, chattering to Alice, so that she might show that there was nothing serious on the minds of any

of them. It need hardly be said that Alice at this time made no appeal to George to join them. He followed

them at their heels, with his hands behind his back, looking down upon the pavement and simply waiting

"Do you know," said Kate, I have a very great mind to run away." "Where do you want to run to?"

"Well that wouldn't much signify. Perhaps I'd go to the little inn at Handek. It's a lonely place, where

nobody would hear of me and I should have the waterfall. I'm afraid they'd want to have their bill paid.

"I won't, because you wouldn't like going home with George alone and I suppose he'd be bound to look

after me, as he's doing now. I wonder what he thinks of having to walk over the bridge after us girls. I

"That's ungrateful of you, for I'm sure we've never been kept in a moment by his failing us. But as I was

saying, I do dread going home. You are going to John Grey, which may be pleasant enough; but I'm going

"No, it's not. I haven't any choice in the matter. Of course I might refuse to speak to Aunt Greenow, and

nobody could make me but practically I haven't any choice in the matter. Fancy a month at Yarmouth

"I shouldn't mind it. Aunt Greenow always seems to me to be a very good sort of woman."

"She may be a good woman, but I must say I think she's of a bad sort. You've never heard her talk about her

"No, never; I think she did cry a little the first day she came to Queen Anne Street, but that wasn't unnatural."

"But still he was her husband. And even if her tears are assumed, what of that? What's a woman to do? Of

course she was wrong to marry him. She was thirtyfive, and had nothing, while he was sixtyfive, and was

very rich. According to all accounts she made him a very good wife, and now that she's got all his money,

"No; I wouldn't have her laugh; but neither would I have her cry. And she's quite right to wear weeds; but she

needn't be so very outrageous in the depth of her hems, or so very careful that her caps are becoming. Her

eyes will be worn out by their double service. They are always red with weeping, and yet she is ready every

minute with a full battery of execution for any man that she sees." "Then why have you consented to go to

"Just because she's got forty thousand pounds. If Mr Greenow had left her with a bare maintenance I don't

"Quite as bad and that's what makes me want to run away. But it isn't my own fault altogether. It's the

fault of the world at large. Does anybody ever drop their rich relatives? When she proposed to take me to

Yarmouth, wasn't it natural that the squire should ask me to go? When I told George, wasn't it natural that he

should say, "Oh, go by all means. She's got forty thousand pounds!" One can't pretend to be wiser or better

"Not a halfpenny. I'm nearly thirty and she's only forty, and of course she'll marry again. I will say of myself,

"Yet one sticks to one's rich relatives. It's the way of the world." Then she paused a moment. "But shall I tell

you, Alice, why I do stick to her? Perhaps you'll think the object as mean as though I wanted her money

"Because it is on the cards that she may help George in his career. I do not want money, but he may. And for

such purposes as his, I think it fair that all the family should contribute. I feel sure that he would make a name

for himself in Parliament; and if I had my way I would spend every shilling of Vavasor money in putting him

there. When I told the squire so I thought he would have eaten me. I really did think he would have turned me

"I didn't care. Let him turn me out. I was determined he should know what I thought. He swore at me; and

then he was so unhappy at what he had done that he came and kissed me that night in my bedroom, and gave

me a tenpound note. What do you think I did with it? I sent it as a contribution to the next election, and

Then they stopped and leaned for a while over the parapet of the bridge. "Come here, George," said Kate; and

she made room for him between herself and Alice. "Wouldn't you like to be swimming down there as those

boys were doing when we went out into the balcony? The water looks so enticing."

"I can't say I should unless it might be a pleasant way of swimming into the next world."

"I should so like to feel myself going with the stream," said Kate; "particularly by this light. I can't fancy in

"It would be so pleasant to feel the water gliding along one's limbs, and to be carried away headlong

"They would be brought after in a boat. Didn't you see that those boys had a boat with them? But if I lived

here, I'd never do it except by moonlight. The water looks so clear and bright now, and the rushing sound of it

Neither of them any longer answered her, and yet she went on talking about the river, and their aunt, and her

prospects at Yarmouth. Neither of them answered her, and yet it seemed that they had not a word to say to

each other. But still they stood there looking down upon the river, and every now and then Kate's voice was

to be heard, preventing the feeling which might otherwise have arisen that their hearts were too full for

At last Alice seemed to shiver. There was a slight trembling in her arms, which George felt rather than saw.

"It wasn't that. I was thinking of something. Don't you ever think of things that make you shiver?"

"Indeed I do, very often so often that I have to do my shivering inwardly. Otherwise people would think I

"I don't mean things of moment," said Alice. Little bits of things make me do it perhaps a word that I said

and ought not to have said ten years ago the most ordinary little mistakes, even my own past thoughts to

"Ah! I'm not so good as you. I doubt it's not my conscience at all.When I think of a chance I've let go by, as I

have thousands, then it is that I shiver. But, as I tell you, I shiver inwardly. I've been in one long shiver ever

since we came out because of one chance that I let go by. Come, we'll go in. We've to be up at five o'clock,

"I wish George would hold his tongue. We can't come to the bridge at Basle every night in our lives. If one

found oneself at the top of Sinai I'm afraid the first feeling would be one of fear lest one wouldn't be down in

time to dress for dinner. Are you aware, George, that the king of rivers is running beneath your feet, and that

"Don't talk about Sinai any more after that," said he, "but let's go in to bed."

They walked across the bridge back to the hotel in the same manner as before, the two girls going together

with the young man after them, and so they went up the front steps of the hotel, through the hall, and on to

the stairs. Here George handed Alice her candle, and as he did so he whispered a few words to her. "My

shivering fit has to come yet," said he, "and will last me the whole night. She would have given much to have

been able to answer him lightly, as though what he had said had meant nothing but she couldn't do it; the

light speech would not come to her. She was conscious of all this, and went away to her own room without

answering him at all. Here she sat down at the window looking out upon the river till Kate should join her.

Their rooms opened through from one to the other, and she would not begin her packing till her cousin should

But Kate had gone with her brother, promising, as she did so, that she would be back in half a minute. That

halfminute was protracted beyond half an hour. "If you'll take my advice," said Kate, at last, standing up

with her candle in her hand, "you'll ask her in plain words to give you another chance. Do it tomorrow at

"Don't say anything about John Grey; leave her to settle that matter with herself. Believe me that she has

quite courage enough to dispose of John Grey, if she has courage enough to accept your offer."

"Kate, you women never understand each other. If I were to do that, all her most powerful feelings would be

arrayed in arms against me. I must leave her to find out first that she wishes to be rid of her engagement."

"She has found that out long ago. Do you think I don't know what she wishes? But if you can't bring yourself

"Bring myself! I've never been very slow in bringing myself to speak to any one when there was need. It isn't

"But surely it must be pleasant with her. You must be glad to find that she still loves you. You still love her, I

"Don't provoke me, George. I'm moving heaven and earth to bring you two together; but if I didn't think you

"Upon my word, Kate, I sometimes think it would be better if you'd leave heaven and earth alone."

"But she doesn't like him. And I hate him. I hate the sound of his voice, and the turn of his eye, and that slow,

steady movement of his as though he was always bethinking himself that he wouldn't wear out his

"If you're going to preach morals, I'll leave you. It's the darling wish of my heart that she should be your wife.

If you ever loved anybody and I sometimes doubt whether you ever did but if you did, you loved her."

"Very well, George; then I have done. It has been the same in every twist and turn of my life. In everything

that I have striven to do for you, you have thrown yourself over, in order that I might be thrown over too. But

"Upon my word, Kate, I think you'd better go to bed." "But not till I've told her everything. I won't leave her

"Who is illusing her now? Is it not the worst of illusage, trying to separate her from that man?"

"No if I thought so, I would have no hand in doing it. She would be miserable with him, and make him

miserable as well. She does not really love him. He loves her, but I've nothing to do with that. It's nothing to

With that she went away and hurried along the corridor, till she came to her cousin's room. She found Alice

still seated at the window, or rather kneeling on the chair, with her head out through the lattice. "Why, you

"But he has kept me. Oh, what a man he is! If he ever does get married, what will his wife do with him?"

"Don't you? I dare say you understand him better than I do. Sometimes I think that the only thing wanting to

make him thoroughly good, is a wife. But it isn't every woman that would do for him. And the woman who

marries him should have high courage. There are moments with him when he is very wild; but he never is

"No; upon my word. What's the good of abusing him to you? I like a man to be wild wild in my sense.

"Ah! that's a question I've never asked myself. I've been often curious to consider what sort of husband would

suit you, but I've had very few thoughts about a husband for myself. The truth is, I'm married to George. Ever

"Since you and he were parted, I've had nothing to do in life but to stick to him. And I shall do so to the end

"Unless you should become his wife after all. He will never marry anybody else." "Kate, you shouldn't allude

"Well; perhaps so. As far as I'm concerned, it is all the better for me. If George ever married, I should have

"Go away," said she. Go, Alice; you and I must part. I cannot bear it any longer. You must know it all. When

you are married to John Grey, our friendship must be over. If you became George's wife I should become

nobody. I've nothing else in the world. You and he would be so allsufficient for each other, that I should

drop away from you like an old garment. But I'd give up all, everything, every hope I have, to see you

become George's wife. I know myself not to be good. I know myself to be very bad, and yet I care nothing

for myself. Don't, Alice, don't; I don't want your caresses. Caress him, and I'll kneel at your feet, and cover

them with kisses." She had now thrown herself upon a sofa, and had turned her face away to the wall.

"You, who know everything, must know that I cannot marry your brother even if he wished it."

"And why not?" said Kate, again starting up. What is there to separate you from George now, but that

unfortunate affair, that will end in the misery of you all? Do you think I can't see? Don't I know which of the

"You are making me sorry, Kate, that I have ventured to come here in your brother's company. It is not only

"Oh, indelicate! How I do hate that word. If any word in the language reminds me of a whited sepulchre it is

that all clean and polished outside with filth and rottenness within. Are your thoughts delicate? That's the

thing. You are engaged to marry John Grey. That may be delicate enough if you love him truly, and feel

yourself fitted to be his wife; but it's about the most indelicate thing you can do, if you love any one better

than him. Delicacy with many women is like their cleanliness. Nothing can be nicer than the whole outside

getup, but you wouldn't wish to answer for anything beneath." "If you think ill of me like that "

"No; I don't think ill of you. How can I think ill of you when I know that all your difficulties have come from

him? It hasn't been your fault; it has been his throughout. It is he who has driven you to sacrifice yourself on

this altar. If we can, both of us, manage to lay aside all delicacy and pretence, and dare to speak the truth, we

shall acknowledge that it is so. Had Mr Grey come to you while things were smooth between you and

George, would you have thought it possible that he could be George's rival in your estimation? It is Hyperion

"I'll leave your heart to tell you. You know what is the darling wish of my heart. But, Alice, if I thought that

Mr Grey was to you Hyperion if I thought that you could marry him with that sort of worshipping,

idolatrous love which makes a girl proud as well as happy in her marriage, I wouldn't raise a little finger to

To this Alice made no answer, and then Kate allowed the matter to drop. Alice made no answer, though she

felt that she was allowing judgment to go against her by default in not doing so. She had intended to fight

bravely, and to have maintained the excellence of her present position as the affianced bride of Mr Grey, but

she felt that she had failed. She felt that she had, in some sort, acknowledged that the match was one to be

deplored that her words in her own defence would by no means have satisfied Mr Grey, if Mr Grey could

have heard them that they would have induced him to offer her back her troth rather than have made him

happy as a lover. But she had nothing further to say. She could do something. She would hurry home and bid

him name the earliest day he pleased. After that her cousin would cease to disturb her in her career.

It was nearly one o'clock before the two girls began to prepare for their morning start, and Alice, when they

had finished their packing, seemed to be worn out with fatigue. "If you are tired, dear, we'll put it off," said

Kate. "Not for worlds, said Alice. "For half a word we'll do it," continued Kate. I'll slip out to George and tell

About two they got into bed, and punctually at six they were at the railway station. "Don't speak to me," said

George, when he met them at their door in the passage. "I shall only yawn in your face." However, they were

in time which means abroad that they were at the station half an hour before their train started and they

There is nothing further to be told of their tour. They were but two days and nights on the road from Basle to

London; and during those two days and nights neither George nor Kate spoke a word to Alice of her

marriage, nor was any allusion made to the balcony at the inn, or to the bridge over the river.

Kate Vavasor remained only three days in London before she started for Yarmouth; and during those three

days she was not much with her cousin. "I'm my aunt's, body and soul, for the next six weeks," she said to

Alice, when she did come to Queen Anne Street on the morning after her arrival. "And she is exigeant in a

manner I can't at all explain to you. You mustn't be surprised if I don't even write a line. I've escaped by

stealth now. She went upstairs to try on some new weeds for the seaside, and then I bolted." She did not say a

word about George; nor during those three days, nor for some days afterwards, did George show himself. As

it turned out afterwards, he had gone off to Scotland, and had remained a week among the grouse. Thus, at

least, he had accounted for himself and his movements; but all George Vavasor's friends knew that his

goingsout and comingsin were seldom accounted for openly like those of other men.

It will perhaps be as well to say a few words about Mrs Greenow before we go with her to Yarmouth. Mrs

Greenow was the only daughter and the youngest child of the old squire at Vavasor Hall. She was just ten

years younger than her brother John, and I am inclined to think that she was almost justified in her repeated

assertion that the difference was much greater than ten years, by the freshness of her colour, and by the

general juvenility of her appearance. She certainly did not look forty, and who can expect a woman to

proclaim herself to be older than her looks? In early life she had been taken from her father's house, and had

lived with relatives in one of the large towns in the north of England. It is certain she had not been quite

successful as a girl. Though she had enjoyed the name of being a beauty, she had not the usual success which

comes from such repute. At thirtyfour she was still unmarried. She had, moreover, acquired the character of

being a flirt; and I fear that the stories which were told of her, though doubtless more than half false, had in

them sufficient of truth to justify the character. Now this was very sad, seeing that Arabella Vavasor had no

fortune, and that she had offended her father and brothers by declining to comply with their advice at certain

periods of her career. There was, indeed, considerable trouble in the minds of the various male Vavasors with

reference to Arabella, when tidings suddenly reached the Hall that she was going to be married to an old man.

She was married to the old man; and the marriage fortunately turned out satisfactorily, at any rate for the old

man and for her family. The Vavasors were relieved from all further trouble, and were as much surprised as

gratified when they heard that she did her duty well in her new position. Arabella had long been a thorn in

their side, never having really done anything which they could pronounce to be absolutely wrong, but always

giving them cause for fear. Now they feared no longer. Her husband was a retired merchant, very rich, not

very strong in health, and devoted to his bride. Rumours soon made their way to Vavasor Hall, and to Queen

Anne Street, that Mrs Greenow was quite a pattern wife, and that Mr Greenow considered himself to be the

happiest old man in Lancashire. And now in her prosperity she quite forgave the former slights which had

been put upon her by her relatives. She wrote to her dear niece Alice, and to her dearest niece Kate, and sent

little presents to her father. On one occasion she took her husband to Vavasor Hall, and there was a regular

renewal of all the old family feelings. Arabella's husband was an old man, and was very old for his age; but

the whole thing was quite respectable, and there was, at any rate, no doubt about the money. Then Mr

Greenow died; and the widow, having proved the will, came up to London and claimed the commiseration of

"Why not go to Yarmouth with her for a month?" George had said to Kate. "Of course it will be a bore. But

an aunt with forty thousand pounds has a right to claim attention." Kate acknowledged the truth of the

argument, and agreed to go to Yarmouth for a month. " Your aunt Arabella has shown herself to be a very

sensible woman," the old squire had written; "much more sensible than anybody thought her before her

marriage. Of course you should go with her if she asks you." What aunt, uncle, or cousin, in the uncontrolled

Yarmouth is not a very prepossessing place to the eye. To my eye, at any rate, it is not so. There is an old

town with which summer visitors have little or nothing to do; and there are the new houses down by the

seaside, to which, at any rate, belongs the full advantage of sea air. A kind of esplanade runs for nearly a mile

along the sands, and there are built, or in the course of building, rows of houses appropriated to summer

visitors all looking out upon the sea. There is no beauty unless the yellow sandy sea can be called beautiful.

The coast is low and straight, and the east wind blows full upon it. But the place is healthy; and Mrs Greenow

was probably right in thinking that she might there revive some portion of the health which she had lost in

"Omnibus no, indeed. Jeannette, get me a fly." These were the first words Mrs Greenow spoke as she put

her foot upon the platform at the Yarmouth station. Her maid's name was Jenny; but Kate had already found,

somewhat to her dismay, that orders had been issued before they left London that the girl was henceforth to

be called Jeannette. Kate had also already found that her aunt could be imperious; but this taste for

masterdom had not shown itself so plainly in London as it did from the moment that the train had left the

station at Shoreditch. In London Mrs Greenow had been among Londoners, and her career had hitherto been

provincial. Her spirit, no doubt, had been somewhat cowed by the novelty of her position. But when she felt

herself to be once beyond the stones, as the saying used to be, she was herself again: and at Ipswich she had

ordered Jeannette to get her a glass of sherry with an air that had created a good deal of attention among the

The fly was procured; and with considerable exertion all Mrs Greenow's boxes, together with the more

moderate belongings of her niece and maid, were stowed on the top of it, round upon the driver's body on the

coach box, on the maid's lap, and I fear in Kate's also, and upon the vacant seat.

"Then Mrs Jones's," said Mrs Greenow. But I was particularly told it was the largest in the row."

Mrs Jones's house was handsome and comfortable; but I fear Mrs Greenow's satisfaction in this respect was

impaired by her disappointment in finding that it was not perceptibly bigger than those to the right and left of

her. Her ambition in this and in other similarmatters would have amused Kate greatly had she been a

bystander, and not one of her aunt's party. Mrs Greenow was good natured, liberal, and not by nature selfish;

but she was determined not to waste the good things which fortune had given, and desired that all the world

should see that she had forty thousand pounds of her own. And in doing this she was repressed by no feeling

of false shame. She never hesitated in her demands through bashfulness. She called aloud for such comfort

and grandeur as Yarmouth could afford her, and was well pleased that all around should hear her calling.

"Dear Greenow! Sweet lamb! Oh, Kate, if you'd only known that man!" When she said this she was sitting in

the best of Mrs Jones's sittingrooms, waiting to have dinner announced. She had taken a drawingroom and

diningroom, "because", as she said, "she didn't see why people should be stuffy when they went to the

"I wish I had," said Kate very untruly. I was unfortunately away when he went to Vavasor Hall."

"Ah, yes; but it was at home, in the domestic circle, that Greenow should have been seen to be appreciated. I

was a happy woman, Kate, while that lasted." And Kate was surprised to see that real tears one or two on

each side were making their way down her aunt's cheeks. But they were soon checked with a handkerchief

"Come, Kate," said her aunt. I've but little appetite myself, but there's no reason you shouldn't eat your

dinner. I specially wrote to Mrs Jones to have some sweetbread. I do hope she's got a decent cook. It's very

The next day was Sunday; and it was beautiful to see how Mrs Greenow went to church in all the glory of

widowhood. There had been a great unpacking after that banquet on the sweetbread, and all her funereal

millinery had been displayed before Kate's wondering eyes. The charm of the woman was in this that she

was not in the least ashamed of anything that she did. She turned over all her wardrobe of mourning, showing

the richness of each article, the stiffness of the crape, the fineness of the cambric, the breadth of the frills

telling the price of each to a shilling, while she explained how the whole had been amassed without any

consideration of expense. This she did with all the pride of a young bride when she shows the glories of her

trousseau to the friend of her bosom. Jeannette stood by the while, removing one thing and exhibiting

another. Now and again through the performance, Mrs Greenow would rest a while from her employment,

and address the shade of the departed one in terms of most endearing affection. In the midst of this Mrs Jones

came in; but the widow was not a whit abashed by the presence of the stranger. "Peace be to his manes!" she

said at last, as she carefully folded up a huge black crape mantilla. She made, however, but one syllable of the

classical word, and Mrs Jones thought that her lodger had addressed herself to the mortal "remains" of her

"So she do but a lady can't bring her carriage down to the sea when she's only just buried her husband, as

one may say. What'd folks say if they saw her in her own carriage? But it ain't because she can't afford it, Mrs

Jones. And now we're talking of it you must order a fly for church tomorrow, that'll look private, you know.

The man with the coat and gloves was procured; and Mrs Greenow's entry into church made quite a

sensation. There was a thoughtfulness about her which alone showed that she was a woman of no ordinary

power. She foresaw all necessities, and made provision for all emergencies. Another would not have secured

an eligible sitting, and been at home in Yarmouth church, till half the period of her sojourn there was over.

But Mrs Greenow had done it all. She walked up the middle aisle with as much selfpossession as though the

chancel had belonged to her family for years; and the respectable pewopener absolutely deserted two or

three old ladies whom she was attending, to show Mrs Greenow into her seat. When seated, she was the

cynosure of all eyes. Kate Vavasor became immediately aware that a great sensation had been occasioned by

their entrance, and equally aware that none of it was due to her. I regret to say that this feeling continued to

show itself throughout the whole service. How many ladies of forty go to church without attracting the least

attention! But it is hardly too much to say that every person in that church had looked at Mrs Greenow. I

doubt if there was present there a single married lady who, on leaving the building, did not speak to her

husband of the widow. There had prevailed during the whole two hours a general though unexpressed

conviction that something worthy of remark had happened that morning. It had an effect even upon the

curate's reading; and the incumbent, while preaching his sermon, could not keep his eyes off that wonderful

On the next morning, before eleven, Mrs Greenow's name was put down at the Assembly Room. "I need

hardly say that in my present condition I care nothing for these things. Of course I would sooner be alone.

Kate, with less intelligence than might have been expected from one so clever, began to assure her aunt that

she required no society; and that, coming thus with her to the seaside in the early days of her widowhood, she

had been well aware that they would live retired. But Mrs Greenow soon put her down, and did so without

the slightest feeling of shame or annoyance on her own part. "My dear," she said, "in this matter you must let

me do what I know to be right. I should consider myself to be very selfish if I allowed my grief to interfere

"That's nonsense, my dear. You ought to care for them. How are you to settle yourself in life if you don't care

"Settled!" said Mrs Greenow, astounded, as though there must have been some hidden marriage of which she

had not heard. "But that's nonsense. Of course you're not settled; and how are you to be, if I allow you to shut

It was in vain that Kate tried to stop her. It was not easy to stop Mrs Greenow when she was supported by the

full assurance of being mistress of the place and of the occasion. "No, my dear; I know very well what I owe

to you, and I shall do my duty. As I said before, society can have no charms now for such a one as I am. All

that social intercourse could ever do for me lies buried in my darling's grave. My heart is desolate, and must

remain so. But I'm not going to immolate you on the altars of my grief. I shall force myself to go out for your

"I don't care twopence for the world. What can the world do to me? I'm not dependent on the world thanks

to the care of that sainted lamb. I can hold my own; and as long as I can do that the world won't hurt me. No,

Kate, if I think a thing's right I shall do it. I mean to make the place pleasant to you if I can, and the world

Mrs Greenow was probably right in her appreciation of the value of her independence. Remarks may perhaps

have been made by the world of Yarmouth as to her early return to society. People, no doubt, did remind each

other that old Greenow was hardly yet four months buried. Mrs Jones and Jeannette probably had their little

jokes down stairs. But this did not hurt Mrs Greenow. What was said, was not said in her hearing. Mrs Jones's

bills were paid every Saturday with admirable punctuality; and as long as this was done, everybody about the

house treated the lady with that deference which was due to the respectability of her possessions. When a

recently bereaved widow attempts to enjoy her freedom without money, then it behoves the world to speak

Numerous people came to call at Montpelier Parade, and Kate was astonished to find that her aunt had so

many friends. She was indeed so bewildered by these strangers that she could hardly ascertain whom her aunt

had really known before, and whom she now saw for the first time. Somebody had known somebody who

had known somebody else, and that was allowed to be a sufficient introduction always presuming that the

existing somebody was backed by some known advantages of money or position. Mrs Greenow could smile

from beneath her widow's cap in a most bewitching way. "Upon my word then she is really handsome," Kate

wrote one day to Alice. But she could also frown, and knew well how to put aside, or, if need be, to reprobate

any attempt at familiarity from those whose worldly circumstances were supposed to be disadvantageous.

"My dear aunt," said Kate one morning after their walk upon the pier, "how you did snub that Captain

"Captain Bellfield, indeed! I don't believe he's a captain at all. At any rate he has sold out, and the tradesmen

have had a scramble for the money. He was only a lieutenant when the 97th were in Manchester, and I'm sure

"But everybody here seems to know him." "Perhaps they do not know so much of him as I do. The idea of his

having the impudence to tell me I was looking very well! Nothing can be so mean as men who go about in

that way when they haven't money enough in their pockets to pay their washerwomen."

"But how do you know, aunt, that Captain Bellfield hasn't paid his washerwoman?"

"I know more than you think, my dear. It's my business. How could I tell whose attentions you should receive

It was in vain that Kate rebelled, or attempted to rebel against this more than maternal care. She told her aunt

that she was now nearly thirty, and that she had managed her own affairs, at any rate with safety, for the last

ten years but it was to no purpose. Kate would get angry; but Mrs Greenow never became angry. Kate

would be quite in earnest; but Mrs Greenow would push aside all that her niece said as though it were worth

nothing. Kate was an unmarried woman with a very small fortune, and therefore, of course, was desirous of

being married with as little delay as possible. It was natural that she should deny that it was so, especially at

this early date in their mutual acquaintance. When the niece came to know her aunt more intimately, there

might be confidence between them, and then they would do better. But Mrs Greenow would spare neither

herself nor her purse on Kate's behalf, and she would be a dragon of watchfulness in protecting her from the

evil desires of such useless men as Captain Bellfield. "I declare, Kate, I don't understand you," she said one

morning to her niece as they sat together over a late breakfast. They had fallen into luxurious habits, and I am

afraid it was past eleven o'clock, although the breakfast things were still on the table. Kate would usually

bathe before breakfast, but Mrs Greenow was never out of her room till half past ten. "I like the morning for

contemplation," she once said. "When a woman has gone through all that I have suffered she has a great deal

to think of." "And it is so much more comfortable to be athinking when one's in bed," said Jeannette, who

was present at the time. "Child, hold your tongue," said the widow. Yes, ma'am," said Jeannette. But we'll

"You only danced twice last night, and once you stood up with Captain Bellfield."

"On purpose to ask after that poor woman who washes his clothes without getting paid for it." "Nonsense,

Kate; you didn't ask him anything of the kind, I'm sure. It's very provoking. It is indeed."

"What good can he do you? That's the question. You see, my dear, years will go by. I don't mean to say you

ain't quite as young as ever you were, and nothing can be nicer and fresher than you are especially since

"My dear, the truth must be spoken. I declare I don't think I ever saw a young woman so improvident as you

are. When are you to begin to think about getting married if you don't do it now?"

"That's nonsense sheer nonsense. How are you to get wedding clothes if you have never thought about

"Captain Bellfield can't hurt me, my dear. And why didn't you dance with Mr Cheesacre?"

"He's a fat Norfolk farmer, with not an idea beyond the virtues of stallfeeding."

"My dear, every acre of it is his own land every acre! And he bought another farm for thirteen thousand

pounds only last autumn. They're better than the squires some of those gentlemen farmers; they are

Mrs Greenow had no idea of joking when her mind was intent on serious things. "He's to take us to the picnic

tomorrow, and I do hope you'll manage to let him sit beside you. It'll be the place of honour, because he gives

all the wine. He's picked up with that man Bellfield, and he's to be there; but if you allow your name to be

once mixed up with his, it will be all over with you as far as Yarmouth is concerned."

"I don't at all want to be mixed up with Captain Bellfield, as you call it," said Kate. Then she subsided into

her novel, while Mrs Greenow busied herself about the good things for the picnic. In truth, the aunt did not

understand the niece. Whatsoever might be the faults of Kate Vavasor, an unmaidenly desire of catching a

Yarmouth is not a happy place for a picnic. A picnic should be held among green things. Green turf is

absolutely an essential. There should be trees, broken ground, small paths, thickets, and hidden recesses.

There should, if possible, be rocks, old timber, moss, and brambles. There should certainly be hills and dales

on a small scale, and, above all, there should be running water. There should be no expanse. Jones should

not be able to see all Greene's movements, nor should Augusta always have her eye upon her sister Jane. But

the spot chosen for Mr Cheesacre's picnic at Yarmouth had none of the virtues above described. It was on the

seashore. Nothing was visible from the site but sand and sea. There were no trees there and nothing green

neither was there any running water. But there was a long, dry, flat strand; there was an old boat half

turned over, under which it was proposed to dine; and in addition to this, benches, boards, and some amount

of canvas for shelter were provided by the liberality of Mr Cheesacre. Therefore it was called Mr Cheesacre's

But it was to be a marine picnic, and therefore the essential attributes of other picnics were not required. The

idea had come from some boating expeditions, in which mackerel had been caught, and during which food

had been eaten, not altogether comfortably, in the boats. Then a thought had suggested itself to Captain

Bellfield that they might land and eat their food, and his friend Mr Cheesacre had promised his substantial

aid. A lady had surmised that Ormesby sands would be the very place for dancing in the cool of the evening.

They might "dance on the sand," she said, and yet no footing seen." And so the thing had progressed, and the

It was Mr Cheesacre's picnic undoubtedly. Mr Cheesacre was to supply the boats, the wine, the cigars, the

music, and the carpenter's work necessary for the turning of the old boat into a banqueting saloon. But Mrs

Greenow had promised to provide the eatables,and enjoyed as much of the eclat as the master of the festival.

She had known Mr Cheesacre now for ten days and was quite intimate with him. He was a stout, florid man,

of about fortyfive, a bachelor, apparently much attached to ladies' society, bearing no sign of age except that

he was rather bald, and that grey hairs had mixed themselves with his whiskers, very fond of his farming, and

yet somewhat ashamed of it when he found himself in what he considered to be polite circles. And he was,

moreover, a little inclined to seek the honour which comes from a wellfilled and liberallyopened purse. He

liked to give a man a dinner and then to boast of the dinner he had given. He was very proud when he could

talk of having mounted, for a day's hunting, any man who might be supposed to be of higher rank than

himself. "I had Grimsby with me the other day the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwick, you know. Blessed

if he didn't stake my bay mare. But what matters? I mounted him again the next day just the same." Some

people thought he was soft, for it was very well known throughout Norfolk that young Grimsby would take a

mount wherever he could get it. In these days Mrs Greenow had become intimate with Mr Cheesacre, and

"It wouldn't do for me," she had said to him, to be putting myself forward, as if I were giving a party myself,

"So I will, Mr Cheesacre, for that dear girl's sake. I should never forgive myself if I debarred her from all the

pleasures of youth, because of my sorrows. I need hardly say that at such a time as this nothing of that sort

"Quite out of the question." And Mrs Greenow wiped away her tears. "For though as regards age I might

Mrs Greenow shook her head to show that she hardly knew how to answer such a question. Probably it would

be so always but she did not wish to put a damper on the present occasion by making so sad a declaration.

"But as I was saying," continued she "if you and I do it between us won't that be the surest way of having

"Exactly so I'll do the meat and pastry and fruit, and you shall do the boats and the wine."

"And the music", said Cheesacre, and the expenses at the place." He did not choose that any part of his outlay

"I'll go halves in all that if you like," said Mrs Greenow. But Mr Cheesacre had declined this. He did not

"And, Mr Cheesacre," continued Mrs Greenow, I did mean to send the music; I did, indeed."

"But I mention it now, because I was thinking of getting Blowehard to come. That other man, Flutey,

"It shall be Blowehard," said Mr Cheesacre; and it was Blowehard. Mrs Greenow liked to have her own way

On the morning of the picnic Mr Cheesacre came down to Montpelier Parade with Captain Bellfield, whose

linen on that occasion certainly gave no outward sign of any quarrel between him and his washerwoman. He

was got up wonderfully, and was prepared at all points for the day's work. He had on a pseudosailor's jacket,

very liberally ornamented with brass buttons, which displayed with great judgment the exquisite shapes of his

pseudosailor's duck trousers. Beneath them there was a pair of very shiny patentleather shoes, well adapted

for dancing on the sand, presuming him to be anxious of doing so, as Venus offered to do, without leaving

any footmarks. His waistcoat was of a delicate white fabric, ornamented with very many gilt buttons. He had

be jewelled studs in his shirt, and yellow kid gloves on his hands; having, of course, another pair in his

pocket for the necessities of the evening. His array was quite perfect, and had stricken dismay into the heart

of his friend Cheesacre, when he joined that gentleman. He was a wellmade man, nearly six feet high, with

dark hair, dark whiskers, and dark moustache, nearly black, but of that suspicious hue which to the observant

beholder seems always to tell a tale of the hairdresser's shop. He was handsome, too, with wellarranged

features but carrying, perhaps, in his nose some first symptoms of the effects of midnight amusements.

Upon the whole, however, he was a nice man to look on for those who like to look on nice men of that

Cheesacre, too, had adopted something of a sailor's garb. He had on a jacket of a rougher sort, coming down

much lower than that of the Captain, being much looser, and perhaps somewhat more like a garment which a

possible seaman might possibly wear. But he was disgusted with himself the moment that he saw Bellfield.

His heart had been faint, and he had not dared to ornament himself boldly as his friend had done. "I say,

Guss, you are a swell," he exclaimed. It may be explained that Captain Bellfield had been christened

"I don't know much about that," said the Captain; my fellow sent me this toggery, and said that it was the sort

of thing. I'll change with you if you like it." But Cheesacre could not have worn that jacket, and he walked

It will be remembered that Mrs Greenow had spoken with considerable severity of Captain Bellfield's

pretensions when discussing his character with her niece; but, nevertheless, on the present occasion she

received him with most gracious smiles. It may be that her estimate of his character had been altered, or that

she was making sacrifice of her own feelings in consideration of Mr Cheesacre, who was known to be the

Captain's intimate friend. But she had smiles for both of them. She had a wondrous power of smiling; and

could, upon occasion, give signs of peculiar favour to half a dozen different gentlemen in as many minutes.

They found her in the midst of hampers which were not yet wholly packed, while Mrs Jones, Jeannette, and

the cook of the household moved around her, on the outside of the circle, ministering to her wants. She had in

her hand an outspread clean napkin, and she wore fastened round her dress a huge coarse apron, that she

might thus be protected from some possible ebullition of gravy, or escape of salad mixture, or cream; but in

other respects she was clothed in the fullest honours of widowhood. She had not mitigated her weeds by half

an inch. She had scorned to make any compromise between the world of pleasure and the world of woe.

There she was, a widow, declared by herself to be of four months' standing, with a buried heart, making ready

a dainty banquet with skill and liberality. She was ready on the instant to sit down upon the basket in which

the grouse pie had been just carefully inhumed, and talk about her sainted lamb with a deluge of tears. If

anybody didn't like it, that person might do the other thing. Mr Cheesacre and Captain Bellfield thought

"Oh, Mr Cheesacre, if you haven't caught me before I've half done! Captain Bellfield, I hope you think my

"Everything that you wear, Mrs Greenow, is always becoming." "Don't talk in that way when you know ;

but never mind we will think of nothing sad today if we can help it. Will we, Mr Cheesacre?"

"It won't rain we won't think of such a thing. But, by the by, Captain Bellfield, I and my niece do mean to

send out a few things, just in a bag you know, so that we may tidy ourselves up a little after the sea. I don't

want it mentioned, because if it gets about among the other ladies, they'd think we wanted to make a dressing

"No; there wouldn't," said Mr Cheesacre, who had been out on the previous evening, inspecting, and perhaps

"That's just it," said Mrs Greenow. But there won't be any harm, will there, Mr Cheesacre, in Jeannette going

out with our things? She'll ride in the cart, you know, with the eatables. I know Jeannette's a friend of yours."

"Jeannette, don't you let Mr Cheesacre turn your head; and mind you behave yourself and be useful. Well; let

me see what else is there? Mrs Jones, you might as well give me that ham now. Captain Bellfield, hand it

over. Don't you put it into the basket, because you'd turn it the wrong side down. There now, if you haven't

nearly made me upset the apricot pie." Then, in the transfer of the dishes between the Captain and the widow,

there occurred some little innocent byplay, which seemed to give offence to Mr Cheesacre; so that that

gentleman turned his back upon the hampers and took a step away towards the door.

Mrs Greenow saw the thing at a glance, and immediately applied herself to cure the wound. "What do you

think, Mr Cheesacre?" said she, "Kate wouldn't come down because she didn't choose that you should see her

"Nor I neither. That's just what I said. Do step up into the drawingroom; you'll find her there, and you can

"She wouldn't come down for me," said Mr Cheesacre. But he didn't stir. Perhaps he wasn't willing to leave

At length the last of the dishes was packed, and Mrs Greenow went upstairs with the two gentlemen. There

they found Kate and two or three other ladies who had promised to embark under the protection of Mrs

Greenow's wings. There were the two Miss Fairstairs, whom Mrs Greenow had especially patronized, and

who repaid that lady for her kindness by an amount of outspoken eulogy which startled Kate by its audacity.

"Your dear aunt!" Fanny Fairstairs had said on coming into the room. "I don't think I ever came across a

"Nor with so much true wit," said her sister Charlotte who had been called Charlie on the sands of

When the widow came into the room, they flew at her and devoured her with kisses, and swore that they had

never seen her looking so well. But as the bright new gloves which both the girls wore had been presents

from Mrs Greenow, they certainly did owe her some affection. There are not many ladies who would venture

to bestow such gifts upon their friends after so very short an acquaintance; but Mrs Greenow had a power that

was quite her own in such matters. She was already on a very confidential footing with the Miss Fairstairs,

And then was there a Mrs Green, whose husband was firstlieutenant on board a manofwar on the West

Indian Station. Mrs Green was a quiet, ladylike little woman, rather pretty, very silent, and, as one would

have thought, hardly adapted for the special intimacy of Mrs Greenow. But Mrs Greenow had found out that

she was alone, not very rich, and in want of the solace of society. Therefore she had, from sheer goodnature,

forced herself upon Mrs Green, and Mrs Green, with much trepidation, had consented to be taken to the

picnic. "I know your husband would like it," Mrs Greenow had said, "and I hope I may live to tell him that I

There came in also a brother of the Fairstairs girls, Joe Fairstairs, a lanky, useless, idle young man, younger

than them, who was supposed to earn his bread in an attorney's office at Norwich, or rather to be preparing to

earn it at some future time, and who was a heavy burden upon all his friends. "We told Joe to come to the

house", said Fanny to the widow, apologetically, "because we thought he might be useful in carrying down

the cloaks." Mrs Greenow smiled graciously upon Joe, and assured him that she was charmed to see him,

And then they started. When they got to the door both Cheesacre and the Captain made an attempt to get

possession of the widow's arm. But she had it all arranged. Captain Bellfield found himself constrained to

attend to Mrs Green, while Mr Cheesacre walked down to the beach beside Kate Vavasor. "I'll take your arm,

Mr Joe," said the widow, "and the girls shall come with us." But when they got to the boats, round which the

other comers to the picnic were already assembled, Mr Cheesacre although both the boats were for the

day his own found himself separated from the widow. He got into that which contained Kate Vavasor, and

was shoved off from the beach while he saw Captain Bellfield arranging Mrs Greenow's drapery. He had

declared to himself that it should be otherwise; and that as he had to pay the piper, the piper should play as he

liked it. But Mrs Greenow with a word or two had settled it all, and Mr Cheesacre had found himself to be

powerless. "How absurd Bellfield looks in that jacket, doesn't he?" he said to Kate, as he took his seat in the

"Do you think so? I thought it was so very pretty and becoming for the occasion."

Mr Cheesacre hated Captain Bellfield, and regretted more than ever that he had not done something for his

own personal adornment. He could not endure to think that his friend, who paid for nothing, should carry

away the honours of the morning and defraud him of the delights which should justly belong to him. "It may

"As to that I can't tell. You see I don't at all know what is the price of a jacket covered all over with little

"Oh, dreadful! and he's got nothing, Miss Vavasor; literally nothing. Do you know,' and he reduced his

voice to a whisper as he made this communication "I lent him twenty pounds the day before yesterday; I

did indeed. You won't mention it again, of course. I tell you, because, as you are seeing a good deal of him

just now, I think it right that you should know on what sort of a footinghe stands." It's all fair, they say, in

love and war, and this small breach of confidence was, we must presume, a love stratagem on the part of Mr

Cheesacre. He was at this time smitten with the charms both of the widow and of the niece, and he constantly

found that the captain was interfering with him on whichever side he turned himself. On the present occasion

he had desired to take the widow for his share, and was, upon the whole, inclined to think that the widow was

the more worthy of his attentions. He had made certain little inquiries within the last day or two, the answers

to which had been satisfactory. These he had by no means communicated to his friend, to whom, indeed, he

had expressed an opinion that Mrs Greenow was after all only a flash in the pan. "She does very well pour

passer le temps," the captain had answered. Mr Cheesacre had not quite understood the exact gist of the

"Such things should not be mentioned at all," Kate replied, having been angered at the insinuation that the

"No, they shouldn't; and therefore I know that I'm quite safe with you, Miss Vavasor. He's a very pleasant

fellow, very; and has seen the world uncommon; but he's better for eating and drinking with than he is for

buying and selling with, as we say in Norfolk. Do you like Norfolk, Miss Vavasor?"

"A nice place, Yarmouth, very; but you should come up and see our lands. I suppose you don't know that we

"We do, though; nobody knows what a county Norfolk is. Taking it altogether, including the game you know,

and Lord Nelson, and its wateringplaces and the rest of it, I don't think there's a county in England to beat it.

"Beef!" said Mr Cheesacre, and in his patriotic energy he repeated the word aloud. "Beef! Yes indeed; but if

you were to tell them that in London they wouldn't believe you. Ah! you should certainly come down and see

our lands. The 7.45 A.M. train would take you through Norwich to my door, as one may say, and you would

be back by the 6.22 P.M." In this way he brought himself back again into good humour, feeling, that in the

In the mean time Mrs Greenow and the Captain were getting on very comfortably in the other boat. "Take an

oar, Captain," one of the men had said to him as soon as he had placed the ladies. "Not today, Jack," he had

"The best thing as the bo'san does is to pipe all hands to grog," said the man. "I won't be behind in that either,

"Yes, he is; he's a capital fellow in his way. Some of these Norfolk farmers are no end of good fellows."

"And I suppose he's something more than a common farmer. He's visited by the people about where he lives,

"Oh, yes, in a sort of a way. The county people, you know, keep themselves very much to themselves."

"Yes, yes a very good house a little too near to the horsepond for my taste. But when a man gets his

money out of the till, he musn't be ashamed of the counter must he, Mrs Greenow?"

"That depends upon how a gentleman wishes to live." Here the privacy of their conversation was interrupted

by an exclamation from a young lady to the effect that Charlie Fairstairs was becoming sick. This Charlie

stoutly denied, and proved the truth of her assertion by her behaviour. Soon after this they completed their

marine adventures, and prepared to land close to the spot at which the banquet was prepared,

There had been a pretence of fishing, but no fish had been caught. It was soon found that such an amusement

would interfere with the ladies' dresses, and the affairs had become too serious to allow of any trivial

interruption. "I really think, Mr Cheesacre," an anxious mother had said, "that you'd better give it up. The

water off the nasty cord has got all over Maria's dress, already." Maria made a faint protest that it did not

signify in the least; but the fishing was given up not without an inward feeling on the part of Mr

Cheesacre that if Maria chose to come out with him in his boat, having been invited especially to fish, she

ought to have put up with the natural results. "There are people who like to take everything and never like to

give anything," he said to Kate afterwards, as he was walking up with her to the picnic dinner. But he was

unreasonable and unjust. The girls had graced his party with their best hats and freshest muslins, not that they

might see him catch a mackerel, but that they might flirt and dance to the best advantage. "You can't suppose

that any girl will like to be drenched with seawater when she has taken so much trouble with her starch,"

said Kate. "Then she shouldn't come fishing," said Mr Cheesacre. "I hate such airs."

But when they arrived at the old boat, Mrs Greenow shone forth preeminently as the mistress of the

occasion, altogether overshadowing Mr Cheesacre by the extent of her authority. There was a little contest for

supremacy between them, invisible to the eyes of the multitude; but Mr Cheesacre in such a matter had not a

chance against Mrs Greenow. I am disposed to think that she would have reigned even though she had not

contributed the eatables; but with that point in her favour, she was able to make herself supreme. Jeannette,

too, was her servant, which was a great thing. Mr Cheesacre soon gave way; and though he bustled about and

was conspicuous, he bustled about in obedience to orders received, and became a head servant. Captain

Bellfield also made himself useful,but he drove Mr Cheesacre into paroxysms of suppressed anger by giving

directions, and by having those directions obeyed. A man to whom he had lent twenty pounds the day before

"We're to dine at four, and now it's half past three," said Mrs Greenow, addressing herself to the multitude.

"Yes, we'll dine at four," said Mr Cheesacre. And as for the music, I've ordered it to be here punctual at half

"And now suppose we begin to unpack," said Captain Bellfield. "Half the fun is in arranging the things."

"It's odd if I don't know more about wine than the boots from the hotel," said Bellfield. This allusion to the

boots almost cowed Mr Cheesacre, and made him turn away, leaving Bellfield with the widow.

There was a great unpacking, during which Captain Bellfield and Mrs Greenow constantly had their heads in

the same hamper. I by no means intend to insinuate that there was anything wrong in this. People engaged

together in unpacking pies and cold chickens must have their heads in the same hamper. But a great intimacy

was thereby produced, and the widow seemed to have laid aside altogether that prejudice of hers with

reference to the washerwoman. There was a long table placed on the sand, sheltered by the upturned boat

from the land side, but open towards the sea, and over this, supported on poles, there was an awning. Upon

the whole the arrangement was not an uncomfortable one for people who had selected so very uncomfortable

a diningroom as the sand of the seashore. Much was certainly due to Mr Cheesacre for the expenditure he

had incurred and something perhaps to Captain Bellfield for his ingenuity in having suggested it.

Now came the placing of the guests for dinner, and Mr Cheesacre made another great effort. "I'll tell you

what," said he, aloud, "Bellfield and I will take the two ends of the table, and Mrs Greenow shall sit at my

right hand." This was not only boldly done, but there was a propriety in it which at first sight seemed to be

irresistible.Much as he had hated and did hate the Captain, he had skilfully made the proposition in such a

way as to flatter him, and it seemed for a few moments as though he were going to have it all his own way.

But Captain Bellfield was not a man to submit to defeat in such a matter as this without an effort. "I don't

think that will do," said he. "Mrs Greenow gives the dinner, and Cheesacre gives the wine. We must have

them at the two ends of the table. I am sure Mrs Greenow won't refuse to allow me to hand her to the place

which belongs to her. I will sit at her right hand and be her minister." Mrs Greenow did not refuse and so

Mr Cheesacre took his seat in despair. It was nothing to him that he had Kate Vavasor at his left hand. He

liked talking to Kate very well, but he could not enjoy that pleasure while Captain Bellfield was in the very

act of making progress with the widow. "One would think that he had given it himself; wouldn't you?" he

"Why, the music and the wine and all the rest of it. There are some people full of that kind of impudence.

How they manage to carry it on without ever paying a shilling, I never could tell. I know I have to pay my

Maria's mother said, "Yes, indeed." She had other daughters there besides Maria, and was looking down the

table to see whether they were judiciously placed. Her beauty, her youngest one, Ophelia, was sitting next to

that ne'erdowell Joe Fairstairs, and this made her unhappy. "Ophelia, my dear, you are dreadfully in the

draught; there's a seat up here, just opposite, where you'll be more comfortable."

"There's no draught here, mamma," said Ophelia, without the slightest sign of moving. Perhaps Ophelia liked

The mirth of the table certainly came from Mrs Greenow's end. The widow had hardly taken her place before

she got up again and changed with the Captain. It was found that the Captain could better carve the great

grouse pie from the end than from the side. Cheesacre, when he saw this, absolutely threw down his knife and

"Matter!" said he. Then he shook his head in grief of heart and vexation of spirit, and resumed his knife and

fork. Kate watched it all, and was greatly amused. "I never saw a man so nearly brokenheaded," she said, in

her letter to Alice the next day. "Eleven, thirteen, eighteen, twentyone," said Cheesacre to himself,

reckoning up in his misery the number of pounds sterling which he would have to pay for being illtreated in

"Ladies and gentlemen," said Captain Bellfield, as soon as the eating was over, "if I may be permitted to get

upon my legs for two minutes, I am going to propose a toast to you." The real patron of the feast had actually

not yet swallowed his last bit of cheese. The thing was indecent in the violence of its injustice.

"If you please, Captain Bellfield," said the patron, indifferent to the cheese in his throat, "I'll propose the

"Nothing on earth could be better, my dear fellow," said the Captain, "and I'm sure I should be the last man in

the world to take the job out of the hands of one who would do it so much better than I can; but as it's your

health that we're going to drink, I really don't see how you are to do it." Cheesacre grunted and sat down. He

certainly could not propose his own health, nor did he complain of the honour that was to be done him. It was

very proper that his health should be drunk, and he had now to think of the words in which he would return

thanks. But the extent of his horror may be imagined when Bellfield got up and made a most brilliant speech

in praise of Mrs Greenow. For full five minutes he went on without mentioning the name of Cheesacre.

Yarmouth, he said, had never in his days been so blessed as it had been this year by the presence of the lady

who was now with them. She had come among them, he declared, forgetful of herself and of her great

sorrows, with the sole desire of adding something to the happiness of others. Then Mrs Greenow had taken

out her pockethandkerchief, sweeping back the broad ribbons of her cap over her shoulders. Altogether the

scene was very affecting, and Cheesacre was driven to madness. They were the very words that he had

At last, when Bellfield had come to an end of praising Mrs Greenow, he told the guests that he wished to join

his friend Cheesacre in the toast, the more so as it could hardly be hoped that Mrs Greenow would herself rise

to return thanks. There was no better fellow than his friend Cheesacre, whom he had known for he would not

say how many years. He was quite sure they would all have the most sincere pleasure in joining the health of

Mr Cheesacre with that of Mrs Greenow. Then there was a clattering of glasses and a murmuring of

"I'm very much obliged to this company," said he, and to my friend Bellfield, who really is but perhaps

that doesn't signify now. I've had the greatest pleasure in getting up this little thing, and I'd made up my mind

to propose Mrs Greenow's health; but, h'm, ha, no doubt it has been in better hands. Perhaps, considering all

"I didn't interrupt you, Captain Bellfield, and perhaps you'll let me go on without interrupting me. We've all

drunk Mrs Greenow's health, and I'm sure she's very much obliged. So am I for the honour you've done me. I

have taken some trouble in getting up this little thing, and I hope you like it. I think somebody said something

about liberality. I beg to assure you that I don't think of that for a moment. Somebody must pay for these sort

of things, and I'm always very glad to take my turn. I dare say Bellfield will give us the next picnic, and if

he'll appoint a day before the end of the month, I shall be happy to be one of the party." Then he sat down

with some inward satisfaction, fully convinced that he had given his enemy a fatal blow.

"Nothing on earth would give me so much pleasure," said Bellfield. After that he turned again to Mrs

There was no more speaking, nor was there much time for other afterdinner ceremonies. The three horns,

the cymbals, the triangle, and the drum were soon heard tuning up behind the banqueting hall, and the ladies

went to the further end of the old boat to make their preparations for the dance. Then it was that the

thoughtful care of Mrs Greenow, in having sent Jeannette with brushes, combs, clean handkerchiefs, and

other little knickknackeries, became so apparent. It was said that the widow herself actually changed her cap

which was considered by some to be very unfair, as there had been an understanding that there should be

no dressing. On such occasions ladies are generally willing to forego the advantage of dressing on the

condition that other ladies shall forego the same advantage; but when this compact is broken by any special

lady, the treason is thought to be very treacherous. It is as though a fencer should remove the button from the

end of his foil. But Mrs Greenowwas so good natured in tendering the services of Jeannette to all the young

ladies, and was so willing to share with others those good things of the toilet which her care had provided,

When ladies have made up their minds to dance they will dance let the circumstances of the moment be ever

so antagonistic to that exercise. A ploughed field in February would not be too wet, nor the side of a house

too uneven. In honest truth the sands of the seashore are not adapted for the exercise. It was all very well for

Venus to make the promise, but when making it she knew that Adonis would not keep her to her word. Let

any lightestlimbed nymph try it, and she will find that she leaves most palpable footing. The sands in

question were doubtless compact, firm, and sufficiently moist to make walking on them comfortable; but they

ruffled themselves most uncomfortably under the unwonted pressure to which they were subjected.

Nevertheless our friends did dance on the sands; finding, however, that quadrilles and Sir Roger de Coverley

"No, my friend, no," Mrs Greenow said to Mr Cheesacre when that gentleman endeavoured to persuade her

to stand up; "Kate will be delighted I am sure to join you but as, for me, you must excuse me."

But Mr Cheesacre was not inclined at that moment to ask Kate Vavasor to dance with him. He was possessed

by an undefined idea that Kate had snubbed him, and as Kate's fortune was, as he said, literally nothing, he

was not at all disposed to court her favour at the expense of such suffering to himself.

"I'm not quite sure that I'll dance myself," said he, seating himself in a corner of the tent by Mrs Greenow's

side. Captain Bellfield at that moment was seen leading Miss Vavasor away to a new place on the sands,

whither he was followed by a score of dancers; and Mr Cheesacre saw that now at last he might reap the

reward for which he had laboured. He was alone with the widow, and having been made bold by wine, had an

opportunity of fighting his battle, than which none better could ever be found. He was himself by no means a

poor man, and he despised poverty in others. It was well that there should be poor gentry, in order that they

might act as satellites to those who, like himself, had money. As to Mrs Greenow's money, there was no

doubt. He knew it all to a fraction. She had spread for herself, or someone else had spread for her, a report

that her wealth was almost unlimited; but the forty thousand pounds was a fact, andany such innocent fault as

that little fiction might well be forgiven to a woman endorsed with such substantial virtues. And she was

handsome too. Mr Cheesacre, as he regarded her matured charms, sometimes felt that he should have been

smitten even without the forty thousand pounds. "By George! there's flesh and blood," he had once said to his

friend Bellfield before he had begun to suspect the man's treachery. His admiration must then have been

sincere, for at that time the forty thousand pounds was not an ascertained fact. Looking at the matter in all its

bearings Mr Cheesacre thought that he couldn't do better. His wooing should be fair, honest, and

aboveboard. He was a thriving man, and what might not they two do in Norfolk if they put their wealth

"Oh, Mr Cheesacre, you should join them," said Mrs Greenow; "they'll not half enjoy themselves without

"No, my friend, no; I shall not do that. I fear you forget how recent has been my bereavement. Your asking

me is the bitterest reproach to me for having ventured to join your festive board."

"And nobody can say that of me. There isn't a man or woman in Norfolk that wouldn't say I was manly."

"Well; perhaps I'm extravagant. But it's only in these kind of things you know, when I spend a little money

for the sake of making my friends happy. When I'm about, on the lands at home, I ain't extravagant, I can tell

"Oh, I ain't extravagant in that sense not a bit in the world. But when a man's enamoured, and perhaps

"No; indeed I would not. I am not given to joking when any one that I regard speaks to me seriously."

"Ain't you though? I'm so glad of that. When one has reallygot a serious thing to say, one doesn't like to have

"And, besides, how could I laugh at marriage, seeing how happy I have been in that condition? so very

"Never, Mr Cheesacre; never. Is that the way you talk of serious things without joking? Anything like love

love of that sort is over for me. It lies buried under the sod with my poor dear departed saint."

"But, Mrs Greenow,' and Cheesacre, as he prepared to argue the question with her, got nearer to her in the

"Isn't there though? I'll tell you what, Mrs Greenow; I'm in earnest, I am indeed. If you'll inquire, you'll find

there isn't a fellow in Norfolk pays his way better than I do, or is better able to do it. I don't pay a sixpence of

rent, and I sit upon seven hundred acres of as good land as there is in the county. There's not an acre that

won't do me a bullock and a half. Just put that and that together, and see what it comes to. And, mind you,

some of these fellows that farm their own land are worse off than if they'd rent to pay. They've borrowed so

much to carry on with, that the interest is more than rent. I don't owe a sixpence to ere a man or ere a

company in the world. I can walk into every bank in Norwich without seeing my master. There ain't any of

my paper flying about, Mrs Greenow. I'm Samuel Cheesacre of Oileymead, and it's all my own." Mr

Cheesacre, as he thus spoke of his good fortunes and firm standing in the world, became impetuous in the

energy of the moment, and brought down his fist powerfully on the slight table before them. The whole fabric

rattled, and the boat resounded, but the noise he had made seemed to assist him. "It's all my own, Mrs

Greenow, and the half of it shall be yours if you'll please to take it;" then he stretched out his hand to her, not

as though he intended to grasp hers in a grasp of love, but as if he expected some handpledge from her as a

"I've no doubt he was a very good sort of man." "If you'd known him, you would not have addressed me in

"What difference would that make? My idea is that care killed a cat, as I said before. I never knew what was

the good of being unhappy. If I find early mangels don't do on a bit of land, then I sow late turnips; and never

cry after spilt milk. Greenow was the early mangels; I'll be the late turnips. Come then, say the word. There

ain't a bedroom in my house not one of the front ones that isn't mahogany furnished!"

Just at this moment Maria's mother stepped in under the canvas. It was most inopportune. Mr Cheesacre felt

that he was progressing well, and was conscious that he had got safely over those fences in the race which his

bashfulness would naturally make difficult to him. He knew that he had done this under the influence of the

champagne, and was aware that it might not be easy to procure again a combination of circumstances that

would be so beneficial to him. But now he was interrupted just as he was expecting success. He was

interrupted, and felt himself to be looking like a guilty creature under the eye of the strange lady. He had not

a word to say; but drawing himself suddenly a foot and a half away from the widow's side, sat there

confessing his guilt in his face. Mrs Greenow felt no guilt, and was afraid of no strange eyes. "Mr Cheesacre

"Mr Cheesacre thinks that late turnips are better than early mangels," said Mrs Greenow.

"I prefer the early mangels," said Mrs Greenow. I don't think nature ever intended those late crops. What do

"I daresay Mr Cheesacre understands what he's about when he's at home," said the lady,

"I know what a bit of land can do as well as any man in Norfolk," said the gentleman.

"It may be very well in Norfolk," said Mrs Greenow, rising from her seat; "but the practice isn't thought much

"I'd just come in to say that I thought we might be getting to the boats," said Mrs Walker. "My Ophelia is so

delicate. At this moment the delicate Ophelia was to be seen, under the influence of the music, taking a

distant range upon the sands with Joe Fairstairs' arm round her waist. The attitude was justified by the tune

that was in progress, and there is no reason why a gallop on the sands should have any special termination in

distance, as it must have in a room. But, under such circumstances, Mrs Walker's solicitude was not

The erratic steps of the distant dancers were recalled and preparations were made for the return journey.

Others had strayed besides the delicate Ophelia and the idle Joe, and some little time was taken up in

collecting the party. The boats had to be drawn down, and the boatmen fetched from their cans and

tobaccopipes. "I hope they're sober," said Mrs Walker, with a look of great dismay.

"Sober as judges," said Bellfield, who had himself been looking after the remains of Mr Cheesacre's hampers,

"Because," continued Mrs Walker, I know that they play all manner of tricks when they're in liquor.

"Ophelia, mind you come in the boat with me," said her mother, and she looked very savage when she gave

the order. It was Mrs Walker's intention that that boat should not carry Joe Fairstairs. But Joe and her

daughter together were too clever for her. When the boats went off she found herself to be in that one over

which Mr Cheesacre presided, while the sinning Ophelia with her goodfornothing admirer were under the

"Mamma will be so angry," said Ophelia, and it was all your fault. I did mean to go into the other boat. Don't,

Mr Fairstairs." Then they got settled down in their seats, to the satisfaction, let us hope, of them both.

Mr Cheesacre had vainly endeavoured to arrange that Mrs Greenow should return with him. But not only was

Captain Bellfield opposed to such a change in their positions, but so also was Mrs Greenow. "I think we'd

"Oh, certainly," said Captain Bellfield. Why should there be any change? Cheesacre, old fellow, mind you

look after Mrs Walker. Come along, my hearty." It really almost appeared that Captain Bellfield was

addressing Mrs Greenow as "his hearty," but it must be presumed that the term of genial endearment was

intended for the whole boat's load. Mrs Greenow took her place on the comfortable broad bench in the stern,

"Careful and with you on board!" said the Captain. "Don't you know that I would sooner perish beneath

"Together! What a sweet word that is perish together! If it were not that there might be something better

"But I should not wish anything of the kind, Captain Bellfield, and therefore pray be careful."

There was no perishing by water on that occasion. Mr Cheesacre's boat reached the pier at Yarmouth first,

and gave up its load without accident. Very shortly afterwards Captain Bellfield's crew reached the same

place in the same state of preservation. "There," said he, as he handed out Mrs Greenow.

"May the heavens forbid it, Mrs Greenow! Whatever may be our lots hereafter yours I mean and mine

I trust that yours may be free from all disaster. Oh, that I might venture to hope that, at some future day, the

"I can protect myself very well, I can assure you. Good night, Captain Bellfield. We won't take you and Mr

They were now upon the esplanade, and Mrs Greenow's house was to the right, whereas the lodgings of both

the gentlemen were to the left. Each of them fought hard for the privilege of accompanying the widow to her

door; but Mrs Greenow was selfwilled, and upon this occasion would have neither of them. "Mr Joe

Fairstairs must pass the house," said she, "and he will see us home. Mr Cheesacre, goodnight. Indeed you

shall not not a step." There was that in her voice which induced Mr Cheesacre to obey her, and which

made Captain Bellfield aware that he would only injure his cause if he endeavoured to make further progress

in it on the present occasion. "Well, Kate, what do you think of the day?" the aunt said when she was alone

"I never think much about such days, aunt. It was all very well, but I fear I have not the temperament fitted

for enjoying the fun. I envied Ophelia Walker because she made herself thoroughly happy."

"I do indeed and young men too. It seems so natural; why shouldn't young people flirt?"

"Or old people either if they don't do any harm to anybody. I'll tell you what it is, Kate; people have

become so very virtuous, that they're driven into all manner of abominable resources for amusement and

occupation. If I had sons and daughters I should think a little flirting the very best thing for them as a

safety valve. When people get to be old, there's a difficulty. They want to flirt with the young people and the

young people don't want them. If the old people would be content to flirt together, I don't see why they should

ever give it up till they're obliged to give up everything, and go away." That was Mrs Greenow's doctrine

We will leave Mrs Greenow with her niece and two suitors at Yarmouth and returning by stages to London,

will call upon Mr Grey at his place in Cambridgeshire as we pass by. I believe it is conceded by all the other

counties, that Cambridgeshire possesses fewer rural beauties than any other county in England. It is very flat;

it is not well timbered; the rivers are merely dykes; and in a very large portion of the county the farms and

fields are divided simply by ditches not by hedgerows. Such arrangements are, no doubt, well adapted for

agricultural purposes, but are not conducive to rural beauty. Mr Grey's residence was situated in a part of

Cambridgeshire in which the abovenamed characteristics are very much marked. It was in the Isle of Ely,

some few miles distant from the Cathedral town, on the side of a long straight road, which ran through the

fields for miles without even a bush to cheer it. The name of his place was Nethercoats, and here he lived

generally throughout the year, and here he intended to live throughout his life.

His father had held a prebendal stall at Ely in times when prebendal stalls were worth more than they are at

present, and having also been possessed of a living in the neighbourhood, had amassed a considerable sum of

money. With this he had during his life purchased the property of Nethercoats, and had built on it the house

in which his son now lived. He had married late in life, and had lost his wife soon after the birth of an only

child. The house had been built in his own parish, and his wife had lived there for a few months and had died

there. But after that event the old clergyman had gone back to his residence in the close at Ely, and there John

Grey had had the home of his youth. He had been brought up under his father's eye, having been sent to no

public school. But he had gone to Cambridge, had taken college honours, and had then, his father dying

exactly at this time, declined to accept a fellowship. His father had left to him an income of some fifteen

hundred a year, and with this he sat himself down, near to his college friends, near also to the old cathedral

But though Nethercoats possessed no beauty of scenery, though the country around it was in truth as

uninteresting as any country could be, it had many delights of its own. The house itself was as excellent a

residence for a country gentleman of small means as taste and skill together could construct. I doubt whether

prettier rooms were ever seen than the drawingroom, the library, and the diningroom at Nethercoats. They

were all on the groundfloor, and all opened out on to the garden and lawn. The library, which was the

largest of the three, was a handsome chamber, and so filled as to make it well known in the University as one

of the best private collections in that part of England. But perhaps the gardens of Nethercoats constituted its

greatest glory. They were spacious and excellently kept up, and had been originally laid out with that

knowledge of gardening without which no garden, merely as a garden, can be effective. And such, of

necessity, was the garden of Nethercoats. Fine single forest trees there were none there, nor was it possible

that there should have been any such, Nor could there be a clear rippling stream with steep green banks, and

broken rocks lying about its bed. Such beauties are beauties of landscape, and do not of their nature belong to

a garden. But the shrubs of Nethercoats were of the rarest kind, and had been long enough in their present

places to have reached the period of their beauty. Nothing had been spared that a garden could want. The fruit

trees were perfect in their kind, and the glasshouses were so good and so extensive that John Grey in his

It must be understood that there were no grounds, according to the meaning usually given to that word,

belonging to the house at Nethercoats. Between the garden and the public road there was a paddock

belonging to the house, along the side of which, but divided from it by a hedge and shrubbery, ran the private

carriageway up to the house. This swept through the small front flower garden, dividing it equally; but the

lawns and indeed the whole of that which made the beauty of the place lay on the back of the house, on which

side opened the windows from the three sittingrooms. Down on the public road there stood a lodge at which

lived one of the gardeners. There was another field of some six or seven acres, to which there was a gate from

the corner of the front paddock, and which went round two sides of the garden. This was Nethercoats, and the

It was not a place for much bachelor enjoyment of that sort generally popular with bachelors, nevertheless Mr

Grey had been constant in his residence there for the seven years which had now elapsed since he had left his

college. His easy access to Cambridge had probably done much to mitigate what might otherwise have been

the too great tedium of his life; and he had, prompted thereto by early associations, found most of his society

in the close of Ely Cathedral. But, with all the delight he could derive from these two sources, there had still

been many solitary hours in his life, and he had gradually learned to feel that he of all men wanted a

His visits to London had generally been short and far between, occasioned probably by some need in the

library, or by the necessity of some slight literary transaction with the editor or publisher of a periodical. In

one of these visits he had met Alice Vavasor, and had remained in Town I will not say till Alice had

promised to share his home in Cambridgeshire, but so long that he had resolved before he went that he would

ask her to do so. He had asked her, and we know that he had been successful. He had obtained her promise,

and from that moment all his life had been changed for him. Hitherto at Nethercoats his little smokingroom,

his books, and his plants had been everything to him. Now he began to surround himself with an infinity of

feminine belongings, and to promise himself an infinity of feminine blessings, wondering much that he

should have been content to pass so long a portion of his life in the dull seclusion which he had endured. He

was not by nature an impatient man; but now he became impatient, longing for the fruition of his new idea of

happiness longing to have that as his own which he certainly loved beyond all else in the world, and

which, perhaps, was all he had ever loved with the perfect love of equality. But though impatient, and fully

aware of his own impatience, he acknowledged to himself that Alice could not be expected to share it. He

could plan nothing now could have no pleasure in life that she was not expected to share. But as yet it

could not be so with her. She had her house in London, her town society, and her father. And, inasmuch as

the change for her would be much greater than it would be for him, it was natural that she should require

some small delay. He had not pressed her. At least he had not pressed her with that eager pressure which a

girl must resist with something of the opposition of a contest, if she resist at all. But in truth his impatience

was now waxing strong, and during the absence in Switzerland of which we have spoken, he resolved that a

marriage very late in the autumn that a marriage even in winter, would be better than a marriage

postponed till the following year. It was not yet late in August when the party returned from their tour. Would

Alice had written to him occasionally from Switzerland, and her first two letters had been very charming.

They had referred almost exclusively to the tour, and had been made pleasant with some slightly coloured

account of George Vavasor's idleness, and of Kate's obedience to her brother's behests. Alice had never

written much of love in her loveletters, and Grey was well enough contented with her style, though it was

not impassioned. As for doubting her love, it was not in the heart of the man to do so after it had been once

assured to him by her word. He could not so slightly respect himself or her as to leave room for such a doubt

in his bosom. He was a man who could never have suggested to himself that a woman loved him till the fact

was there before him; but who having ascertained, as he might think, the fact, could never suggest to himself

that her love would fail him. Her first two letters from Switzerland had been very pleasant; but after that there

had seemed to have crept over her a melancholy which she unconsciously transferred to her words, and which

he could not but taste in them at first unconsciously, also, but soon with so plain a flavour that he

recognized it, and made it a matter of mental inquiry. During the three or four last days of the journey, while

they were at Basle and on their way home, she had not written. But she did write on the day after her arrival,

having then received from Mr Grey a letter, in which he told her how very much she would add to his

happiness if she would now agree that their marriage should not be postponed beyond the end of October.

This letter she found in her room on her return, and this she answered at once. And she answered it in such

words that Mr Grey resolved that he would at once go to her in London. I will give her letter at length, as I

"We reached home yesterday tired enough, as we came through from Paris without stopping. I may indeed

say that we came through from Strasbourg, as we only slept in Paris, I don't like Strasbourg. A steeple, after

all, is not everything, and putting the steeple aside, I don't think the style is good. But the hotel was

uncomfortable, which goes for so much and then we were saturated with beauty of a better kind.

"I got your letter directly I came in last night, and I suppose I had better dash at it at once. I would so

willingly delay doing so, saying nice little things the while, did I not know that this would be mere

cowardice. Whatever happens I won't be a coward, and therefore I will tell you at once that I cannot let you

hope that we should be married this year. Of course you will ask me why, as you have a right to do, and of

course I am bound to answer. I do not know that I can give any answer with which you will not have a right

to complain. If it be so, I can only ask your pardon for the injury I am doing you.

"Marriage is a great change in life much greater to me than to you, who will remain in your old house,

will keep your old pursuits, will still be your own master, and will change in nothing except in this, that

you will have a companion who probably may not be all that you expect. But I must change everything. It

will be to me as though I were passing through a grave to a new world. I shall see nothing that I have been

accustomed to see, and must abandon all the ways of life that I have hitherto adopted. Of course I should

have thought of this before I accepted you; and I did think of it. I made up my mind that, as I truly loved you,

I would risk the change that I would risk it for your sake and for mine, hoping that I might add something

to your happiness, and that I might secure my own. Dear John, do not suppose that I despair that it may be so;

but, indeed, you must not hurry me. I must tune myself to the change that I have to make. What if I should

wake some morning after six months living with you, and tell you that the quiet of your home was making

"You must not ask me again till the winter shall have passed away. If in the meantime I shall find that I have

been wrong, I will humbly confess that I have wronged you, and ask you to forgive me. And I will freely

admit this. If the delay which I now purpose is so contrary to your own plans as to make your marriage, under

such circumstances, not that which you had expected, I know that you are free to tell me so, and to say that

our engagement shall be over. I am well aware that I can have no right to bind you to a marriage at one period

which you had only contemplated as to take place at another period. I think I may promise that I will obey

any wish you may express in anything except in that one thing which you urged in your last letter.

"Kate is going down to Yarmouth with Mrs Greenow, and I shall see no more of her probably till next year,

as she will be due in Westmoreland after that. George left me at the door when he brought me home, and

declared that he intended to vanish out of London. Whether in town or out, he is never to be seen at this

period of the year. Papa offers to go to Ramsgate for a fortnight, but he looks so wretched when he makes the

offer, that I shall not have the heart to hold him to it. Lady Macleod very much wants me to go to

Cheltenham. I very much want not to go, simply because I can never agree with her about anything; but it

will probably end in my going there for a week or two. Over and beyond that, I have no prospects before

Christmas which are not purely domestic. There is a project that we shall all eat our Christmas dinner at

Vavasor Hall of course not including George but this project is quite in the clouds, and, as far as I am

At Nethercoats, the post was brought in at breakfasttime, and Mr Grey was sitting with his tea and eggs

before him, when he read Alice's letter. He read it twice before he began to think what he would do in regard

to it, and then referred to one or two others which he had received from Switzerland reading them also

very carefully. After that, he took up the slouch had which he had been wearing in the garden before he was

called to his breakfast, and, with the letters in his hand, sauntered down among the shrubs and lawns.

He knew, he thought he knew, that there was more in Alice's mind than a mere wish for delay. There was

more in it than that hesitation to take at once a step which she really desired to take, if not now, then after

some short interval. He felt that she was unhappy, and unhappy because she distrusted the results of her

marriage; but it never for a moment occurred to him that, therefore, the engagement between them should be

broken. In the first place he loved her too well to allow of his admitting such an idea without terrible sorrow

to himself. He was a constant, firm man, somewhat reserved, and unwilling to make new acquaintances, and,

therefore, specially unwilling to break away from those which he had made. Undoubtedly, had he satisfied

himself that Alice's happiness demanded such a sacrifice of himself, he would have made it, and made it

without a word of complaint. The blow would not have prostrated him, but the bruise would have remained

on his heart, indelible, not to be healed but by death. He would have submitted, and no man would have seen

that he had been injured. But it did not once occur to him that such a proceeding on his part would be

beneficial to Alice. Without being aware of it, he reckoned himself to be the nobler creature of the two, and

now thought of her as of one wounded, and wanting a cure. Some weakness had fallen on her, and strength

must be given to her from another. He did not in the least doubt her love, but he knew that she had been

associated, for a few weeks past, with two persons whose daily conversation would be prone to weaken the

tone of her mind. He no more thought of giving her up than a man thinks of having his leg cut off because he

has sprained his sinews. He would go up to town and see her, and would not even yet abandon all hope that

she might be found sitting at his board when Christmas should come. By that day's post he wrote a short note

"Dearest Alice, [he said] I have resolved to go to London at once. I will be with you in the evening at eight,

"And now," she said, when she received it, I must dare to tell him the whole truth."

And what was the whole truth? Alice Vavasor, when she declared to herself that she must tell her lover the

whole truth, was expressing to herself her intention of putting an end to her engagement with Mr Grey. She

was acknowledging that that which had to be told was not compatible with the love and perfect faith which

she owed to the man who was her affianced husband. And yet, why should it be so? She did not intend to tell

him that she had been false in her love to him. It was not that her heart had again veered itself round and

given itself to that wild cousin of hers. Though she might feel herself constrained to part from John Grey,

George Vavasor could never be her husband. Of that she assured herself fifty times during the two days'

grace which had been allowed her. Nay, she went farther than that with herself, and pronounced a verdict

against any marriage as possible to her if she now decided against this marriage which had for some months

People often say that marriage is an important thing, and should be much thought of in advance, and

marrying people are cautioned that there are many who marry in haste and repent at leisure. I am not sure,

however, that marriage may not be pondered over too much; nor do I feel certain that the leisurely repentance

does not as often follow the leisurely marriages as it does the rapid ones. That some repent no one can doubt;

but I am inclined to believe that most men and women take their lots as they find them, marrying as the birds

do by force of nature, and going on with their mates with a general, though not perhaps an undisturbed

satisfaction, feeling inwardly assured that Providence, if it have not done the very best for them, has done for

them as well as they could do for themselves with all the thought in the world. I do not know that a woman

can assure to herself, by her own prudence and taste, a good husband any more than she can add two cubits to

her stature; but husbandshave been made to be decently good and wives too, for the most part, in our

country so that the thing does not require quite so much thinking as some people say.

That Alice Vavasor had thought too much about it, I feel quite sure. She had gone on thinking of it till she

had filled herself with a cloud of doubts which even the sunshine of love was unable to drive from her

heavens. That a girl should really love the man she intends to marry that, at any rate, may be admitted.

But love generally comes easily enough. With all her doubts Alice never doubted her love for Mr Grey. Nor

did she doubt his character, nor his temper, nor his means. But she had gone on thinking of the matter till her

mind had become filled with some undefined idea of the importance to her of her own life. What should a

woman do with her life? There had arisen round her a flock of learned ladies asking that question, to whom it

seems that the proper answer has never yet occurred. Fall in love, marry the man, have two children, and live

happy ever afterwards. I maintain that answer has as much wisdom in it as any other that can be given or

perhaps more. The advice contained in it cannot, perhaps, always be followed to the letter; but neither can the

advice of the other kind, which is given by the flock of learned ladies who ask the question.

A woman's life is important to her as is that of a man to him not chiefly in regard to that which she

shall do with it. The chief thing for her to look to is the manner in which that something shall be done. It is of

moment to a young man when entering life to decide whether he shall make hats or shoes; but not of half the

moment that will be that other decision, whether he shall make good shoes or bad. And so with a woman

if she shall have recognized the necessity of truth and honesty for the purposes of her life, I do not know that

Alice Vavasor was ever asking herself that question, and had by degrees filled herself with a vague idea that

there was a something to be done; a something over and beyond, or perhaps altogether beside that marrying

and having two children if she only knew what it was. She had filled herself, or had been filled by her

cousins, with an undefined ambition that made her restless without giving her any real food for her mind.

When she told herself that she would have no scope for action in that life in Cambridgeshire which Mr Grey

was preparing for her, she did not herself know what she meant by action. Had any one accused her of being

afraid to separate herselffrom London society, she would have declared that she went very little into society

and disliked that little. Had it been whispered to her that she loved the neighbourhood of the shops, she would

have scorned the whisperer. Had it been suggested that the continued rattle of the big city was necessary to

her happiness, she would have declared that she and her father had picked out for their residence the quietest

street in London because she could not bear noise and yet she told herself that she feared to be taken into

When she did contrive to find any answer to that question as to what she should do with her life or rather

what she would wish to do with it if she were a free agent, it was generally of a political nature. She was not

so far advanced as to think that women should be lawyers and doctors, or to wish that she might have the

privilege of the franchise for herself; but she had undoubtedly a hankering after some secondhand political

manoeuvring. She would have liked, I think, to have been the wife of the leader of a Radical opposition, in

the time when such men were put into prison, and to have kept up for him his seditious correspondence while

he lay in the Tower. She would have carried the answers to him inside her stays and have made long

journeys down into northern parts without any money, if the cause required it. She would have liked to have

around her ardent spirits, male or female, who would have talked of "the cause," and have kept alive in her

some flame of political fire. As it was, she had no cause. Her father's political views were very mild. Lady

Macleod's were deadly Conservative. Kate Vavasor was an aspiring Radical just now, because her brother

was in the same line; but during the year of the lovepassages between George and Alice, George Vavasor's

politics had been as Conservative as you please. He did not become a Radical till he had quarrelled with his

grandfather. Now, indeed, he was possessed of very advanced views views with which Alice felt that she

could sympathize. But what would be the use of sympathizing down in Cambridgeshire? John Grey had, so to

speak, no politics. He had decided views as to the treatment which the Roman Senate received from

Augustus, and had even discussed with Alice the conduct of the Girondists at the time of Robespierre's

triumph; but for Manchester and its cares he had no apparent solicitude, and had declared to Alice that he

would not accept a seat in the British House of Commons if it were offered to him free of expense. What

political enthusiasm could she indulge with such a companion down in Cambridgeshire? She thought too

much of all this and was, if I may say, overprudent in calculating the chances of her happiness and of

his. For, to give her credit for what was her due, she was quite as anxious on the latter head as on the former.

"I don't care for the Roman Senate," she would say to herself. "I don't care much for the Girondists. How am I

to talk to him day after day, night after night, when we shall be alone together?"

No doubt her tour in Switzerland with her cousin had had some effect in making such thoughts stronger now

than they had ever been. She had not again learned to love her cousin. She was as firmly sure as ever that she

could never love him more. He had insulted her love; and though she had forgiven him and again enrolled

him among her dearest friends, she could never again feel for him that passion which a woman means when

she acknowledges that she is in love. That, as regarded her and George Vavasor, was over. But, nevertheless,

there had been a something of romance during those days in Switzerland which she feared she would regret

when she found herself settled at Nethercoats. She envied Kate. Kate could, as his sister, attach herself on to

George's political career, and obtain from it all that excitement of life which Alice desired for herself. Alice

could not love her cousin and marry him; but she felt that if she could do so without impropriety she would

like to stick close to him like another sister, to spend her money in aiding his career in Parliament as Kate

would do, and trust herself and her career into the boat which he was to command. She did not love her

cousin; but she still believed in him with a faith which he certainly did not deserve.

As the two days passed over her, her mind grew more and more fixed as to its purpose. She would tell Mr

Grey that she was not fit to be his wife and she would beg him to pardon her and to leave her. It never

occurred to her that perhaps he might refuse to let her go. She felt quite sure that she would be free as soon as

she had spoken the word which she intended to speak. If she could speak it with decision she would be free,

and to attain that decision she would school herself with her utmost strength. At one moment she thought of

telling all to her father and of begging him to break the matter to Mr Grey; but she knew that her father would

not understand her, and that he would be very hostile to her saying hard, uncomfortable words, which

would probably be spared if the thing were done before he was informed. Nor would she write to Kate, whose

letters to her at this time were full of wit at the expenseof Mrs Greenow. She would tell Kate as soon as the

thing was done, but not before. That Kate would sympathize with her, she was quite certain.

So the two days passed by and the time came at which John Grey was to be there. As the minute hand on the

drawingroom clock came round to the full hour, she felt that her heart was beating with a violence which

she could not repress. The thing seemed to her to assume bigger dimensions than it had hitherto done. She

began to be aware that she was about to be guilty of a great iniquity, when it was too late for her to change

her mind. She could not bring herself to resolve that she would, on the moment, change her mind. She

believed that she could never pardon herself such weakness. But yet she felt herself to be aware that her

purpose was wicked. When the knock at the door was at last heard she trembled and feared that she would

almost be unable to speak to him. Might it be possible that there should yet be a reprieve for her? No; it was

"My dearest," he said, coming to her. His smile was sweet and loving as it ever was, and his voice had its

usual manly, genial, loving tone. As he walked across the room Alice felt that he was a man of whom a wife

might be very proud. He was tall and very handsome, with brown hair, with bright blue eyes, and a mouth

like a god. It was the beauty of his mouth beauty which comprised firmness within itself, that made Alice

afraid of him. He was still dressed in his morning clothes; but he was a man who always seemed to be well

dressed. "My dearest," he said, advancing across the room, and before she knew how to stop herself or him,

He did not immediately begin about the letter, but placed her upon the sofa, seating himself by her side, and

looked into her face with loving eyes not as though to scrutinize what might be amiss there, but as though

determined to enjoy to the full his privilege as a lover. There was no reproach at any rate in his countenance

none as yet; nor did it seem that he thought that he had any cause for fear. They sat in this way for a

moment or two in silence, and during those moments Alice was summoning up her courage to speak. The

palpitation at her heart was already gone, and she was determined that she would speak.

"Though I am very glad to see you," she said, at last, "I am sorry that my letter should have given you the

"Trouble!" he said. Nay, you ought to know that it is no trouble. Ihave not enough to do down at Nethercoats

to make the running up to you at any time an unpleasant excitement. So your Swiss journey went off

"Yes; it went off very pleasantly." This she said in that tone of voice which clearly implies that the speaker is

"I never know much of George's movements. He may be in Town, but I have not seen him since I came

"Ah! that is the way with friends living in London. Unless circumstances bring them together, they are in fact

further apart than if they lived fifty miles asunder in the country. And he managed to get through all the

"If you were to say that we did not lose his, that would be nearer the mark. But, John, you have come up to

"I have thought much, since, of what I then wrote, very much very much, indeed; and I have learned to

"Stop, Alice; stop a moment, love. Do not speak hurriedly. Shall I tell you what I learned from your letter?"

"Perhaps it may be better. I learned, love, that something had been said or done during your journey or

perhaps only something thought, that had made you melancholy, and filled your mind for a while with those

unsubstantial and indefinable regrets for the past which we are all apt to feel at certain moments of our life.

There are few of us who do not encounter, now and again, some of that irrational spirit of sadness which,

when overindulged, drives men to madness and selfdestruction. I used to know well what it was before I

knew you; but since I have had the hope of having you in my house, I have banished it utterly. In that I think

I have been stronger than you. Do not speak under the influence of that spirit till you have thought whether

"Try again, Alice. It is a damned spirit, and belongs neither to heaven nor to earth. Do not say to me the

words that you were about to say till you have wrestled with it manfully. I think I know what those words

"I believe it. I believe it as I believe in my own love for you. I trust your love implicitly, Alice. I know that

you love me. I think I can read your mind. Tell me that I may return to Cambridgeshire, and again plead my

cause for an early marriage from thence. I will not take such speech from you to mean more than it says!"

She sat quiet, looking at him looking full into his face. She had in no wise changed her mind, but after

such words from him, she did not know how to declare to him her resolution. There was something in his

"Tell me," said he that I may see you again tomorrow morning in our usual quiet, loving way, and that I may

return home tomorrow evening. Pronounce a yea to that speech from me, and I will ask for nothing further."

"No; I cannot do so," she said. And the tone of her voice, as she spoke, was different to any tone that he had

"Is that melancholy fiend too strong for you?" He smiled as he said this, and as he smiled, he took her hand.

She did not attempt to withdraw it, but sat by him in a strange calmness, looking straight before her into the

middle of the room. "You have not struggled with it. You know, as I do, that it is a bad fiend and a wicked

one a fiend that is prompting you to the worst cruelty in the world. Alice! Alice! Alice! Try to think of all

this as though some other person were concerned. If it were your friend, what advice would you give her?"

"I would bid her tell the man who had loved her that is, if he were noble, good, and great that she

found herself to be unfit to be his wife; and then I would bid her ask his pardon humbly on her knees." As she

said this, she sank before him on the floor, and looked up into his face with an expression of sad contrition

He had purposed to be firm to yield to her in nothing, resolving to treat all that she might say as the

hallucination of a sickened imagination as the effect of absolute want of health, for which some change in

her mode of life would be the best cure. She might bid him be gone in what language she would. He

knewwell that such was her intention. But he would not allow a word coming from her in such a way to

disturb arrangements made for the happiness of their joint lives. As a loving husband would treat a wife, who,

in some exceptionable moment of a melancholy malady, should declare herself unable to remain longer in her

home, so would he treat her. As for accepting what she might say as his dismissal, he would as soon think of

taking the fruit trees from the southern wall because the sun sometimes shines from the north. He could not

"But what if he granted no such pardon, Alice? I will grant none such. You are my wife, my own, my dearest,

my chosen one. You are all that I value in the world, my treasure and my comfort, my earthly happiness and

my gleam of something better that is to come hereafter. Do you think that I shall let you go from me in that

way? No, love. If you are ill I will wait till your illness is gone by; and, if you will let me, I will be your

"Not ill with any defined sickness. You do not shake with ague, nor does your head rack you with aching; but

yet you may be ill. Think of what has passed between us. Must you not be ill when you seek to put an end to

"You will not hear my reasons,' she was still kneeling before him and looking up into his face.

"I will hear them if you will tell me that they refer to any supposed faults of my own."

"Then I will not hear them. It is for me to find out your faults, and when I have found out any that require

complaint, I will come and make it. Dear Alice, I wish you knew how I long for you." Then he put his hand

But this she would not suffer, so she rose slowly, and stood with her hand upon the table in the middle of the

"Oh, but I will not; certainly I will not, if that would be adverse to my own interests."

"I am thinking of your interests; I am, indeed at any rate as much as of my own. I feel quite sure that I

should not make you happy as your wife quite sure; and feeling that, I think that I am right, even after all

that has passed, to ask your forgiveness, and to beg that our engagement may be over."

"No, Alice, no; never with my consent. I cannot tell you with what contentment I would marry you tomorrow

tomorrow, or next month, or the month after. But if it cannot be so, then I will wait. Nothing but your

"You will convince me in no other. You have not spoken to your father of this as yet?"

"Do not do so, at any rate for the present. You will own that it might be possible that you would have to

"Give yourself and me the chance. It can do no harm. And, Alice, I ask you now for no reasons. I will not ask

your reasons, or even listen to them, because I do not believe that they will long have effect even on yourself.

"Yes; you treat me as though I were partly silly, and partly insane; but it is not so. The change you speak of

He shook his head and still smiled. There was something in the imperturbed security of his manner which

almost made her angry with him. It seemed as though he assumed so great a superiority that he felt himself

able to treat any resolve of hers as the petulance of a child. And though he spoke in strong language of his

love, and of his longing that she should come to him, yet he was so well able to command his feelings, that he

showed no sign of grief at the communication she had made to him. She did not doubt his love, but she

believed him to be so much the master of his love as he was the master of everything else, that her

separation from him would cause him no uncontrollable grief. In that she utterly failed to understand his

character. Had she known him better, she might have been sure that such a separation now would with him

have carried its mark to the grave. Should he submit to her decision, he would go home and settle himself to

his books the next day; but on no following day would he be again capable of walking forth among

hisflowers with an easy heart. He was a strong, constant man, perhaps overconscious of his own strength;

but then his strength was great. "He is perfect!" Alice had said to herself often. "Oh that he were less perfect!"

He did not stay with her long after the last word that has been recorded. "Perhaps," he said, as for a moment

"I advise you not to tell your father of this, and doubtless you will think of it before you do so. But if you do

"Because in such case I also must see him. God bless you, Alice! God bless you, dearest, dearest Alice!"

Then he went, and she sat there on the sofa without moving, till she heard her father's feet as he came up the

"And so John Grey has been here. He has left his stick in the hall. I should know it among a thousand."

"Not in the least. He never does anything wrong. He may defy man or woman to find fault with him."

"So that is it, is it? He is just a shade too good. Well, I have always thought that myself. But it's a fault on the

"It's no fault, papa. If there be any fault, it is not with him. But I am yawning and tired, and I will go to bed."

Mr Vavasor, as he went up to his bedroom, felt sure that there had been something wrong between his

daughter and her lover. "I don't know how she'll ever put up with him," he said to himself, "he is so terribly

conceited. I shall never forget how he went on about Charles Kemble, and what a fool he made of himself."

It cannot perhaps fairly be said that George Vavasor was an inhospitable man, seeing that it was his custom to

entertain his friends occasionally at Greenwich, Richmond or such places; and he would now and again have

a friend to dine with him at his club. But he never gave breakfasts, dinners, or suppers under his own roof.

During a short period of his wineselling career, at which time he had occupied handsome rooms over his

place of business in New Burlington Street, he had presided at certain feasts given to customers or expectant

customers by the firm; but he had not found this employment to be to his taste, and had soon relinquished it

to one of the other partners. Since that he had lived in lodgings in Cecil Street down at the bottom of that

retired nook, near to the river and away from the Strand. Here he had simply two rooms on the first floor, and

hither his friends came to him very rarely. They came very rarely on any account. A stray man might now

and then pass an hour with him here; but on such occasions the chances were that the visit had some

reference, near or distant, to affairs of business. Eating or drinking there was never any to be found here by

the most intimate of his allies. His lodgings were his private retreat, and they were so private that but few of

And had it been possible he would have wished that no one should have known his whereabouts, I am not

aware that he had any special reason for this peculiarity, or that there was anything about his mode of life that

required hiding; but he was a man who had always lived as though secrecy in certain matters might at any

time become useful to him. He had a mode of dressing himself when he went out at night that made it almost

impossible that any one should recognize him. The people at his lodgings did not even know that he had

relatives, and his nearest relatives hardly knew that he had lodgings. Even Kate had never been at the rooms

in Cecil Street, and addressed allher letters to his place of business or his club. He was a man who would bear

no inquiry into himself. If he had been out of view for a month, and his friends asked him where he had been,

he always answered the question falsely, or left it unanswered. There are many men of whom everybody

knows all about all their belongings as to whom everybody knows where they live, whither they go, what

is their means, and how they spend it. But there are others of whom no man knows anything, and George

Vavasor was such a one. For myself I like the open babbler the best. Babbling may be a weakness, but to my

Vavasor also maintained another little establishment, down in Oxfordshire; but the two establishments did

not even know of each other's existence. There was a third, too, very closely hidden from the world's eye,

which shall be nameless; but of the establishment in Oxfordshire he did sometimes speak, in very humble

words, among his friends. When he found himself among hunting men, he would speak of his two nags at

Roebury, saying that he had never yet been able to mount a regular hunting stable, and that he supposed he

never would; but that there were at Roebury two indifferent beasts of his if any one chose to buy them. And

men very often did buy Vavasor's horses. When he was on them they always went well and sold themselves

readily. And though he thus spoke of two, and perhaps did not keep more during the summer, he always

seemed to have horses enough when he was down in the country. No one ever knew George Vavasor not to

hunt because he was short of stuff. And here, at Roebury, he kept a trusty servant, an ancient groom with two

little bushy grey eyes which looked as though they could see through a stable door. Many were the long

whisperings which George and Bat Smithers carried on at the stable door, in the very back depth of the yard

attached to the hunting inn at Roebury. Bat regarded his master as a man wholly devoted to horses, but often

wondered why he was not more regular in his sojournings in Oxfordshire. Of any other portion of his master's

life Bat knew nothing. Bat could give the address of his master's club in London, but he could give no other

But though Vavasor's private lodgings were so very private, he had, nevertheless, taken some trouble in

adorning them. The furniture in the sittingroom was very neat, and the bookshelves were filled with

volumes that shone with gilding on their backs. The inkstand, the paperweight, the envelope case on his

writingtable were all handsome. He had a single good portrait of a woman'shead hanging on one of his

walls. He had a special place adapted for his pistols, others for his foils, and again another for his whips. The

room was as pretty a bachelor's room as you would wish to enter, but you might see, by the position of the

single easy chair that was brought forward, that it was seldom appropriated to the comfort of more than one

person. Here he sat lounging over his breakfast, late on a Sunday morning in September, when all the world

was out of town. He was reading a letter which had just been brought down to him from his club. Though the

writer of it was his sister Kate, she had not been privileged to address it to his private lodgings. He read it

very quickly, running rapidly over its contents, and then threw it aside from him as though it were of no

moment, keeping, however, an enclosure in his hand. And yet the letter was of much moment, and made him

think deeply. "If I did it at all," said he, "it would be more with the object of cutting him out than with any

The reader will hardly require to be told that the "him" in question was John Grey, and that Kate's letter was

one instigating her brother to renew his love affair with Alice. And Vavasor was in truth well inclined to

renew it, and would have begun the renewing it at once, had he not doubted his power with his cousin. Indeed

it has been seen that he had already attempted some commencement of such renewal at Basle. He had told

Kate more than once that Alice's fortune was not much, and that her beauty was past its prime; and he would

no doubt repeat the same objections to his sister with some pretence of disinclination. It was not his custom to

show his hand to the players at any game that he played. But he was, in truth, very anxious to obtain from

Alice a second promise of her hand. How soon after that he might marry her, would be another question.

Perhaps it was not Alice's beauty that he coveted, nor yet her money exclusively. Nevertheless he thought her

very beautiful, and was fully aware that her money would be of great service to him. But I believe that he was

true in that word that he spoke to himself, and that his chief attraction was the delight which he would have in

robbing Mr Grey of his wife. Alice had once been his love, had clung to his side, had whispered love to him,

and he had enough of the weakness of humanity in him to feel the soreness arising from her affection for

another. When she broke away from him he had acknowledged that he had been wrong, and when, since her

engagement with Mr Grey, he had congratulated her, he had told her in his quiet, halfwhispered, impressive

words how right she was; but not the less, therefore, did he feel himself hurt that John Grey should beher

lover. And when he had met this man he had spoken well of him to his sister, saying that he was a gentleman,

a scholar, and a man of parts; but not the less had he hated him from the first moment of his seeing him. Such

hatred under such circumstances was almost pardonable. But George Vavasor, when he hated, was apt to

follow up his hatred with injury. He could not violently dislike a man and yet not wish to do him any harm.

At present, as he sat lounging in his chair, he thought that he would like to marry his cousin Alice; but he was

quite sure that he would like to be the means of putting a stop to the proposed marriage between Alice and

Kate had been very false to her friend, and had sent up to her brother the very letter which Alice had written

to her after that meeting in Queen Anne Street which was described in the last chapter or rather a portion

of it, for with the reserve common to women she had kept back the other half. Alice had declared to herself

that she would be sure of her cousin's sympathy, and had written out all her heart on the matter, as was her

wont when writing to Kate. "But you must understand", she wrote, that all that I said to him went with him

for nothing. I had determined to make him know that everything between us must be over, but I failed. I

found that I had no words at command, but that he was able to talk to me as though I were a child. He told me

that I was sick and full of fhantasies, and bade me change the air. As he spoke in this way, I could not help

feeling how right he was to use me so; but I felt also that he, in his mighty superiority, could never be a

fitting husband for a creature so inferior to him as I am. Though I altogether failed to make him understand

that it was so, every moment that we were together made me more fixed in my resolution."

This letter from Alice to Kate, Vavasor read over and over again, though Kate's letter to himself, which was

the longer one, he had thrown aside after the first glance. There was nothing that he could learn from that. He

was as good a judge of the manner in which he would play his own game as Kate could be; but in this matter

he was to learn how he would play his game from a knowledge of the other girl's mind. "She'll never marry

him, at any rate," he said to himself, "and she is right. He'd make an upper servant of her; very respectable, no

doubt, but still only an upper servant. Now with me well, I hardly know what I should make of her. I

cannot think of myself as a man married." Then he threw her letter after Kate's, and betook himself to his

It was two hours after this, and he still wore his dressinggown, and he was still lounging in his easy chair,

when the waitingmaid at the lodgings brought him up word that a gentleman wished to see him. Vavasor

kept no servant of his own except that confidential groom down at Bicester. It was a rule with him that people

could be better served and cheaper served by other people's servants than by their own. Even in the stables at

Bicester the innkeeper had to find what assistance was wanted, and charge for it in the bill. And George

Vavasor was no Sybarite. He did not deem it impracticable to put on his own trousers without having a man

standing at his foot to hold up the leg of the garment. A valet about a man knows a great deal of a man's

"A gentleman!" said he to the girl. Does the gentleman look like a public house keeper?"

And the gentleman was a public house keeper. Vavasor was pretty sure of his visitor before he desired the

servant to give him entrance. It was Mr Grimes from the Handsome Man public house and tavern, in the

Brompton Road, and he had come by appointment to have a little conversation with Mr Vavasor on matters

political. Mr Grimes was a man who knew that business was business, and as such had some considerable

weight in his own neighbourhood. With him politics was business, as well as beer, and omnibushorses, and

foreign wines in the fabrication of which latter article Mr Grimes was supposed to have an extended

experience. To such as him, when intent on business, Mr Vavasor was not averse to make known the secrets

of his lodginghouse; and now, when the idle London world was either at morning church or still in bed, Mr

Grimes had come out by appointment to do a little political business with the latelyrejected member for the

Vavasor had been, as I have said, lately rejected, and the new member who had beaten him at the hustings

had sat now for one session in Parliament. Under his present reign he was destined to the honour of one other

session, and then the period of his existing glory for which he was said to have paid nearly six thousand

pounds would be over. But he might be elected again, perhaps for a full period of six sessions; and it

might be hoped that this second election would be conducted on more economical principles. To this, the

economical view of the matter, Mr Grimes was very much opposed, and was now waiting upon George

Vavasor in Cecil Street, chiefly with the object of opposing the new member's wisheson this head. No doubt

Mr Grimes was personally an advocate for the return of Mr Vavasor, and would do all in his power to prevent

the reelection of the young Lord Kilfenora, whose father, the Marquis of Bunratty, had scattered that six

thousand pounds among the electors and nonelectors of Chelsea; but his main object was that money should

be spent. "'Tain't altogether for myself," he said to a confidential friend in the same way of business; "I don't

get so much on it. Perhaps sometimes not none. Maybe I've a bill again some of those gents not paid this very

moment. But it's the game I looks to. If the game dies away, it'll never be got up again never. Who'll care

about elections then? Anybody'd go and get hisself elected if we was to let the game go by!" And so, that the

"Well, Mr Grimes," said George, how are you this morning? Sit down, Mr Grimes. If every man were as

"Business is business, Mr Vavasor," said the publican, after having made his salute, and having taken his

chair with some little show of mock modesty. "That's my maxim. If I didn't stick to that, nothing wouldn't

ever stick to me; and nothing doesn't much, as it is. Times is very bad, Mr Vavasor."

"Of course they are. They're always bad. What was the Devil made for, except that they should be bad? But I

"Lord love you, Mr Vavasor; why, I suppose of all the men as is put upon, we're put upon the worst. What's

the good of drawing of beer, if the more you draw the more you don't make? Yesterday as ever was was

Saturday, and we drawed three pound ten and nine. What'll that come to, Mr Vavasor, when you reckons it up

"Upon my word I don't. But I know you don't sell a pint of beer without getting a profit out of it."

"Lord love you, Mr Vavasor. If I hadn't nothink to look to but beer I couldn't keep a house over my head; no,

I couldn't. That house of mine belongs to Meux's people; and very good people they are too have made a

sight of money; haven't they, Mr Vavasor? I has to get my beer from them in course. Why not, when it's their

house? But if I sells their stuff as I gets it, there ain't a halfpenny coming to me out of a gallon. Look at that,

"But then you don't sell it as you get it. You stretch it." "That's in course. I'm not going to tell you a lie, Mr

Vavasor. You know what's what as well as I do, and a sight better, I expect. There's a dozen different ways of

handling beer, Mr Vavasor. But what's the use of that, when they can take four or five pounds a day over the

counter for their rotgut stuff at the "Cadogan Arms," and I can't do no better nor yet perhaps so well, for a

real honest glass of beer? Stretch it! It's my belief the more you poison their liquor, the more the people likes

Mr Grimes was a stout man, not very tall, with a mottled red face, and large protruding eyes. As regards his

own person, Mr Grimes might have been taken as a fair sample of the English innkeeper, as described for

many years past. But in his outer garments he was very unlike that description. He wore a black,

swallowtailed coat, made, however, to set very loose upon his back, a black waistcoat, and black

pantaloons. He carried, moreover, in his hands a black chimneypot hat. Not only have the topboots and

breeches vanished from the costume of innkeepers, but also the long, particoloured waistcoat, and the

birds'eye fogle round their necks. They get themselves up to look like Dissenting ministers or undertakers,

except that there is still a something about their rosy gills which tells a tale of the spigot and corkscrew.

Mr Grimes had only just finished the tale of his own hard ways as a publican, when the doorbell was again

The handmaiden at George Vavasor's lodgings announced "another gent", and then Mr Scruby entered the

room in which were seated George, and Mr Grimes the publican from the "Handsome Man" on the Brompton

Road. Mr Scruby was an attorney from Great Marlborough Street, supposed to be very knowing in the ways

of metropolitan elections; and he had now stepped round, as he called it, with the object of saying a few

words to Mr Grimes, partly on the subject of the forthcoming contest at Chelsea, and partly on that of the

contest just past. These words were to be said in the presence of Mr Vavasor, the person interested. That

some other words had been spoken between Mr Scruby and Mr Grimes on the same subjects behind Mr

Vavasor's back I think very probable. But even though this might have been so I am not prepared to say that

The two men were very civil to each other in their salutations, the attorney assuming an air of patronising

condescension, always calling the other Grimes; whereas Mr Scruby was treated with considerable deference

by the publican, and was always called Mr Scruby. "Business is business", said the publican as soon as these

"And I suppose Grimes thinks Sunday morning a particularly good time for business," said the attorney,

"It's quiet, you know," said Grimes. But it warn't me as named Sunday morning. It was Mr Vavasor here. But

Mr Scruby acknowledged that it was quiet, especially looking out over the river, and then they proceeded to

business. "We must pull the governor through better next time than we did last," said the attorney.

"Of course we must, Mr Scruby; but, Lord love you, Mr Vavasor, whose fault was it? What notice did I get

just tell me that? Why,Travers's name was up on the Liberal interest ever so long before the governor had

"And nobody can't, Mr Vavasor. I done my work true as steel, and there ain't another man about the place as

could have done half as much. You ask Mr Scruby else. Mr Scruby knows, if ere a man in London does. I tell

you what it is, Mr Vavasor, them Chelsea fellows, who lives mostly down by the river, ain't like your

Maryboners or Finsburyites. It wants something of a man to manage them. Don't it, Mr Scruby?"

"It wants something of a man to manage any of them as far as my experience goes," said Mr Scruby.

"Of course it do; and there ain't no one in London knows so much about it as you do, Mr Scruby. I will say

that for you. But the long and the short of it is this business is business, and money is money."

"Money is money, certainly," said Mr Scruby. There's no doubt in the world about that, Grimes and a deal

"No, I hadn't; begging your pardon, Mr Scruby, for making so free. What I had to my own cheek wasn't

nothing to speak of. I wasn't paid for my time; that's what I wasn't. You look how a publican's business gets

cut up at them elections and then the state of the house afterwards! What would the governor say to me if

"It doesn't seem to make much difference how you put it down," said Vavasor. "The total is what I look at.

"Just so, Mr Vavasor; just so. The total is what I looks at too. And I has to look at it a deuced long time

"Well; if you ask me I should say you had," said George. "I know I paid Mr Scruby three hundred pounds on

"And I got every shilling of it, Mr Vavasor. I'm not a going to deny the money, Mr Vavasor. You'll never find

me doing that. I'm as round as your hat, and as square as your elbow I am. Mr Scruby knows me; don't

"No, you don't, Mr Scruby; not a bit too well. Nor I don't know you too well, either. I respect you, Mr Scruby,

because you're a man as understands your business. But as I was saying, what's three hundred pounds when a

"Why, you see, Mr Vavasor, it's very hard to settle these things. If you ask me whether Mr Grimes here can

sue you for the balance, I tell you very plainly that he can't. We were a little short of money when we came to

a settlement, as is generally the case at such times, and so we took Mr Grimes's receipt for three hundred

"Now, Mr Scruby!" and the publican as he made this appeal looked at the attorney with an expression of

countenance which was absolutely eloquent. "Are you going to put me off with such an excuse as that?" so

the look spoke plainly enough. "Are you going to bring up my own signature against me, when you know

very well that I shouldn't have got a shilling at all for the next twelve months if I hadn't given it? Oh, Mr

Scruby!" That's what Mr Grimes' look said, and both Mr Scruby and Mr Vavasor understood it perfectly,

"In full of all demands," said Mr Scruby, with a slight tone of triumph in his voice, as though to show that

Grimes' appeal had no effect at all upon his conscience. "If you were to go into a court of law, Grimes, you

"A court of law? Who's a going to law with the governor, I should like to know? not I; not if he didn't pay me

"Five years or fifteen would make no difference," said Scruby. "You couldn't do it."

"And I ain't a going to try. That's not the ticket I've come here about, Mr Vavasor, this blessed Sunday

"They is at the Handsome Man in the Brompton Road, Mr Vavasor; and I always feels that I owes my first

"Come, come, Grimes," said Mr Scruby. What is it you're at? Out with it, and don't keep us here all day."

"What is it I'm at, Mr Scruby? As if you didn't know very well what I'm at. There's my house in all them

Chelsea Districts it's the most convenientest of any public as is open for all manner of election purposes.

"The next is, I myself. There isn't one of the lot of 'em can work them Chelsea fellows down along the river

unless it is me. Mr Scruby knows that. Why, I've been a getting of them up with a view to this very job ever

since why, ever since they was a talking of the Chelsea Districts. When Lord Robert was a coming in for

the county on the religious dodge, he couldn't have worked them fellows anyhow, only for me. Mr Scruby

"Well them Bunratty people; it is them as come next. They know which side their bread is like to be

"And you'd let your house to the Tory party, Grimes!" said Mr Scruby, in a tone in which disgust and anger

"Who said anything of my letting my house to the Tory party, Mr Scruby? I'm as round as your hat, Mr

Scruby, and as square as your elbow; I am. But suppose as all the Liberal gents as employs you, Mr Scruby,

was to turn again you and not pay you your little bills, wouldn't you have your eyes open for customers of

"Perhaps not; perhaps not. There's a risk in all these things; isn't there, Mr Vavasor? I should like to see you a

Parliament gent; I should indeed. You'd be a credit to the Districts; I really think you would."

"When I sees a gent coming forward I knows whether he's fit for Parliament, or whether he ain't. I says you

are fit. But, lord love you, Mr Vavasor; it's a thing a gentleman always has to pay for."

"A thing's worth what it fetches. I'm worth what I'll fetch; that's the long and the short of it. I want to have my

balance, that's the truth. It's the odd money in a man's bill as always carries the profit. You ask Mr Scruby

"If you cut off a man's odd money," continued the publican, "you break his heart. He'd almost sooner have

that and leave the other standing. He'd call the hundreds capital, and if he lost them at last,why, he'd put it

down as being in the way of trade. But the odd money he looks at that, Mr Vavasor, as in a manner the

very sweat of his brow, the work of his own hand; that's what goes to his family, and keeps the pot a boiling

downstairs. Never stop a man's odd money, Mr Vavasor; that is, unless he comes it very strong indeed."

"I wants ninetytwo pounds thirteen and fourpence, Mr Scruby, and then we'll go to work for the new fight

with contented hearts. If we're to begin at all, it's quite time; it is indeed, Mr Vavasor."

"And what you mean us to understand is, that you won't begin at all without your money," said the lawyer,

"Not for fifty pounds, Mr Scruby. It's the odd money that I wants. I don't mind the thirteen and four, because

that's neither here nor there among friends, but if I didn't get all them ninetytwo pounds I should be a

brokenhearted man; I should indeed, Mr Vavasor. I couldn't go about your work for next year so as to do

"You'd better give him a bill for ninety pounds at three months, Mr Vavasor. I have no doubt he has got a

"That I have, Mr Scruby; there ain't no mistake about that. A bill stamp is a thing that often turns up

convenient with gents as mean business like Mr Vavasor and you. But you must make it ninetytwo; you

must indeed, Mr Vavasor. And do make it two months if you can, Mr Vavasor; they do charge so

George Vavasor and Mr Scruby, between them, yielded at last, so far as to allow the bill to be drawn for

ninetytwo pounds, but they were stanch as to the time. "If it must be, it must," said the publican, with a deep

sigh, as he folded up the paper and put it into the pocket of a huge case which he carried. "And now, gents,

I'll tell you what it is. We'll make safe work of this here next election. We know what's to be our little game

in time, and if we don't go in and win, my name ain't Jacob Grimes, and I ain't the landlord of the Handsome

Man. As you gents has perhaps got something to say among yourselves, I'll make so bold as to wish you good

morning." So, with that, Mr Grimes lifted his hat from the floor, and bowed himself out of the room.

"You couldn't have done it cheaper; you couldn't, indeed," said the lawyer, as soon as the sound of the closing

"Perhaps not; but what a thief the man is! I remember your telling me that the bill was about the most

"So it was, and if we hadn't wanted him again of course we shouldn't have paid him. But we'll have it all off

his next account, Mr Vavasor every shilling of it. It's only lent; that's all it's only lent."

"That's true. If you look at it in that light, it's quite true. But you see we cannot do without him. If he hadn't

got your bill, he'd have gone over to the other fellows before the week was over; and the worst of it would

have been that he knows our hand. Looking at it all round you've got him cheap, Mr Vavasor you have,

"Looking at it all round is just what I don't like, Mr Scruby. But if a man will have a whistle, he must pay for

"You can't do it cheap for any of these metropolitan seats; you can't, indeed, Mr Vavasor. That is, a new man

can't. When you've been in four or five times, like old Duncombe, why then, of course, you may snap your

fingers at such men as Grimes. But the Chelsea Districts ain't dear. I don't call them by any means dear. Now

Marylebone is dear and so is Southwark. It's dear, and nasty; that's what the Borough is. Only that I never

tell tales, I could tell you a tale, Mr Vavasor, that'd make your hair stand on end; I could indeed."

"That depends on what way you choose to look at it. A seat in Parliament is a great thing to a man who wants

to make his way a very great thing specially when a man's young, like you, Mr Vavasor."

"Young!" said George. Sometimes it seems to me as though I've been living for a hundred years. But I won't

trouble you with that, Mr Scruby, and I believe I needn't keep you any longer." With that, he got up and

bowed the attorney out of the room, with just a little more ceremony than he had shown to the publican.

"Young!" said Vavasor to himself, when he was left alone. "There's my uncle, or the old squire they're

both younger men than I am. One cares for his dinner, and the other for his bullocks and his trees. But what is

there that I care for, unless it is not getting among the sheriff's officers for debt?" Then he took out a little

memorandum book from his breast pocket, and having made in it an entry as to the amount and date of that

bill which he had just accepted on the publican's behalf, he conned over the particulars of its pages. "Very

blue; very blue, indeed," he said to himself when he had completed the study. "But nobody shall say I hadn't

the courage to play the game out, and that old fellow must die some day, one supposes. If I were not a fool, I

should make it up with him before he went; but I am a fool, and shall remain so to the last." Soon after that he

dressed himself slowly, reading a little every now and then as he did so. When his toilet was completed, and

his Sunday newspapers sufficiently perused, he took up his hat and umbrella and sauntered out.

Kate Vavasor had sent to her brother only the first half of her cousin's letter, that half in which Alice had

attempted to describe what had taken place between her and Mr Grey. In doing this, Kate had been a wicked

traitor a traitor to that feminine faith against which treason on the part of one woman is always

unpardonable in the eyes of other women. But her treason would have been of a deeper dye had she sent the

latter portion, for in that Alice had spoken of George Vavasor himself. But even of this treason, Kate would, I

think, have been guilty, had the words which Alice wrote been of a nature to serve her own purpose if read by

her brother. But they had not been of this nature. They had spoken of George as a man with whom any closer

connection than that which existed at present was impossible, and had been written with the view of begging

Kate to desist from making futile attempts in that direction. "I feel myself driven", Alice had said, "to write

all this, as otherwise if I were simply to tell you that I have resolved to part from Mr Grey you would

think that the other thing might follow. The other thing cannot follow. I should think myself untrue in my

friendship to you if I did not tell you about Mr Grey; and you will be untrue in your friendship to me if you

take advantage of my confidence by saying more about your brother." This part of Alice's letter Kate had not

sent to George Vavasor "But the other thing shall follow," Kate had said, as she read the words for the

To give Kate Vavasor her due, she was, at any rate, unselfish in her intrigues. She was obstinately persistent,

and she was moreover unscrupulous, but she was not selfish. Many years ago she had made up her mind that

George and Alice should be man and wife, feeling that such a marriage would be good at any rate for her

brother. It had been almost brought about, and had then been hindered altogether through a fault on her

brother's part. But she had forgiven him thissin as she had forgiven many others, and she was now at work in

his behalf again, determined that they two should be married, even though neither of them might be now

anxious that it should be so. The intrigue itself was dear to her, and success in it was necessary to her

She answered Alice's letter with a pleasant, gossiping epistle which shall be recorded, as it will tell us

something of Mrs Greenow's proceedings at Yarmouth. Kate had promised to stay at Yarmouth for a month,

"Of course I am delighted. It is no good saying that I am not. I know how difficult it is to deal with you, and

therefore I sit down to answer your letter with fear and trembling, lest I should say a word too much, and

thereby drive you back, or not say quite enough and thereby fail to encourage you on. Of course I am glad. I

have long thought that Mr Grey could not make you happy, and as I have thought so, how can I not be glad?

It is no use saying that he is good and noble, and all that sort of thing. I have never denied it. But he was not

suited to you, and his life would have made you wretched. Ergo, I rejoice. And as you are the dearest friend I

"I can understand accurately the sort of way in which the interview went. Of course he had the best of it. I can

see him so plainly as he stood up in unruffled selfpossession, ignoring all that you said, suggesting that you

were feverish or perhaps bilious, waving his hand over you a little, as though that might possibly do you

some small good, and then taking his leave with an assurance that it would be all right as soon as the wind

changed. I suppose it's very noble in him, not taking you at your word, and giving you, as it were, another

chance; but there is a kind of nobility which is almost too great for this world. I think very well of you, my

dear, as women go, but I do not think well enough of you to believe that you are fit to be Mr John Grey's

"Of course I'm very glad. You have known my mind from the first to the last, and, therefore, what would be

the good of my mincing matters? No woman wishes her dearest friend to marry a man to whom she herself is

antipathetic. You would have been as much lost to me, had you become Mrs Grey of Nethercoats,

Cambridgeshire,as though you had gone to heaven. I don't say but what Nethercoats may be a kind of heaven

but then one doesn't wish one's friend that distant sort of happiness. A flat Eden I can fancy it, hemmed in

by broad dykes, in which cream and eggs are very plentiful, where an Adam and an Eve might drink the

choicest tea out of the finest china, with toast buttered to perfection, from year's end to year's end; into which

no money troubles would ever find their way, nor yet any naughty novels. But such an Eden is not tempting

to me, nor, as I think, to you. I can fancy you stretching your poor neck over the dyke, longing to fly away

that you might cease to be at rest, but knowing that the matrimonial dragon was too strong for any such flight.

If ever bird banged his wings to pieces against gilded bars, you would have banged yours to pieces in that

"You say that you have failed to make him understand that the matter is settled. I need not say that of course

it is settled, and that he must be made to understand it. You owe it to him now to put him out of all doubt. He

is, I suppose, accessible to the words of a mortal, god though he be. But I do not fear about this, for, after all,

you have as much firmness about you as most people perhaps as much as he has at bottom, though you

"As to that other matter I can only say that you shall be obliged, as far as it is in my power to obey you. For

what may come out from me by word of mouth when we are together, I will not answer with certainty. But

"And now I must tell you a little about myself or rather, I am inclined to spin a yarn, and tell you a great

deal. I have got such a lover! But I did describe him before. Of course it's Mr Cheesacre. If I were to say that

he hasn't declared himself, I should hardly give you a fair idea of my success. And yet he has not declared

himself and, which is worse, is very anxious to marry a rival. But it's a strong point in my favour that my

rival wants him to take me, and that he will assuredly be driven to make me an offer sooner or later, in

obedience to her orders. My aunt is my rival, and I do not feel the least doubt as to his having offered to her

half a dozen times. But then she has another lover, Captain Bellfield, and I see that she prefers him. He is a

penniless scamp and looks as though he drank. He paints his whiskers too, which I don't like; and, being

forty, tries to look like twentyfive. Otherwise he is agreeable enough, and I rather approve of my aunt's taste

in preferring him. "But my lover has solid attractions, and allures me on by a description of the fat cattle

which he sends to market. He is a man of substance, and should I ever become Mrs Cheesacre, I have reason

to think that I shall not be left in want. We went up to his place on a visit the other day. Oileymead is the

name of my future home: not so pretty as Nethercoats, is it? And we had such a time there! We reached the

place at ten and left it at four, and he managed to give us three meals. I'm sure we had before our eyes at

different times every bit of china, delf, glass, and plate in the establishment. He made us go into the cellar,

and told us how much wine he had got there, and how much beer. "It's all paid for, Mrs Greenow, every

bottle of it," he said, turning round to my aunt, with a pathetic earnestness, for which I had hardly given him

credit. "Everything in this house is my own; it's all paid for. I don't call anything a man's own till it is paid

for. Now that jacket that Bellfield swells about with on the sands at Yarmouth that's not his own and

it's not like to be either." And then he winked his eye as though bidding my aunt to think of that before she

encouraged such a lover as Bellfield. He took us into every bedroom, and disclosed to us all the glories of his

upper chambers. It would have done you good to see him lifting the counterpanes, and bidding my aunt feel

the texture of the blankets! And then to see her turn round to me and say: "Kate, it's simply the best furnished

house I ever went over in my life!" "It does seem very comfortable,' said I. "Comfortable!" said he. `Yes, I

don't think there's anybody can say that Oileymead isn't comfortable." I did so think of you and Nethercoats.

The attractions are the same only in the one place you would have a god for your keeper, and in the other

a brute. For myself, if ever I'm to have a keeper at all, I shall prefer a man. But when we got to the farmyard

his eloquence reached the highest pitch. "Mrs Greenow," said he, `look at that,' and he pointed to heaps of

manure raised like the streets of a little city. "Look at that!" `There's a great deal,' said my aunt. "I believe

you," said he. `I've more muck upon this place here than any farmer in Norfolk, gentle or simple; I don't care

who the other is." Only fancy, Alice; it may all be mine; the blankets, the wine, the muck, and the rest of it.

So my aunt assured me when we got home that evening. When I remarked that the wealth had been exhibited

to her and not to me, she did not affect to deny it, but treated that as a matter of no moment. "He wants a

wife, my dear," she said, "and you may pick him up tomorrow by putting out your hand." When I remarked

that his mind seemed to be intent on low things, and specially named the muck, she only laughed at me.

"Money's never dirty," she said, `nor yet what makes money." She talks of taking lodgings in Norwich for the

winter, saying that in her widowed state she will be as well there as anywhere else, and she wants me to stay

with her up to Christmas. Indeed she first proposed the Norwich plan on the ground that it might be useful to

me with a view to Mr Cheesacre, of course; but I fancy that she is unwilling to tear herself away from

Captain Bellfield. At any rate to Norwich she will go, and I have promised not to leave her before the second

week in November. With all her absurdities I like her. Her faults are terrible faults, but she has not the fault of

hiding them by falsehood. She is never stupid, and she is very goodnatured. She would have allowed me to

equip myself from head to foot at her expense, if I would have accepted her liberality, and absolutely offered

"I live in the hope that you will come down to the old place at Christmas. I won't offend you more than I can

help. At any rate he won't be there. And if I don't see you there, where am I to see you? If I were you I would

Alice had almost lost the sensation created by the former portion of Kate's letter by the fun of the latter,

before she had quite made that sensation her own. The picture of the Cambridgeshire Eden would have

displeased her had she dwelt upon it, and the allusion to the cream and toast would have had the very

opposite effect to that which Kate had intended. Perhaps Kate had felt this, and had therefore merged it all in

her stories about Mr Cheesacre. "I will go to Cheltenham," she said to herself. "He has recommended it. I

shall never be his wife but, till we have parted altogether, I will show him that I think well of his advice."

That same afternoon she told her father that she would go to Lady Macleod's at Cheltenham before the end of

the month. She was, in truth, prompted to this by a resolution, of which she was herself hardly conscious, that

she would not at this period of her life be in any way guided by her cousin. Having made up her mind about

Mr Grey, it was right that she should let her cousin know her purpose; but she would never be driven to

confess to herself that Kate had influenced her in the matter. She would go to Cheltenham. Lady Macleod

would no doubt vex her by hourly solicitations that the match might be renewed; but, if she knew herself, she

She received one letter from Mr Grey before the time came for her departure, and she answered it, telling him

of her intention telling him also that she now felt herself bound to explain to her father her present

position. "I tell you this," she said, "in consequence of what you said to me on the matter. My father will

know it tomorrow, and on the following morning I shall start for Cheltenham. I have heard from Lady

On the following morning she did tell her father, standing by him as he sat at his breakfast. "What!" said he,

putting down his teacup and looking up into her face; "What! not marry John Grey!"

"No there has been no quarrel. By degrees I have learned to feel that I should not make him happy as his

"It's d d nonsense," said Mr Vavasor. Now such an expression as this from him, addressed to his daughter,

"But it is. I never heard such trash in my life. If he comes to me I shall tell him so. Not make him happy!

"And a man of honour, and with good means, and with all that knowledge and reading which you profess to

like. Look here, Alice; I am not going to interfere, nor shall I attempt to make you marry anyone. You are

your own mistress as far as that is concerned. But I do hope, for your sake and for mine I do hope that

"I did not like your going abroad with him, though I didn't choose to interrupt your plan by saying so. But if

there were anything of that kind going on, I should be bound to tell you that your cousin's position at present

"There is nothing between us, papa; but if there were, men speaking ill of him would not deter me." "And

men speaking well of Mr Grey will not do the other thing. I know very well that women can be obstinate."

"I suppose not. Well I can't say anything more. You are your own mistress, and your fortune is in your

own keeping. I can't make you marry John Grey. I think you very foolish, and if he comes to me I shall tell

"Very well. I'd sooner it should be you than me; that's all I can say." Then he took up his newspaper, thereby

showing that he had nothing further to say on the matter, and Alice left him alone.

The whole thing was so vexatious that even Mr Vavasor was disturbed by it. As it was not term time he had

no signing to do in Chancery Lane, and could not, therefore, bury his unhappiness in his daily labour or

rather in his labour that was by no means daily. So he sat at home till four o'clock, expressing to himself in

various phrases his wonder that "any man alive should ever rear a daughter." And when he got to his club the

waiters found him quite unmanageable about his dinner, which he ate alone, rejecting all propositions of

companionship. But later in the evening he regained his composure over a glass of whiskeytoddy and a

cigar. "She's got her own money," he said to himself, "and what does it matter? I don't suppose she'll marry

her cousin. I don't think she's fool enough for that. And after all she'll probably make it up again with John

Grey." And in this way he determined that he might let this annoyance run off him, and that he need not as a

But while he was at his club there came a visitor to Queen Anne Street, and that visitor was the dangerous

cousin of whom, according to his uncle's testimony, men at present did not speak well, Alice had not seen

him since they had parted on the day of their arrival in London nor, indeed, had heard of his whereabouts.

In the consternation of her mind at this step which she was taking a step which she had taught herself to

regard as essentially her duty before it was taken, but which seemed to herself to be false and treacherous the

moment she had taken it she had become aware that she had been wrong to travel with her cousin. She felt

sure she thought that she was sure that her doing so had in no wise affected her dealings with Mr Grey.

She was very certain she thought that she was certain that she would have rejected him just the

samehad she never gone to Switzerland. But everyone would say of her that her journey to Switzerland with

such companions had produced that result. It had been unlucky and she was sorry for it, and she now wished

to avoid all communication with her cousin till this affair should be altogether over. She was especially

unwilling to see him; but she had not felt it necessary to give any special injunctions as to his admittance; and

now, before she had time to think of it on the eve of her departure for Cheltenham he was in the room

with her, just as the dusk of the October evening was coming on. She was sitting away from the fire, almost

behind the windowcurtains, thinking of John Grey and very unhappy in her thoughts, when George Vavasor

was announced. It will of course be understood that Vavasor had at this time received his sister's letter. He

had received it, and had had time to consider the matter since the Sunday morning on which we saw him in

his own rooms in Cecil Street. "She can turn it all into capital tomorrow, if she pleases," he had said to

himself when thinking of her income. But he had also reminded himself that her grandfather would probably

enable him to settle an income out of the property upon Alice, in the event of their being married. And then

he had also felt that he could have no greater triumph than "walking atop of John Grey", as he called it. His

"You must have thought I had vanished out of the world," said George, coming up to her with his extended

Alice was confused, and hardly knew how to address him. "Somebody told me that you were shooting," she

"So I was, but my shooting is not like the shooting of your great Nimrods men who are hunters upon the

earth. Two days among the grouse and two more among the partridges are about the extent of it. Capel Court

"And is going to Norwich, as she says. Kate seems to have made a league with Aunt Greenow. I, who don't

pretend to be very disinterested in money matters, think that she is quite right. No doubt Aunt Greenow may

"I don't believe that Kate thinks much of that," said Alice. "Not so much as she ought, I dare say. Poor Kate is

not a rich woman, or, I fear, likely to become one. She doesn't seem to dream of getting married, and her own

"Girls who never dream of getting married are just those who make the best marriages at last," said Alice.

"Perhaps so, but I wish I was easier about Kate. She is the best sister a man ever had."

"And I have done nothing for her as yet. I did think, while I was in that wine husiness, that I could have done

anything I pleased for her. But my grandfather's obstinacy put me out of that; and now I'm beginning the

world again that is, comparatively. I wonder whether you think I'm wrong in trying to get into

"No; quite right. I admire you for it. It is just what I would do in your place. You are unmarried, and have a

"I am so glad to hear you speak like that," said he. He had now managed to take up that friendly, confidential,

almost affectionate tone of talking which he had so often used when abroad with her, and which he had failed

"Not heartily like that. I know that people abuse me my own people, my grandfather, and probably your

father saying that I am reckless and the rest of it. I do risk everything for my object; but I do not know that

"No; she sympathises with me; she, and she only, unless it be you." Then he paused for an answer, but she

made him none. "She is brave enough to give me her hearty sympathy. But perhaps for that very reason I

ought to be the more chary in endangering the only support that she is like to have. What is ninety pounds a

"I hope that Kate will always live with me," said Alice; "that is, as soon as she has lost her home at Vavasor

He had been very crafty and had laid a trap for her. He had laid a trap for her, and she had fallen into it. She

had determined not to be induced to talk of herself; but he had brought the thing round so cunningly that the

words were out of her mouth beforeshe remembered whither they would lead her. She did remember this as

"What at Nethercoats?" said he. Neither she nor I doubt your love, but few men would like such an

intruder as that into their household, and of all men Mr Grey, whose nature is retiring, would like it the least."

"Ah, no; that is it, you see. Kate says so often to me that when you are married she will be alone in the

"No; not by any will of your own. Poor Kate! You cannot be surprised that she should think of your marriage

with dread. How much of her life has been made up of her companionship with you and all the best of it

too! You ought not to be angry with her for regarding your withdrawal into Cambridgeshire with dismay."

Alice could not act the lie which now seemed to be incumbent on her. She could not let him talk of

Nethercoats as though it were to be her future home. She made the struggle, and she found that she could not

do it. She was unable to find the words which should tell no lie to the ear, and which should yet deceive him.

"Kate may still live with me," she said slowly. "Everything is over between me and Mr Grey."

"Yes, George; it is true. If you will allow me to say so, I would rather not talk about it not just at present."

"Alice, how can I help speaking of it? How can I not tell you that I am rejoiced that you are saved from a

"Well; if I am forbidden I shall of course obey. But I own it is hard to me. How can I not congratulate you?"

To this she answered nothing, but beat with her foot upon the floor as though she were impatient of his

words. "Yes, Alice, I understand. You are angry with me," he continued. "And yet you have no right to be

surprised that when you tell me this I should think of all that passed between us in Switzerland. Surely the

cousin who was with you then has a right to say what he thinks of this change in your life; at any rate he may

After that the two sat silent for a minute or two. She was waiting for him to go, but she could not bid him

leave the house. She was angry with herself, in that she had allowed herself to tell him of her altered plans,

and she was angry with him because he would not understand that she ought to be spared all conversation on

the subject. So she sat looking through the window at the row of gaslights as they were being lit, and he

remained in his chair with his elbow on the table and his head resting on his hand.

"Do you remember asking me whether I ever shivered," he said at last; "whether I ever thought of things that

"Well, Alice one cause for my shivering is over. I won't say more than that now. Shall you remain long at

"I suppose so. Papa and I will probably go down to Vavasor Hall before Christmas. How much before I

"I shall see you at any rate after your return from Cheltenham? Of course Kate will know, and she will tell

"Yes; Kate will know. I suppose she will stay here when she comes up from Norfolk. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Alice. I shall have fewer fits of that inward shivering that you spoke of many less, on account

As he went he took her hand and pressed it closely between his own. In those days when they were lovers

engaged lovers, a close, longcontinued pressure of her hand had been his most eloquent speech of love. He

had not been given to many kisses not even to many words of love. But he would take her hand and hold

it, even as he looked away from her, and she remembered well the touch of his palm. It was ever cool

cool, and with a surface smooth as a woman's a small hand that had a firm grip. There had been days

when she had loved to feel that her own was within it, when she trusted in it, and intended that it should be

her staff through life. Now she distrusted it; and as the thoughts of the old days came upon her, and the

remembrance of that touch was recalled, she drew her hand away rapidly. Not for that had she driven from

her as honest a man as had ever wished to mate with a woman. He, George Vavasor, had never so held her

hand since the day when they had parted, and now on this first occasion of her freedom she felt it again. What

did he think of her? Did he suppose that she could transfer her love in that way, as a flower may be taken

from one buttonhole and placed in another? He read it all, and knew that he was hurrying on too quickly. "I

can understand well," he said in a whisper, "what your present feelings are; but I do not think you will be

really angry with me because I have been unable to repress my joy at what I cannot but regard as your release

"My release!" she said, seating herself on the chair from which he had risen. "My release from a misfortune!

No but my fall from heaven! Oh, what a man he is! That he should have loved me, and that I should have

driven him away from me!" Her thoughts travelled off to the sweetness of that home at Nethercoats, to the

excellence of that master who might have been hers; and then in an agony of despair she told herself that she

had been an idiot and a fool, as well as a traitor. What had she wanted in life that she should have thus

quarrelled with as happy a lot as ever had been offered to a woman? Had she not been mad, when she sent

from her side the only man that she loved the only man that she had ever truly respected? For hours she

sat there, all alone, putting out the candles which the servant had lighted for her, and leaving untasted the tea

Poor Alice! I hope that she may be forgiven. It was her special fault, that when at Rome she longed for Tibur,

and when at Tibur she regretted Rome. Not that her cousin George is to be taken as representing the joys of

the great capital, though Mr Grey may be presumed to form no inconsiderable part of the promised delights

of the country. Now that she had sacrificed her Tibur, because it had seemed to her that the sunny quiet of its

pastures lacked the excitement necessary for the happiness of life, she was again prepared to quarrel with the

heartlessness of Rome, and already was again sighing for the tranquility of the country.

Sitting there, full of these regrets, she declared to herself that she would wait for her father's return, and then,

throwing herself upon his love and upon his mercy, would beg him to go to Mr Grey and ask for pardon for

her. "I should be very humble to him," she said; "but he is so good, that I may dare to be humble before him."

So she waited for her father. She waited till twelve, till one, till two but still he did not come. Later than

that she did not dare to wait for him. She feared to trust him on such business returning so late as that after

so many cigars; after, perhaps, some superfluous beakers of club nectar. His temper at such a moment would

not be fit for such work as hers. But if he was late in coming home, who had sent him away from his home in

unhappiness? Between two and three she went to bed, and on the following morning she left Queen Anne

Lady Macleod lived at No. 3, Paramount Crescent, in Cheltenham, where she occupied a very handsome

firstfloor drawingroom, with a bedroom behind it looking over a stableyard, and a small room which

would have been the dressingroom had the late Sir Archibald been alive, but which was at present called the

diningroom: and in it Lady Macleod did dine whenever her larger room was to be used for any purposes of

evening company. The vicinity of the stableyard was not regarded by the tenant as among the attractions of

the house; but it had the effect of lowering the rent, and Lady Macleod was a woman who regarded such

matters. Her income, though small, would have sufficed to enable her to live removed from such discomforts;

but she was one of those women who regard it as a duty to leave something behind them even though it be

left to those who do not at all want it; and Lady Macleod was a woman who wilfully neglected no duty. So

she pinched herself, and inhaled the effluvia of the stables, and squabbled with the cabmen, in order that she

might bequeath a thousand pounds or two to some Lady Midlothian, who cared, perhaps, little for her, and

Had Alice consented to live with her, she would have merged that duty of leaving money behind her in that

other duty of finding a home for her adopted niece. But Alice had gone away, and therefore the money was

due to Lady Midlothian rather than to her. The saving, however, was postponed whenever Alice would

consent to visit Cheltenham; and a bedroom was secured for her which did not look out over the stables.

Accommodation was also found for her maid much better than that provided for Lady Macleod's own maid.

She was a hospitable, good old woman, painfully struggling to do the best she could in the world. It was a

pity that she was such a bore, a pity that she was so hard to cabmen and others, a pity that she suspected all

tradesmen, servants, and people generally of a rank oflife inferior to her own, a pity that she was disposed to

condemn for ever and ever so many of her own rank because they played cards on week days, and did not go

to church on Sundays and a pity, as I think above all, that while she was so suspicious of the poor she was

Alice, having fully considered the matter, had thought it most prudent to tell Lady Macleod by letter what she

had done in regard to Mr Grey. There had been many objections to the writing of such a letter, but there

appeared to be stronger objection to that telling it face to face which would have been forced upon her had

she not written. There would in such case have arisen on Lady Macleod's countenance a sternness of rebuke

which Alice did not choose to encounter. The same sternness of rebuke would come upon the countenance on

receipt of the written information; but it would come in its most aggravated form on the immediate receipt of

the letter, and some of its bitterness would have passed away before Alice's arrival. I think that Alice was

right. It is better for both parties that any great offence should be confessed by letter.

But Alice trembled as the cab drew up at No. 3, Paramount Crescent. She met her aunt, as was usual, just

inside the drawingroom door, and she saw at once that if any bitterness had passed away from that face, the

original bitterness must indeed have been bitter. She had so timed her letter that Lady Macleod should have

no opportunity of answering it. The answer was written there in the mingled anger and sorrow of those

"Alice!" she said, as she took her niece in her arms and kissed her; "oh, Alice, what is this?"

"Yes, aunt; it is very bad, I know," and poor Alice tried to make a jest of it. "Young ladies are very wicked

when they don't know their own minds. But if they haven't known them and have been wicked, what can they

"Repent!" said Lady Macleod. Yes; I hope you will repent. Poor Mr Grey what must he think of it?"

"That's nonsense, my dear. Of course he'll think of it, and of course you'll marry him."

"Of course you will. Why, Alice, hasn't it been all settled among the families? Lady Midlothian knew all the

particulars of it just as well as I did. And is not your word pledged to him? I really don't understand what you

mean. I don't see how it is possible you should go back. Gentlemen when they do that kind of thing are put

"Then they may if they please put me out of society only that I don't know that I'm particularly in it."

"When you talk to me about society, aunt, and about Lady Midlothian, I give up to you, willingly the

more willingly, perhaps, because I don't care much for one or the other." Here Lady Macleod tried to say a

word; but she failed, and Alice went on, boldly looking up into her aunt's face, which became a shade more

bitter than ever. "But when you tell me about wickedness and my conscience, then I must be my own judge.

It is my conscience, and the fear of committing wickedness, that has made me do this."

"No; my elders in such a matter as this cannot teach me. It cannot be right that I should go to a man's house

"Because I was mistaken. I am not going to defend that. If you choose to scold me for that, you may do so,

aunt, and I will not answer you. But as to marrying him or not marrying him now as to that, I must judge

"It was a pity a great pity. I have done myself an injury that is quite irretrievable I know that, and am

prepared to bear it. I have done him, too, an injustice which I regret with my whole heart. I can only excuse

All this was said at the very moment of her arrival, and the greeting did not seem to promise much for the

happiness of the next month; but perhaps it was better for them both that the attack and the defence should

thus be made suddenly, at their first meeting. It is better to pull the string at once when you are in the

showerbath, and not to stand shivering, thinking of the inevitable shock which you can only postpone for a

few minutes. Lady Macleod in this case had pulled the string, and thus reaped the advantage of her alacrity.

"Well, my dear," said her ladyship, I suppose you will like to go upstairs and take off your bonnet. Mary shall

bring you some tea when you come down." So Alice escaped, and when she returned to the comfort of her

cup of tea in the drawingroom, the fury of thestorm had passed away. She sat talking of other things till

dinner; and though Lady Macleod did during the evening make one allusion to "poor Mr Grey," the subject

was allowed to drop. Alice was very tender as to her aunt's ailments, was more than ordinarily attentive to the

long list of Cheltenham iniquities which was displayed to her, and refrained from combating any of her aunt's

religious views. After a while they got upon the subject of Aunt Greenow, for whose name Lady Macleod

had a special aversion as indeed she had for all the Vavasor side of Alice's family; and then Alice offered

to read, and did read to her aunt many pages out of one of those terrible books of wrath, which from time to

time come forth and tell us that there is no hope for us. Lady Macleod liked to be so told; and as she now,

Lady Macleod no doubt did enjoy her niece's sojourn at Cheltenham, but I do not think it could have been

pleasant to Alice. On the second day nothing was said about Mr Grey, and Alice hoped that by her continual

readings in the book of wrath her aunt's heart might be softened towards her. But it seemed that Lady

Macleod measured the periods of respite, for on the third day and on the fifth she returned to the attack. "Did

John Grey still wish that the match should go on?" she asked, categorically. It was in vain that Alice tried to

put aside the question, and begged that the matter might not be discussed. Lady Macleod insisted on her right

to carry on the examination, and Alice was driven to acknowledge that she believed he did wish it. She could

hardly say otherwise, seeing that she had at that moment a letter from him in her pocket, in which he still

spoke of his engagement as being absolutely binding on him, and expressed a hope that this change from

London to Cheltenham would bring her round and set everything to rights. He certainly did, in a fashion,

wave his hand over her, as Kate had said of him. This letter Alice had resolved that she would not answer. He

would probably write again, and she would beg him to desist. Instead of Cheltenham bringing her round,

Cheltenham had made her firmer than ever in her resolution. I am inclined to think that the best mode of

bringing her round at this moment would have been a course of visits from her cousin George, and a series of

letters from her cousin Kate. Lady Macleod's injunctions would certainly not bring her round.

After ten days, ten terrible days, devoted to discussions on matrimony in the morning and to the book of

wrath in the evening relieved by two teaparties, in which the sins of Cheltenhamwere discussed at length

Lady Macleod herself got a letter from Mr Grey. Mr Grey's kindest compliments to Lady Macleod. He

believed that Lady Macleod was aware of the circumstances of his engagement with Miss Vavasor. Might he

call on Miss Vavasor at Lady Macleod's house in Cheltenham? and might he also hope to have the pleasure

of making Lady Macleod's acquaintance? Alice had been in the room when her aunt received this letter, but

her aunt had said nothing, and Alice had not known from whom the letter had come. When her aunt crept

away with it after breakfast she had suspected nothing, and had never imagined that Lady Macleod, in the

privacy of her own room looking out upon the stables, had addressed a letter to Nethercoats. But such a letter

had been addressed to Nethercoats, and Mr Grey had been informed that he would be received in Paramount

Mr Grey had even indicated the day on which he would come, and on the morning of that day Lady Macleod

had presided over the two teacups in a state of nervous excitement which was quite visible to Alice. More

than once Alice asked little questions, not supposing that she was specially concerned in the matter which had

caused her aunt's fidgety restlessness, but observing it so plainly that it was almost impossible not to allude to

it. "There's nothing the matter, my dear, at all," at last Lady Macleod said; but as she said so she was making

up her mind that the moment had not come in which she must apprise Alice of Mr Grey's intended visit. As

Alice had questioned her at the breakfast table she would say nothing about it then, but waited till the teacups

were withdrawn, and till the maid had given her last officious poke to the fire. Then she began. She had Mr

Grey's letter in her pocket, and as she prepared herself to speak, she pulled it out and held it on the little table

Alice knew instantly who was the expected visitor. Probably any girl under such circumstances would have

known equally well. "A visitor, aunt!" she said, and managed to hide her knowledge admirably.

"Yes, Alice, a visitor. I should have told you before, only I thought I thought I had better not. It is Mr

"Well he is desirous no doubt of seeing you more especially; but he has expressed a wish to make my

acquaintance, which I cannot, under the circumstances, think is unnatural. Of course, Alice, he must want to

talk over this affair with your friends." "I wish I could have spared them," said Alice I wish I could."

"I have brought his letter here, and you can see it if you please. It is very nicely written, and as far as I am

concerned I should not think of refusing to see him. And now comes the question. What are we to do with

him? Am I to ask him to dinner? I take it for granted that he will not expect me to offer him a bed, as he

"But ought I to ask him to dinner? I should be most happy to entertain him, though you know how very

scanty my means of doing so are but I really do not know how it might be between you and him, I

"I will not answer for my manners, aunt; but you may be sure of this that I should be affectionate in my

heart. I shall always regard him as a dearly loved friend; though for many years, no doubt, I shall be unable to

"That may be all very well, Alice, but it will not be what he will want. I think upon the whole that I had better

"It is a period of the day in which any special constraint among people is more disagreeable than at any other

time, and then at dinner the servants must see it. I think there might be some awkwardness if he were to dine

"I hope he won't think that I am inhospitable. I should be so happy to do the best I could for him, for I regard

him, Alice, quite as though he were to be your husband. And when anybody at all connected with me has

come to Cheltenham I always have asked them to dine, and then I have Gubbins's man to come and wait at

"That should only make me the more careful. But I think it would perhaps be more comfortable if he were to

"I suppose he will be here in the afternoon, before dinner, and we had better wait at home for him. I dare say

he'll want to seeyou alone, and therefore I'll retire to my own room,' looking over the stables! Dear old

lady. "But if you wish it, I will receive him first and then Martha,' Martha was Alice's maid "can

This discussion as to the propriety or impropriety of giving her lover a dinner had not been pleasant to Alice,

but, nevertheless, when it was over she felt grateful to Lady Macleod. There was an attempt in the

arrangement to make Mr Grey's visit as little painful as possible; and though such a discussion at such a time

might as well have been avoided, the decision to which her ladyship had at last come with reference both to

Lady Macleod had been quite correct in all her anticipations. At three o'clock Mr Grey was announced, and

Lady Macleod, alone, received him in her drawingroom. She had intended to give him a great deal of good

advice, to bid him still keep up his heart and as it were hold up his head, to confess to him how very badly

Alice was behaving, and to express her entire concurrence with that theory of bodily ailment as the cause and

origin of her conduct. But she found that Mr Grey was a man to whom she could not give much advice. It

was he who did the speaking at this conference, and not she. She was overawed by him after the first three

minutes. Indeed her first glance at him had awed her. He was so handsome and then, in his beauty, he had

so quiet and almost saddened an air! Strange to say that after she had seen him, Lady Macleod entertained for

him an infinitely higher admiration than before, and yet she was less surprised than she had been at Alice's

refusal of him. The conference was very short; and Mr Grey had not been a quarter of an hour in the house

Alice was ready and came down instantly. She found Mr Grey standing in the middle of the room waiting to

receive her, and the look of majesty which had cowed Lady Macleod had gone from his countenance. He

could not have received her with a kinder smile, had she come to him with a promise that she would at this

meeting name the day for their marriage. "At any rate it does not make him unhappy," she said to herself.

"You are not angry," he said, that I should have followed you all the way here, to see you."

"No, certainly; not angry, Mr Grey. All anger that there may be between us must be on your side. I feel that

thoroughly." "Then there shall be none on either side. Whatever may be done, I will not be angry with you.

"It is so terrible to think that I should have brought upon you all this trouble."

"You will bring upon me much worse trouble than that, unless . But I have not now come down here to

tell you that. I believe that according to rule in such matters I should not have come to you at all, but I don't

"Have you not? I am glad at any rate to hear you deny it. But you will understand what I mean. When a

gentleman gets his dismissal from a lady he should accept it that is, his dismissal under such

circumstances as I have received mine. But I cannot lay down my love in that way; nor, maintaining my love,

can I give up the battle. It seems to me that I have a right at any rate to know something of your comings and

"My intention is to keep my own." This she said in the lowest possible tone almost in a whisper with

"I cannot hinder you. Whatever you may do, I myself have sinned so against you that I can have no right to

"There shall be no question between us of injury from one to the other. In any conversation that we may have,

"Listen to me. Should there be any on either side, there shall be no idea of any wrong done."

"No, Alice; I will not have it so. When I asked you to accept my hand begging the greatest boon which it

could ever come to my lot to ask from a fellow mortal I knew well how great was your goodness to me

when you told me that it should be mine. Now that you refuse it, I know also that you are good, thinking that

in doingso you are acting for my welfare thinking more of my welfare than of your own."

"Believing that, how can I talk of wrong? That you are wrong in your thinking on this subject that your

mind has become twisted by false impressions that I believe. But I cannot therefore love you less nor,

so believing, can I consider myself to be injured. Nor am I even so little selfish as you are. I think if you were

my wife that I could make you happy; but I feel sure that my happiness depends on your being my wife."

She looked up into his face, but it was still serene in all its manly beauty. Her cousin George, if he were

moved to strong feeling, showed it at once in his eyes in his mouth, in the whole visage of his

countenance. He glared in his anger, and was impassioned in his love. But Mr Grey when speaking of the

happiness of his entire life, when confessing that it was now at stake with a decision against him that would

be ruinous to it, spoke without a quiver in his voice, and had no more sign of passion in his face than if he

"Well; we can but differ, Alice. In that we do differ. And now I will say one word to explain why I have

come here. If I were to write to you against your will, it would seem that I were persecuting you. I cannot

bring myself to do that, even though I had the right. But if I were to let you go from me, taking what you

have said to me and doing nothing, it would seem that I had accepted your decision as final. I do not do so. I

will not do so. I come simply to tell you that I am still your suitor. If you will let me, I will see you again

early in January as soon as you have returned to town. You will hardly refuse to see me."

"Then it shall be so," he said, and I will not trouble you with letters, nor will I trouble you longer now with

words. Tell your aunt that I have said what I came to say, and that I give her my kindest thanks." Then he

took her hand and pressed it not as George Vavasor had pressed it, and was gone. When Lady Macleod

returned, she found that the question of the evening's tea arrangements had settled itself.

It has been said that George Vavasor had a little establishment at Roebury, down in Oxfordshire, and thither

he betook himself about the middle of November. He had been long known in this county, and whether or no

men spoke well of him as a man of business in London, men spoke well of him down there, as one who knew

how to ride to hounds. Not that Vavasor was popular among fellowsportsmen. It was quite otherwise. He

was not a man that made himself really popular in any social meetings of men. He did not himself care for the

loose little talkings, half flat and half sharp, of men when they meet together in idleness. He was not open

enough in his nature for such popularity. Some men were afraid of him, and some suspected him. There were

others who made up to him, seeking his intimacy, but these he usually snubbed, and always kept at a

distance. Though he had indulged in all the ordinary pleasures of young men, he had never been a jovial man.

In his conversations with men he always seemed to think that he should use his time towards serving some

purpose of business. With women he was quite the reverse. With women he could be happy. With women he

could really associate. A woman he could really love but I doubt whether for all that he could treat a

But he was known in the Oxfordshire country as a man who knew what he was about, and such men are

always welcome. It is the man who does not know how to ride that is made uncomfortable in the hunting

field by cold looks or expressed censure. And yet it is very rarely that such men do any real harm. Such a one

may now and then get among the hounds or override the hunt, but it is not often so. Many such complaints

are made; but in truth the too forward man, who presses the dogs, is generally one who can ride, but is too

eager or too selfish to keep in his proper place. The bad rider, like the bad whist player, pays highly for what

he does not enjoy, and should be thanked. But at both games he gets cruellysnubbed. At both games George

There were men who lived together at Roebury in a kind of club four or five of them, who came thither

from London, running backwards and forwards as hunting arrangements enabled them to do so a brewer

or two and a banker, with a wouldbe fast attorney, a sporting literary gentleman, and a young unmarried

Member of Parliament who had no particular home of his own in the country. These men formed the Roebury

Club, and a jolly life they had of it. They had their own wine closet at the King's Head or Roebury Inn as

the house had come to be popularly called and supplied their own game. The landlord found everything

else; and as they were not very particular about their bills, they were allowed to do pretty much as they liked

in the house. They were rather imperious, very late in their hours, sometimes, though not often, noisy, and

once there had been a hasty quarrel which had made the landlord in his anger say that the club should be

turned out of his house. But they paid well, chaffed the servants much oftener than they bullied them, and on

To this club Vavasor did not belong, alleging that he could not afford to live at their pace, and alleging, also,

that his stays at Roebury were not long enough to make him a desirable member. The invitation to him was

not repeated and he lodged elsewhere in the little town. But he occasionally in of an evening, and would

He had come down to Roebury by mail train, ready for hunting the next morning, and walked into the

clubroom just at midnight. There he found Maxwell the banker, Grindley the wouldbe fast attorney, and

Calder Jones the Member of Parliament, playing dummy. Neither of the brewers were there, nor was the

"Here's Vavasor," said Maxwell, and now we won't play this blackguard game any longer. Somebody told

"I don't know what it was; that something had happened to you since last season; that you were married, or

dead, or gone abroad. By George, I've lost the trick after all! I hate dummy like the devil. I never hold a card

in dummy's hand. Yes, I know; that's seven points on each side. Vavasor, come and cut. Upon my word if any

one had asked me, I should have said you were dead." "But you see, nobody ever does think of asking you

"What you probably mean," said Grindley, is that Vavasor was not returned for Chelsea last February; but

"I don't see what on earth a man gains by going into the house," said Calder Jones. "I couldn't help myself as

it happened, but, upon my word it's a deuce of a bore. A fellow thinks he can do as he likes about going

"It's you and me, Grindems," said Maxwell. "D parliament, and now let's have a rubber."

They played till three and Mr Calder Jones lost a good deal of money a good deal of money in a little way,

for they never played above tenshilling points, and no bet was made for more than a pound or two. But

Vavasor was the winner, and when he left the room he became the subject of some illnatured remarks.

"I wonder he likes coming in here," said Grindley, who had himself been the man to invite him to belong to

the club, and who had at one time indulged the ambition of an intimacy with George Vavasor.

"I can't understand it," said Calder Jones, who was a little bitter about his money. "Last year he seemed to

"He's a bad sort of fellow," said Grindley; he's so uncommonly dark. I don't know where on earth he gets his

money from. He was heir to some small property in the north, but he lost every shilling of that when he was

"You're wrong there, Grindems," said Maxwell making use of a playful nickname which he had invented

"He made a pot of money at the wine business, and had he stuck to it he would have been a rich man."

"Wrong again, Grindems, my boy. If old Vavasor were to die tomorrow, Vavasor Hall would go just as he

"Perhaps not, Grindems; but he can't have lost Vavasor Hall, because he has never as yet had an interest in it.

He's the natural heir, and will probably get it some day." "All the same," said Calder Jones, isn't it rather odd

"We've asked him often enough," said Maxwell; not because we like him, but because we want him so often

to make up a rubber. I don't like George Vavasor, and I don't know who does; but I like him better than

dummy. And I'd sooner play whist with men I don't like, Grindems, than I'd not play at all." A bystander

might have thought from the tone of Mr Maxwell's voice that he was alluding to Mr Grindley himself, but Mr

"That's true, of course," said he. We can't pick men just as we please. But I certainly didn't think that he'd

The club breakfasted the next morning at nine o'clock, in order that they might start at half past for the meet

at Edgehill. Edgehill is twelve miles from Roebury, and the hacks would do it in an hour and a half or

"Does anybody know anything about that brown horse of Vavasor's?" said Maxwell. "I saw him coming into

Note: Ah, my friend [Thackeray], from whom I have borrowed this scion of the nobility! Had he been left

with us he would have forgiven me my little theft, and now that he has gone I will not change the name.

"He had a brown horse last season," said Grindley "a little thing that went very fast, but wasn't quite

"For a hundred and fifty," said Calder Jones, and she wasn't worth the odd fifty."

"He won seventy with her at Leamington," said Maxwell, "and I doubt whether he'd take his money now."

"I don't know," said Maxwell. I hope not. He's the best fellow in the world, but he can't ride, and he don't care

for hunting, and he makes more row than any fellow I ever met. I wish some fellow could tell me something

"I'd never buy a horse of Vavasor's if I were you," said Grindley. "He never has anything that's all right all

Ah, my friend [Thackeray], from whom I have borrowed this scion of the nobility! Had he been left with us

he would have forgiven me my little theft, and now that he has gone I will not change the name.

"And who has?" said Maxwell, as he took into his plate a second mutton chop, which had just been brought

up hot into the room especially for him. "That's the mistake men make about horses, and that's why there's so

much cheating. I never ask for a warranty with a horse, and don't very often have a horse examined. Yet I do

as well as others. You can't have perfect horses any more than you can perfect men, or perfect women. You

put up with red hair, or bad teeth, or big feet, or sometimes with the devil of a voice. But a man when he

wants a horse won't put up with anything! Therefore those who've got horses to sell must lie. When I go into

the market with three hundred pounds I expect a perfect animal. As I never do that now I never expect a

perfect animal. I like 'em to see; I like 'em to have four legs; and I like 'em to have a little wind. I don't much

"By jove, you're about right," said Calder Jones. The reader will therefore readily see that Mr Maxwell the

Vavasor had sent two horses on in charge of Bat Smithers, and followed on a pony about fourteen hands high,

which he had ridden as a cover hack for the last four years. He did not start till near ten, but he was able to

catch Bat with his two horses about a mile and a half on that side of Edgehill. "Have you managed to come

"They be the most beastly roads in all England," said Bat, who always found fault with any county in which

he happened to be located. "But I'll warrant I'm cleaner than most on 'em. What for any county should make

"The roads about here are bad, certainly very bad. But I suppose they would have been better had

Providence sent better materials. And what do you think of the brown horse, Bat?"

"Perhaps he may, sir. There's no knowing what a 'orse can carry till he's tried."

George asked his groom no more questions, but felt sure that he had better sell his brown horse if he could.

Now I here protest thatthere was nothing specially amiss with the brown horse. Towards the end of the

preceding season he had overreached himself and had been lame, and had been sold by some owner with

more money than brains who had not cared to wait for a cure. Then there had gone with him a bad character,

and a vague suspicion had attached itself to him, as there does to hundreds of horses which are very good

animals in their way. He had come thus to Tattersall's and Vavasor had bought him cheap, thinking that he

might make money of him, from his form and action. He had found nothing amiss with him nor, indeed,

had Bat Smithers. But his character went with him, and therefore Bat Smithers thought it well to be knowing.

George Vavasor knew as much of horses as most men can as, perhaps, any man can who is not a dealer,

or a veterinary surgeon; but he, like all men, doubted his own knowledge, though on that subject he would

never admit that he doubted it. Therefore he took Bat's word and felt sure that the horse was wrong.

"At any rate I'll ride the brown horse," said George. Then, as soon as that was settled between them, the

There was now a rush of horses on the road together, and they were within a quarter of a mile of Edgehill

church, close to which was the meet. Bat with his two hunters fell a little behind, and the others trotted on

together. The other grooms with their animals were on in advance, and were by this time employed in

combing out forelocks, and rubbing stirrup leathers and horses' legs free from the dirt of the roads but Bat

Smithers was like his master, and did not congregate much with other men, and Vavasor was sure to give

"No, indeed; I never was what I call well mounted yet. I generally have one horse and three or four cripples.

"She's one of the cripples not but what she's as sound as a bell, and as good a hunter as ever I wish to ride;

"Five if the fields are small enough and your ears are sharp enough," said Vavasor. "All the same I wouldn't

"Your horses, Grindley, are always up to all the work they have to do," said George; "and I don't know what

"Yes; or against a brick wall either, if your horse didn't know any better," said George.

"Had you again, Grindems," said Maxwell. Whereupon Mr Grindley trotted on, round the corner by the

church, and into the field in which the hounds were assembled. The fire had become too hot for him, and he

thought it best to escape. Had it been Vavasor alone he would have turned upon him and snarled, but he could

not afford to exhibit any ill temper to the king of the club. Mr Grindley was not popular, and were Maxwell to

turn openly against him his sporting life down at Roebury would decidedly be a failure.

The lives of such men as Mr Grindley men who are tolerated in the daily society of others who are

accounted their superiors do not seem to have many attractions. And yet how many such men does one

see in almost every set? Why Mr Grindley should have been inferior to Mr Maxwell the banker, or to Stone,

or to Prettyman who were brewers, or even to Mr Pollock the heavyweight literary gentleman, I can hardly

say. An attorney by his trade is at any rate as good as a brewer, and there are many attorneys who hold their

heads high anywhere. Grindley was a rich man or at any rate rich enough for the life he led. I don't know

much about his birth, but I believe it was as good as Maxwell's. He was not ignorant, or a fool whereas I

rather think Maxwell was a fool. Grindley had made his own way in the world, but Maxwell would certainly

not have made himself a banker if his father had not been a banker before him; nor could the bank have gone

on and prospered had there not been partners there who were better men of business than our friend. Grindley

knew that he had a better intellect than Maxwell; and yet he allowed Maxwell to snub him, and he toadied

Maxwell in return. It was not on the score of riding that Maxwell claimed and held his superiority, for

Grindley did not want pluck, and everyone knew that Maxwell had lived freely and that his nerves were not

what they had been. I think it had come from the outward look of the men, from the form of each, from the

gait and visage which in one was good and in the other insignificant. The nature of such dominion of man

over man is very singular, but this is certain, that when once obtained in manhood it may be easily held.

Among boys at school the same thing is even more conspicuous, because boys have less of conscience than

men, are more addicted to tyranny, and when weak are less prone to feel the misery and disgrace of

succumbing. Who has been through a large school and does not remember the Maxwells and Grindleys

the tyrants and the slaves those who domineered and those who submitted? Nor was it, even then,

Nor was it intellect, or thoughtfulness, nor by any means such qualities as make men and boys loveable. It is

said by many who have had to deal with boys, that certain among them claim and obtain ascendancy by the

spirit within them; but I doubt whether the ascendancy is not rather thrust on them than claimed by them.

Here again I think the outward gait of the boy goes far towards obtaining for him the submission of his

But the tyrant boy does not become the tyrant man, or the slave boy the slave man, because the outward

visage, that has been noble or mean in the one, changes and becomes so often mean or noble in the other.

"By George, there's Pollock!" said Maxwell, as he rode into the field by the church. "I'll bet half a crown that

he's come down from London this morning, that he was up all night last night, and that he tells us so three

times before the hounds go out of the paddock." Mr Pollock was the heavyweight sporting literary gentleman.

Of all the sights in the world there is, I think, none more beautiful than that of a pack of foxhounds seated,

on a winter morning round the huntsman if the place of meeting has been chosen with anything of artistic

skill. It should be in a grassy field and the field should be small. It should not be absolutely away from all

buildings, and the hedgerows should not have been clipped and pared, and made straight with reference to

modern agricultural economy. There should be trees near, and the ground should be a little uneven, so as to

mark some certain small space as the exact spot where the dogs and servants of the hunt should congregate.

There are wellknown grand meets in England, in the parks of noblemen, before their houses, or even on

what are called their lawns; but these magnificent affairs have but little of the beauty of which I speak. Such

assemblies are too grand and too ornate, and, moreover, much too far removed from true sporting proprieties.

At them, equipages are shining, and ladies' dresses are gorgeous, and crowds of tradesmen from the

neighbouring town have come there to look at the grand folk. To my eye there is nothing beautiful in that.

The meet I speak of is arranged with a view to sport, but the accident of the locality may make it the prettiest

Such, in a special degree, was the case at Edgehill. At Edgehill the whole village consisted of three or four

cottages; but there was a small old church, with an old grey tower, and a narrow, green, almost dark,

churchyard, surrounded by elm trees. The road from Roebury to the meet passed by the church stile, and

turning just beyond it came upon the gate which led into the little field in which the hounds felt themselves as

much at home as in their kennels. There might be six or seven acres in the field, which was long and narrow,

so that the huntsman had space to walk leisurely up and down with the pack clustering round him, when he

considered that longer sitting might chill them. The church tower was close athand, visible through the trees,

and the field itself was green and soft, though never splashing with mud or heavy with holes.

Edgehill was a favourite meet in that country, partly because foxes were very abundant in the great wood

adjacent, partly because the whole country around is grassland, and partly, no doubt, from the sporting

propensities of the neighbouring population. As regards my own taste, I do not know that I do like beginning

a day with a great wood and if not beginning it, certainly not ending it. It is hard to come upon the cream

of hunting, as it is upon the cream of any other delight. Who can always drink Lafitte of the finest, can

always talk to a woman who is both beautiful and witty, or can always find the right spirit in the poetry he

reads? A man has usually to work through much mud before he gets his nugget. It is so certainly in hunting,

and a big wood too frequently afflicts the sportsman, as the mud does the miner. The small gorse cover is the

happy, muchenvied bit of ground in which the gold is sure to show itself readily. But without the woods the

gorse would not hold the foxes, and without the mud the gold would not have found its restingplace.

But, as I have said, Edgehill was a popular meet, and, as regarded the meet itself, was eminently picturesque.

On the present occasion the little field was full of horsemen, moving about slowly, chatting together,

smoking cigars, getting off from their hacks and mounting their hunters, giving orders to their servants, and

preparing for the day. There were old country gentlemen there, greeting each other from far sides of the

county; sporting farmers who love to find themselves alongside their landlords, and to feel that the pleasures

of the country are common to both; men down from town, like our friends of the Roebury club, who made

hunting their chosen pleasure, and who formed, in number, perhaps the largest portion of the field; officers

from garrisons round about; a cloud of servants, and a few nondescript stragglers who had picked up horses,

hither and thither, round the country. Outside the gate on the road were drawn up a variety of vehicles, open

carriages, dogcarts, gigs, and waggonettes, in some few of which were seated ladies who had come over to

see the meet. But Edgehill was, essentially, not a ladies' meet. The distances to it were long, and the rides in

Cranby Wood the big wood were not adapted for wheels. There were one or two ladies on horseback,

as is always the case; but Edgehill was not a place popular, even with hunting ladies. One carriage, that of the

old master of the hounds, had entered the sacred precinctsof the field, and from this the old baronet was just

"I hope I see you well, Sir William," said Maxwell, greeting the master. Calder Jones also made his little

"Humph well, yes, I'm pretty well, thank'ee. Just move on, will you? My mare can't stir here." Then

someone else spoke to him, and he only grunted in answer. Having slowly been assisted up on to his horse

for he was over seventy years of age he trotted off to the hounds, while all the farmers round him touched

their hats to him. But his mind was laden with affairs of import, and he noticed no one. In a whispered voice

he gave his instructions to his huntsman, who said, "Yes, Sir William," No, Sir William,"

"No doubt, Sir William." One longeared, longlegged fellow, in a hunting cap and scarlet coat, hung

listening by, anxious to catch something of the orders for the morning. "Who the devil's that fellow, that's all

breeches and boots?" said Sir William aloud to someone near him, as the huntsman moved off with the

hounds. Sir William knew the man well enough, but was minded to punish him for his discourtesy. "Where

shall we find first, Sir William?" said Calder Jones, in a voice that was really very humble. "How the

mischief am I to know where the foxes are?" said Sir William, with an oath; and Calder Jones retired

And yet Sir William was the most popular man in the county, and no more courteous gentleman ever sat at

the bottom of his own table. A mild man he was, too, when out of his saddle, and one by no means disposed

to assume special supremacy. But a master of hounds, if he have long held the country and Sir William

had held his for more than thirty years obtains a power which that of no other potentate can equal. He may

say and do what he pleases, and his tyranny is always respected. No conspiracy against him has a chance of

success; no sedition will meet with sympathy that is, if he be successful in showing sport. If a man be

sworn at, abused, and put down without cause, let him bear it and think that he has been a victim for the

public good. And let him never be angry with the master. That rough tongue is the necessity of the master's

position. They used to say that no captain could manage a ship without swearing at his men. But what are the

captain's troubles in comparison with those of the master of hounds? The captain's men are under discipline,

and can be locked up, flogged, or have their grogstopped. The master of hounds cannot stop the grog of any

offender, and he can only stop the tongue, or horse, of such an one by very sharp words.

"By George," said the literary gentleman, just down from London by the 8.50 from Euston Square, and got

over here from Winslow in a trap, with two fellows I never saw in my life before. We came tandem in a fly,

"We did, indeed. I wonder whether they'll pay me their share of the fly. I had to leave Onslow Crescent at a

"Of course I did; and why shouldn't I? Do you suppose no one can work by candlelight except a lawyer? I

suppose you fellows were playing whist, and drinking hard. I'm uncommon glad I wasn't with you, for I shall

"I'll take that bet with Jones," said Grindley, and Vavasor shall be the judge."

"Gentlemen, the hounds can't get out, if you will stop up the gate," said Sir William. Then the pack passed

Vavasor, as he rode on to the wood, was alone, or speaking, from time to time, a few words to his servant.

"I bean't to be galloping up and down them rides, I suppose," said Bat, almost contemptuously.

"I shan't gallop up and down the rides, myself; but do you mark me, to know where I am, so that I can change

"If so, I won't ride the brown horse at all. But do you take care to let me have him if there's a chance. Do you

"Oh, yes, I understand, sir. There ain't no difficulty in my understanding only I don't think, sir, you'll ever

get a fox out of that wood today. Why, it stands to reason. The wind's from the northeast."

Cranby Wood is very large there being, in truth, two or three woods together. It was nearly twelve before

they found; and then for an hour there was great excitement among the men, who rode up and down the rides

as the hounds drove the fox from one end to another of the enclosure. Once or twice the poor animal did try

to go away, and then there was great hallooing, galloping, and jumping over unnecessary fences; but he was

headed back again, or changed his mind, not liking the northeast wind of which Bat Smithers had predicted

such bad things. After one, the crowd of men became rather more indifferent, and clustered together in broad

spots, eating their lunch, smoking cigars, and chaffing each other. It was singular to observe the amazing

quantity of ham sandwiches and of sherry that had been carried into Cranby Wood on that day. Grooms

appeared to have been laden with cases, and men were as well armed with flasks at their saddlebows as they

used to be with pistols. Maxwell and Pollock formed the centre of one of these crowds, and chaffed each

other with the utmost industry, till, tired of having inflicted no wounds, they turned upon Grindley and drove

him out of the circle. "You'll make that man cut his throat, if you go on at that," said Pollock. "Shall I? said

Maxwell. "Then I'll certainly stick to him for the sake of humanity in general." During all this time Vavasor

sat apart, quite alone, and Bat Smithers grimly kept his place, about three hundred yards from him.

"That old fellow has got to be so stupid, he doesn't know what he's about," said Grindley, meaning Sir

"How can he make the fox break?" said Vavasor; and as his voice was by no means encouraging Grindley

Lunch and cigars lasted till two, during which hour the hounds, the huntsmen, the whips, and old Sir William

were hard at work, as also were some few others who persistently followed every chance of the game. From

that till three there were two or three flashes in the pan, and false reports as to foxes which had gone away,

which first set men galloping, and then made them very angry. After three, men began to say naughty things,

to abuse Cranby Wood, to wish violently that they had remained at home or gone elsewhere, and to speak

irreverently of their ancient master. "It's the cussedest place in all creation," said Maxwell. "I often said I'd

"And yet you'll be here the next meet," said Grindley, who had sneaked back to his old companions in

weariness of spirit. "Grindems, you know a sight too much," said Maxwell; "you do indeed. An ordinary

Grindley was again going to catch it, but was this time saved by the appearance of the huntsman, who came

"He's out of the wood somewheres," said Tom and off they all went. Vavasor changed his horse, getting

on to the brown one, and giving up his chestnut mare to Bat Smithers, who suggested that he might as well go

home to Roebury now. Vavasor gave him no answer, but, trotting on to the point where the rides met,

stopped a moment and listened carefully. Then he took a path diverging away from that by which the

huntsmen and the crowd of horsemen had gone, and made the best of his way through the wood. At the end

of this he came upon Sir William, who, with no one near him but his servant, was standing in the pathway of

"What's the good of that if we can't get the hounds out? Yes, he's away. He passed out where I'm standing."

And then he began to blow his horn lustily, and by degrees other men and a few hounds came down the ride.

Then Tom, with his horse almost blown, made his appearance outside the wood, and soon there came a rush

of men, nearly on the top of one another, pushing on, not knowing whither, but keenly alive to the fact that

Tom touched his hat, and looked at his master, inquiringly. "He's gone for Claydon's," said the master. Try

them up that hedgerow." Tom did try them up the hedgerow, and in half a minute the hounds came upon the

scent. Then you might see men settling their hats on their heads, and feeling their feet in their stirrups. The

moment for which they had so long waited had come, and yet there were many who would now have

preferred that the fox should be headed back into cover. Some had but little confidence in their halfblown

horses; with many the waiting, though so abused and anathematized, was in truth more to their taste than the

run itself with others the excitement had gone by, and a gallop over a field or two was necessary before it

would be restored. With most men at such a moment there is a little nervousness, some fear of making a bad

start, a dread lest others should have more of the success of the hunt than falls to them. But there was a great

rush and a mighty bustle as the hounds made out their game, and Sir William felt himself called upon to use

the rough side of his tongue to more than one delinquent. And then certain sly old stagers might be seen

turning off to the left, instead of following the course of the game as indicated by the hounds. They were men

who had felt the air as they came out, and knew that the fox must soon run down wind, whatever he might do

for the first half mile or so, men who knew also which was the shortest way to Claydon's by the road. Ah, the

satisfaction that there is when these men are thrown out, and their dead knowledge proved to be of no avail!

If a fox will only run straight, heading from the cover on his real line, these very sagacious gentlemen seldom

In the present instance the beast seemed determined to go straight enough, for the hounds ran the scent along

three or four hedgerows in a line. He had managed to get for himself full ten minutes' start, and had been able

to leave the cover and all his enemies well behind him before he bethought himself as to his best way to his

purposed destination. And here, from field to field, there were little hunting gates at which men crowded

lustily, poking and shoving each other's horses, and hating each other with a bitterness of hatred which is, I

think, known nowhere else. No hunting man ever wants to jump if he can help it, and the hedges near the gate

were not alluring. A few there were who made lines for themselves, taking the next field to the right, or

scrambling through the corners of the fences while the rush was going on at the gates; and among these was

George Vavasor. He never rode in a crowd, always keeping himself somewhat away from men as well as

hounds. He would often be thrown out, and then men would hear no more of him for that day. On such

occasions he did not show himself, as other men do, twenty minutes after the fox had been killed or run to

ground but betook himself home by himself, going through the byeways and lanes, thus leaving no report

As long as the line of gates lasted, the crowd continued as thick as ever, and the best man was he whose horse

could shove the hardest. After passing some four or five fields in this way they came out upon a road, and,

the scent holding strong, the dogs crossed it without any demurring. Then came doubt into the minds of men,

many of whom, before they would venture away from their position on the lane, narrowly watched the

leading hounds to see whether there was indication of a turn to the one side or the other.Sir William, whose

seventy odd years excused him, turned sharp to the left, knowing that he could make Claydon's that way; and

very many were the submissive horsemen who followed him; a few took the road to the right, having in their

minds some little game of their own. The hardest riders there had already crossed from the road into the

country, and were going well to the hounds, ignorant, some of them, of the brook before them, and others

unheeding. Foremost among these was Burgo Fitzgerald Burgo Fitzgerald, whom no man had ever known

to crane at a fence, or to hug a road, or to spare his own neck or his horse's. And yet poor Burgo seldom

finished well coming to repeated grief in this matter of his hunting, as he did so constantly in other

But almost neck and neck with Burgo was Pollock, the sporting literary gentleman. Pollock had but two

horses to his stud, and was never known to give much money for them and he weighed without his boots,

fifteen stone! No one ever knew how Pollock did it more especially as all the world declared that he was

as ignorant of hunting as any tailor. He could ride, or when he couldn't ride he could tumble men said that

of him and he would ride as long as the beast under him could go. But few knew the sad misfortunes

which poor Pollock sometimes encountered the muddy ditches in which he was left; the despair with

which he would stand by his unfortunate horse when the poor brute could no longer move across some

deepploughed field; the miles that he would walk at night beside a tired animal, as he made his way slowly

Then came Tom the huntsman, with Calder Jones close to him, and Grindley intent on winning his sovereign.

Vavasor had also crossed the road somewhat to the left, carrying with him one or two who knew that he was

a safe man to follow. Maxwell had been ignominiously turned by the hedge, which, together with its ditch,

formed a fence such as all men do not love at the beginning of a run. He had turned from it, acknowledging

the cause. "By George!" said he, that's too big for me yet awhile; and there's no end of a river at the bottom,"

All those whom we have named managed to get over the brook, Pollock's horse barely contriving to get up

his hind legs from the broken edge of the bank. Some nags refused it, and their riders thus lost all their chance

of sport for that day. Such is the lot of men who hunt. A man pays five or six pounds for his day's

amusement, and it is ten to one that the occurrences of the day disgust rather than gratifyhim! One or two got

in, and scrambled out on the other side, but Tufto Pearlings, the Manchester man from Friday Street, stuck in

the mud at the bottom, and could not get his mare out till seven men had come with ropes to help him.

"Where the devil is my fellow?" Pearlings asked of the countrymen; but the countrymen could not tell him

that "his fellow" with his second horse was riding the hunt with great satisfaction to himself.

George Vavasor found that his horse went with him uncommonly well, taking his fences almost in the stride

of his gallop, and giving unmistakeable signs of good condition. "I wonder what it is that's amiss with him,"

said George to himself, resolving, however, that he would sell him that day if he got an opportunity. Straight

went the line of the fox, up from the brook, and Tom began to say that his master had been wrong about

"Where are we now?" said Burgo, as four or five of them dashed through the open gate of a farmyard.

"Elmham Wood be d " said a stout farmer, who had come as far as that with them. "You won't see

"I suppose you know best," said Tom; and then they were through the yard, across another road, and down a

steep ravine by the side of a little copse. "He's been through them firs, any way," said Tom. "To him,

Gaylass! Then up they went the other side of the ravine, and saw the body of the hounds almost a field before

"Wasn't the pace awful, coming up to that farmhouse?" said Calder Jones, looking round to see if Grindley

was shaken off. But Grindley, with some six or seven others, was still there. And there, also, always in the

next field to the left, was George Vavasor. He had spoken no word to any one since the hunt commenced, nor

had he wished to speak to any one. He desired to sell his horse and he desired also to succeed in the run

for other reasons than that, though I think he would have found it difficult to define them.

Now they had open grass land for about a mile, but with very heavy fences so that the hounds gained upon

them a little, and Pollock's weight began to tell. The huntsman and Burgo were leading with some fortunate

country gentleman whose good stars had brought him in upon them at the farmyard gate. It is the injustice of

such accidents as this that breaks the heart of a man who has honestlygone through all the heat and work of

the struggle! And the hounds had veered a little round to the left, making, after all, for Claydon's. "Darned if

the Squire warn't right," said Tom. Sir William, though a baronet, was familiarly called the Squire throughout

"Them's Claydon beeches we sees over there," said Tom. "'Tain't often the Squire's wrong."

Here they came to a little double rail and a little quickset hedge. A double rail is a nasty fence always if it has

been made any way strong, and one which a man with a wife and a family is justified in avoiding. They

mostly can be avoided, having gates; and this could have been avoided. But Burgo never avoided anything,

and went over it beautifully. The difficulty is to be discreet when the man before one has been indiscreet.

Tom went for the gate, as did Pollock, who knew that he could have no chance at the double rails. But Calder

Jones came to infinite grief, striking the top bar of the second rail, and going head foremost out of his saddle,

as though thrown by a catapult. There we must leave him. Grindley, rejoicing greatly at this discomfiture,

made for the gate; but the country gentleman with the fresh horse accomplished the rails, and was soon

Burgo did not see the thing in the same light, but he said no more. Grindley and Tom were soon after them,

Tom doing his utmost to shake off the attorney. Pollock was coming on also; but the pace had been too much

for him, and though the ground rode light his poor beast laboured and grunted sorely. The hounds were still

veering somewhat to the left, and Burgo, jumping over a small fence into the same field with them, saw that

there was a horseman ahead of him. This was George Vavasor, who was going well, without any symptom of

And now they were at Claydon's, having run over some seven miles of ground in about thirtyfive minutes.

To those who do not know what hunting is, this pace does not seem very extraordinary; but it had been quite

quick enough, as was testified by the horses which had gone the distance. Our party entered Claydon's Park at

back, through a gate in the park palings that was open on hunting days; but a much more numerous lot was

there almost as soon as them, who had come in by the main entrance. This lot was headed by Sir William,

and our friend Maxwell was with him. "A jolly thing so far," said Burgo to Maxwell; about the best we've

"I didn't see a yard of it," said Maxwell. I hadn't nerve to get off the first road, and I haven't been off it ever

since." Maxwell was a man who never lied about his hunting, or had the slightest shame in riding roads.

"There've been Toni and I and Calder Jones was there for a while. I think he killed himself somewhere.

And there was Pollock, and your friend Grindley, and a chap whose name I don't know who dropped out of

heaven about halfway in the run; and there was another man whose back I saw just now; there he is by

They hung about the Claydon covers for ten minutes, and then their fox went off again their fox or

another, as to which there was a great discussion afterwards; but he who would have suggested the idea of a

new fox to Sir William would have been a bold man. A fox, however, went off, turning still to the left from

Claydon's towards Roebury. Those ten minutes had brought up some fifty men; but it did not bring up Calder

Jones nor Tufto Pearlings, nor some halfdozen others who had already come to serious misfortune; but

Grindley was there, very triumphant in his own success, and already talking of Jones's sovereign. And

Pollock was there also, thankful for that ten minutes' law, and trusting that wind might be given to his horse

But the pace on leaving Claydon's was better than ever. This may have come from the fact that the scent was

keener, as they got out so close upon their game. But I think they must have changed their fox. Maxwell, who

saw him go, swore that he was fresh and clean. Burgo said that he knew it to be the same fox, but gave no

reason. "Same fox! in course it was; why shouldn't it be the same?" said Tom. The country gentleman who

had dropped from heaven was quite sure that they had changed, and so were most of those who had ridden

the road. Pollock confined himself to hoping that he might soon be killed, and that thus his triumph for the

On they went, and the pace soon became too good for the poor author. His horse at last refused a little hedge,

and there was not another trot to be got out of him. That night Pollock turned up at Roebury about nine

o'clock, very hungry and it was known that his animal was alive but the poor horse ate not a grain of

oats that night, nor on the next morning. Vavasor had again taken a line to himself, on this occasion a little to

the right of the meet; but Maxwell followed him and rode close with him to the end. Burgo for a while still

led the body of the field, incurring at first much condemnation from Sir William nominally for hurrying

on among the hounds, but in truth because he got before Sir William himself. During this latter part of the run

Sir William stuck to the hounds in spite of his seventy odd years. Going down into Marham Bottom, some

four or five were left behind, for they feared the soft ground near the river, and did not know the pass through

it. But Sir William knew it, and those who remained close to him got over that trouble. Burgo, who would

still lead, nearly foundered in the bog but he was light, and his horse pulled him through leaving a

foreshoe in the mud. After that Burgo was contented to give Sir William the lead.

Then they came up by Marham Pits to Cleshey Small Wood, which they passed without hanging there a

minute, and over the grass lands of Cleshey Farm. Here Vavasor and Maxwell joined the others, having

gained some three hundred yards in distance by their course, but having been forced to jump the Marham

Stream which Sir William had forded. The pace now was as good as the horses could make it and perhaps

something better as regarded some of them. Sir William's servant had been with him, and he had got his

second horse at Claydon's; Maxwell had been equally fortunate; Tom's second horse had not come up, and his

beast was in great distress; Grindley had remained behind at Marham Bottom, being contented perhaps with

having beaten Calder Jones from whom bytheby I may here declare that he never got his sovereign.

Burgo, Vavasor, and the country gentleman still held on; but it was devoutly desired by all of them that the

fox might soon come to the end of his tether. Ah! that intense longing that the fox may fail, when the failing

powers of the horse begin to make themselves known and the consciousness comes on that all that one has

done will go for nothing unless the thing can be brought to a close in a field or two! So far you have

triumphed, leaving scores of men behind; but of what good is all that, if you also are to be left behind at the

It was manifest now to all who knew the country that the fox was making for Thornden Deer Park, but

Thornden Deer Park was still two miles ahead of them, and the hounds were so near to their game that the

poor beast could hardly hope to live till he got there. He had tried a wellknown drain near Cleshey Farm

House; but it hadbeen inhospitably, nay cruelly, closed against him. Soon after that he threw himself down in

a ditch, and the eager hounds overran him, giving him a moment's law and giving also a moment's law to

horses that wanted it as badly. "I'm about done for," said Burgo to Maxwell. "Luckily for you," said Maxwell,

But the fox had still more power left in him than poor Burgo Fitzgerald's horse. He gained a minute's check

and then he started again, being viewed away by Sir William himself. The country gentleman of whom

mention has been made also viewed him, and holloa'd as he did so: "Yoicks, tally; gone away!" The

unfortunate man! What the d are you roaring at?" said Sir William. "Do you suppose I don't know where

the fox is?" Whereupon the country gentleman retreated, and became less conspicuous than he had been.

Away they went again, off Cleshey and into Thornden parish, on the land of Sorrell Farm a spot well to be

remembered by one or two ever afterwards. Here Sir William made for a gate which took him a little out of

the line; but Maxwell and Burgo Fitzgerald, followed by Vavasor, went straight ahead. There was a huge

ditch and boundary bank there which Sir William had known and had avoided. Maxwell, whose pluck had

returned to him at last, took it well. His horse was comparatively fresh and made nothing of it. Then came

poor Burgo! Oh, Burgo, hadst thou not have been a very child, thou shouldst have known that now, at this

time of the day after all that thy gallant horse had done for thee it was impossible to thee or him. But

when did Burgo Fitzgerald know anything? He rode at the bank as though it had been the first fence of the

day, striking his poor beast with his spurs, as though muscle, strength, and new power could be imparted by

their rowels. The animal rose at the bank, and in some way got upon it, scrambling as he struck it with his

chest, and then fell headlong into the ditch at the other side, a confused mass of head, limbs, and body. His

career was at an end, and he had broken his heart! Poor noble beast, noble in vain! To his very last gasp he

had done his best, and had deserved that he should have been in better hands. His master's ignorance had

There was to some extent a gap in the fence when Maxwell had first ridden it and Burgo had followed him; a

gap, or break in the hedge at the top, indicating plainly the place at which a horse couldbest get over. To this

spot Vavasor followed, and was on the bank at Burgo's heels before he knew what had happened. But the

man had got away and only the horse lay there in the ditch. "Are you hurt?" said Vavasor; "can I do

anything?" But he did not stop. If you can find a chap just send him to me," said Burgo in a melancholy tone.

Then he sat down, with his feet in the ditch, and looked at the carcase of his horse.

There was no more need of jumping that day. The way was open into the next field a turnip field and

there amidst the crisp breaking turniptops, with the breath of his enemies hot upon him, with their sharp

teeth at his entrails, biting at them impotently in the agonies of his death struggle, poor Reynard finished his

career. Maxwell was certainly the first there but Sir William and George Vavasor were close upon him.

That taking of brushes of which we used to hear is a little out of fashion; but if such honour were due to any

one it was due to Vavasor, for he and he only had ridden the hunt throughout. But he claimed no honour, and

none was specially given to him. He and Maxwell rode homewards together, having sent assistance to poor

Burgo Fitzgerald; and as they went along the road, saying but little to each other, Maxwell, in a very

"He's mine," said Maxwell. So the brown horse was sold for about half his value, because he had brought

Burgo Fitzgerald, of whose hunting experiences something has been told in the last chapter, was a young man

born in the purple of the English aristocracy. He was related to half the dukes in the kingdom, and had three

countesses for his aunts. When he came of age he was master of a sufficient fortune to make it quite out of

the question that he should be asked to earn his bread; and though that, and other windfalls that had come to

him, had long since been spent, no one had ever made to him so ridiculous a proposition as that. He was now

thirty, and for some years past had been known to be much worse than penniless; but still he lived on in the

same circles, still slept softly and drank of the best, and went about with his valet and his groom and his

horses, and fared sumptuously every day. Some people said the countesses did it for him, and some said that

it was the dukes while others, again, declared that the Jews were his most generous friends. At any rate he

still seemed to live as he had always lived, setting tradesmen at defiance, and laughing to scorn all the rules

About eighteen months before the time of which I am now speaking, a great chance had come in this young

man's way, and he had almost succeeded in making himself one of the richest men in England. There had

been then a great heiress in the land, on whom the properties of halfadozen ancient families had

concentrated; and Burgo, who in spite of his iniquities still kept his position in the drawingrooms of the

great, had almost succeeded in obtaining the hand and the wealth as people still said that he had obtained

the heart, of the Lady Glencora M'Cluskie. But sundry mighty magnates, driven almost to despair at the

prospect of such a sacrifice, had sagaciously put their heads together, and the result had been that the Lady

Glencora had heard reason. She had listened, with many haughty tossings indeed of her proud little head,

with many throbbings of her passionate young heart; but in the end she listenedand heard reason. She saw

Burgo, for the last time, and told him that she was the promised bride of Plantagenet Palliser, nephew and

He had borne it like a man never having groaned openly, or quivered once before any comrade at the

name of the Lady Glencora. She had married Mr Palliser at St George's Square, and on the morning of the

marriage he had hung about his club door in Pall Mall, listening to the bells, and saying a word or two about

the wedding, with admirable courage. It had been for him a great chance and he had lost it. Who can say,

too, that his only regret was for the money? He had spoken once of it to a married sister of his, in whose

house he had first met Lady Glencora. "I shall never marry now that is all," he said and then he went

about, living his old reckless life, with the same recklessness as ever. He was one of those young men with

dark hair and blue eyes who wear no beard, and are certainly among the handsomest of all God's

creatures. No more handsome man than Burgo Fitzgerald lived in his days; and this merit at any rate was his

that he thought nothing of his own beauty. But he lived ever without conscience, without purpose with

no idea that it behoved him as a man to do anything but eat and drink or ride well to hounds till some poor

He chiefly concerns our story at this present time because the Lady Glencora who had loved him and

would have married him had not those sagacious heads prevented it was a cousin of Alice Vavasor's. She

was among those very great relations with whom Alice was connected by her mother's side being indeed

so near to Lady Macleod, that she was first cousin to that lady, only once removed. Lady Midlothian was aunt

to the Lady Glencora, and our Alice might have called cousins, and not been forbidden, with the old Lord of

the Isles, Lady Glencora's father who was dead, however, some time previous to that affair with Burgo

and with the Marquis of Auld Reekie, who was Lady Glencora's uncle, and had been her guardian. But Alice

had kept herself aloof from her grand relations on her mother's side, choosing rather to hold herself as

belonging to those who were her father's kindred. With Lady Glencora, however, she had for a short time

for some week or ten days been on terms of almost affectionate intimacy. It had been then, when the

wayward heiress with the bright waving locks had been most strongly minded to give herself and her wealth

to Burgo Fitzgerald. Burgo had had money dealings with George Vavasor, and knew him knew him

intimately, and had learned the fact of this cousinship between the heiress and his friend's cousin. Whereupon

in the agony of those weeks in which the sagacious heads were resisting her love, Lady Glencora came to her

cousin in Queen Anne Street, and told Alice all that tale. "Was Alice", she asked, "afraid of the marquises and

the countesses, or of all the rank and all the money which they boasted?" Alice answered that she was not at

all afraid of them. "Then would she permit Lady Glencora and Burgo to see each other in the drawingroom

at Queen Anne Street, just once!" Just once so that they might arrange that little plan of an elopement. But

Alice could not do that for her newly found cousin. She endeavoured to explain that it was not the dignity of

the sagacious heads which stood in her way, but her woman's feeling of what was right and wrong in such a

"Why should I not marry him?" said Lady Glencora, with her eyes flashing. "He is my equal."

Alice explained that she had no word to say against such a marriage. She counselled her cousin to be true to

her love if her love was in itself true. But she, an unmarried woman, who had hitherto not known her cousin,

might not give such help as that! "If you will not help me, I am helpless!" said the Lady Glencora, and then

she kneeled at Alice's knees and threw her wavy locks abroad on Alice's lap. "How shall I bribe you?" said

Lady Glencora. Next to him I will love you better than all the world." But Alice, though she kissed the fair

forehead and owned that such reward would be worth much to her, could not take any bribe for such a cause.

Then Lady Glencora had been angry with her, calling her heartless, and threatening her that she too might

have sorrow of her own and want assistance. Alice told nothing of her own tale how she had loved her

cousin and had been forced to give him up, but said what kind words she could, and she of the waving hair

and light blue eyes had been pacified. Then she had come again had come daily while the sagacious heads

But the sagacious heads were victorious, as we know, and Lady Glencora M'Cluskie became Lady Glencora

Palliser with all the propriety in the world, instead of becoming wife to poor Burgo, with all imaginable

impropriety. And then she wrote a letter to Alice, very short and rather sad; but still with a certain sweetness

in it. "She had been counselled that it was not fitting for her to love as she had thought to love, and she had

resolved to give up her dream. Hercousin Alice, she knew, would respect her secret. She was going to

become the wife of the best man, she thought, in all the world; and it should be the one care of her life to

make him happy." She said not a word in all her letter of loving this newly found lord. "She was to be

married at once. Would Alice be one among the bevy of bridesmaids who were to grace the ceremony?"

Alice wished her joy heartily "heartily," she said, but had declined that office of bridesmaid. She did not

wish to undergo the cold looks of the Lady Julias and Lady Janes who all would know each other, but none of

whom would know her. So she sent her cousin a little ring, and asked her to keep it amidst all that wealthy

From that time to this present Alice had heard no more of Lady Glencora. She had been married late in the

preceding season and had gone away with Mr Palliser, spending her honeymoon amidst the softnesses of

some Italian lake. They had not returned to England till the time had come for them to encounter the

magnificent Christmas festivities of Mr Palliser's uncle, the Duke. On this occasion Gatherum Castle, the vast

palace which the Duke had built at a cost of nearly a quarter of a million, was opened, as it had never been

opened before; for the Duke's heir had married to the Duke's liking, and the Duke was a man who could do

such things handsomely when he was well pleased. Then there had been a throng of bridal guests, and a

succession of bridal gaieties which had continued themselves even past the time at which Mr Palliser was due

at Westminster and Mr Palliser was a legislator who served his country with the utmost assiduity. So the

London season commenced, progressed, and was consumed; and still Alice heard nothing more of her friend

But this had troubled her not at all. A chance circumstance, the story of which she had told to no one, had

given her a short intimacy with this fair child of the gold mines, but she had felt that they two could not live

together in habits of much intimacy. She had, when thinking of the young bride, only thought of that wild

love episode in the girl's life. It had been strange to her that she should in one week have listened to the most

passionate protestations from her friend of love for one man, and then have been told in the next that another

man was to be her friend's husband! But she reflected that her own career was much the same only with

But her own career was not the same. Glencora had married Mr Palliser had married him without pausing

to doubt; but Alice had gone on doubting till at last she had resolved that she would not marry Mr Grey. She

thought of this much in those days at Cheltenham, and wondered often whether Glencora lived with her

One morning, about three days after Mr Grey's visit, there came to her two letters, as to neither of which did

she know the writer by the handwriting. Lady Macleod had told her, with some hesitation, indeed, for Lady

Macleod was afraid of her but had told her, nevertheless, more than once, that those noble relatives had

heard of the treatment to which Mr Grey was being subjected, and had expressed their great sorrow, if not

dismay or almost anger. Lady Macleod, indeed, had gone as far as she dared, and might have gone further

without any sacrifice of truth. Lady Midlothian had said that it would be disgraceful to the family, and Lady

Glencora's aunt, the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, had demanded to be told what it was the girl wanted.

When the letters came Lady Macleod was not present, and I am disposed to think that one of them had been

written by concerted arrangement with her. But if so she had not dared to watch the immediate effect of her

own projectile. This one was from Lady Midlothian. Of the other Lady Macleod certainly knew nothing,

though it also had sprung out of the discussions which had taken place as to Alice's sins in the Auld

ReekieMidlothian set. This other letter was from Lady Glencora. Alice opened the two, one without reading

the other, very slowly. Lady Midlothian's was the first opened, and there came a spot of anger on Alice's

cheeks as she saw the signature, and caught a word or two as she allowed her eye to glance down the page.

Then she opened the other, which was shorter, and when she saw her cousin's signature, "Glencora Palliser,"

she read that letter first read it twice before she went back to the disagreeable task of perusing Lady

Midlothian's lecture. The reader shall have both the letters, but that from the Countess shall have precedence.

"I have not the pleasure of knowing you personally, though I have heard of you very often from our dear

mutual friend and relative Lady Macleod, with whom I understand that you are at present on a visit. Your

grandmother by the mother's side Lady Flora Macleod, and my mother the Countess of Leith, were

halfsisters;and though circumstances since that have prevented our seeing so much of each other as is

desirable, I have always remembered the connection, and have ever regarded you as one in whose welfare I

(""Since that!" what does she mean by `since that"?" said Alice to herself. "She has never set eyes on me

"I had learned with great gratification that you were going to be married to a most worthy gentleman, Mr

John Grey of Nethercoats, in Cambridgeshire. When I first heard this I made it my business to institute some

inquiries, and I was heartily glad to find that your choice had done you so much credit." (If the reader has

read Alice's character as I have meant it should be read, it will thoroughly be understood that this was

wormwood to her.) "I was informed that Mr Grey is in every respect a gentleman that he is a man of most

excellent habits, and one to whom any young woman could commit her future happiness with security, that

his means are very good for his position, and that there was no possible objection to such a marriage. All this

gave great satisfaction to me, in which I was joined by the Marchioness of Auld Reekie, who is connected

with you almost as nearly as I am, and who, I can assure you, feels a considerable interest in your welfare. I

"You may feel then how dreadfully we were dismayed when we were told by dear Lady Macleod that you

had told Mr Grey that you intended to change your mind! My dear Miss Vavasor, can this be true? There are

things in which a young lady has no right to change her mind after it has been once made up; and certainly

when a young lady has accepted a gentleman, that is one of them. He cannot legally make you become his

wife, but he has a right to claim you before God and man. Have you considered that he has probably

furnished his house in consequence of his intended marriage and perhaps in compliance with your own

especial wishes?" (I think that Lady Macleod must have told the Countess something that she had heard about

the garden.) "Have you reflected that he has of course told all his friends? Have you any reason to give? I am

told, none! Nothing should ever be done without a reason; much less such a thing as this in which your own

interests and, I may say, respectability are involved. I hope you will think of this before you persist in

"I had heard, some years ago, when you were much younger, that you had become imprudently attached in

another direction with a gentleman with none of those qualities to recommend him which speak so highly

for Mr Grey. It would grieve me very much, as it would also the Marchioness, who in this matter thinks

exactly as I do, if I were led to suppose that your rejection of Mr Grey had been caused by any renewal of

that project. Nothing, my dear Miss Vavasor, could be more unfortunate and I might almost add a stronger

"I have been advised that a line from me as representing your poor mother's family, especially as I have at the

present moment the opportunity of expressing Lady Auld Reekie's sentiments as well as my own, might be of

service. I implore you, my dear Miss Vavasor, to remember what you owe to God and man, and to carry out

an engagement made by yourself, that is in all respects comme il faut, and which will give entire satisfaction

I think that Lady Macleod had been wrong in supposing that this could do any good. She should have known

Alice better; and should also have known the world better. But her own reverence for her own noble relatives

was so great that she could not understand, even yet, that all such feeling was wanting to her niece. It was to

her impossible that the expressed opinion of such an one as the Countess of Midlothian, owning her

relationship and solicitude, and condescending at the same time to express friendship she could not, I say,

understand that that voice of such an one, so speaking, should have no weight whatever. But I think that she

had been quite right in keeping out of Alice's way at the moment of the arrival of the letter. Alice read it,

slowly and then replacing it in its envelope, leaned back quietly in her chair with her eyes fixed upon the

teapot on the table. She had, however the other letter on which to occupy her mind, and thus relieve her from

"I have just come home from Scotland, where they have been telling me something of your little troubles. I

had little troubles once too, and you were so good to me! Will you come to us here for a few weeks? We shall

be here till Christmastime, when we go somewhere else. I have told my husband that you are a great friend

of mine as well as a cousin, and that he must be good to you. He is very quiet, and works very hard at

politics; but I think you will like him. Do come! There will be a good many people here, so that you will not

find it dull. If you will name the day we will send the carriage for you to Matching Station, and I dare say I

"P.S. I know what will be in your mind. You will say, why did not she come to me in London? She knew the

way to Queen Anne Street well enough. Dear Alice, don't say that. Believe me, I had much to do and think of

in London. And if I was wrong, yet you will forgive me. Mr Palliser says I am to give you his love as

This letter was certainly better than the other, but Alice, on reading it, came to a resolve that she would not

accept the invitation. In the first place, even that allusion to her little troubles jarred upon her feelings; and

then she thought that her rejection of Mr Grey could be no special reason why she should go to Matching

Priory. Was it not very possible that she had been invited that she might meet Lady Midlothian there, and

encounter all the strength of a personal battery from the Countess? Lady Glencora's letter she would of course

answer, but to Lady Midlothian she would not condescend to make any reply whatever.

About eleven o'clock Lady Macleod came down to her. For halfanhour or so Alice said nothing; nor did

Lady Macleod ask any question. She looked inquisitively at Alice, eyeing the letter which was lying by the

side of her niece's workbasket, but she said no word about Mr Grey or the Countess. At last Alice spoke.

"Aunt," she said, I have had a letter this morning from your friend, Lady Midlothian."

"Your cousin then, aunt. But it is of more moment that she is your friend. She certainly is not mine, nor can

"Her position can be nothing to me, aunt. I will not submit to it.There is her letter, which you can read if you

please. After that you may burn it. I need hardly say that I shall not answer it."

"Nothing from me, aunt from yourself, whatever you please, of course." Then there was silence between

them for a few minutes. "And I have had another letter, from Lady Glencora, who married Mr Palliser, and

"No, there is no offence in that. She asks me to go and see her at Matching Priory, her husband's house; but I

But at last Alice agreed to pay this visit, and it may be as well to explain here how she was brought to do so.

She wrote to Lady Glencora, declining, and explaining frankly that she did decline, because she thought it

probable that she might there meet Lady Midlothian. Lady Midlothian, she said, had interfered very

unwarrantably in her affairs, and she did not wish to make her acquaintance. To this Lady Glencora replied,

post haste, that she had intended no such horrid treachery as that for Alice; that neither would Lady

Midlothian be there, nor any of that set; by which Alice knew that Lady Glencora referred specially to her

aunt the Marchioness; that no one would be at Matching who could torment Alice, either with right or

without it, "except so far as I myself may do so," Lady Glencora said; and then she named an early day in

November, at which she would herself undertake to meet Alice at the Matching Station. On receipt of this

Kate Vavasor, in writing to her cousin Alice, felt some little difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in

Norfolk with Mrs Greenow. She had laughed at Mrs Greenow before she went to Yarmouth, and had laughed

at herself for going there. And in all her letters since, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly

woman, weeping crocodile tears for an old husband whose death had released her from the tedium of his

company, and spreading lures to catch new lovers. But yet she agreed to stay with her aunt, and remain with

But Mrs Greenow had about her something more than Kate had acknowledged when she first attempted to

read her aunt's character. She was clever, and in her own way persuasive. She was very generous, and

possessed a certain power of making herself pleasant to those around her. In asking Kate to stay with her she

had so asked as to make it appear that Kate was to confer the favour. She had told her niece that she was all

alone in the world. "I have money," she had said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had

observed before. "I have money, but I have nothing else in the world. I have no home. Why should I not

remain here in Norfolk, where I know a few people? If you'll say that you'll go anywhere else with me, I'll go

to any place you'll name." Kate had believed this to be hardly true. She had felt sure that her aunt wished to

remain in the neighbourhood of her seaside admirers; but, nevertheless, she had yielded, and at the end of

October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled themselves in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the

Mr Greenow at this time had been dead very nearly six months, but his widow made some mistake in her

dates and appeared to think that the interval had been longer. On the day of their arrival at Norwich it was

evident that this error had confirmed itself in her mind. "Only think," she said, as she unpacked a little

miniature of the departed one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, as she pressed her handkerchief to

"Only nine months!" repeated Mrs Greenow, as though she had not heard her niece. "Only nine months!"

After that Kate attempted to correct no more such errors. "It happened in May, Miss," Jeannette said

afterwards to Miss Vavasor, "and that, as we reckons, will be just a twelvemonth come Christmas." But Kate

And Jeannette was very ungrateful, and certainly should have indulged herself in no such sarcasms. When

Mrs Greenow made a slight change in her mourning, which she did on her arrival at Norwich, using a little

lace among her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of clothes. Mrs Greenow knew well enough

that she expected more from a servant than mere service that she wanted loyalty, discretion, and perhaps

sometimes a little secrecy and as she paid for these things, she should have had them.

Kate undertook to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich and Mrs Greenow undertook that Mr Cheesacre

should declare himself as Kate's lover, before the expiration of the month. It was in vain that Kate protested

that she wanted no such lover, and that she would certainly reject him if he came. "That's all very well, my

dear," Aunt Greenow would say. "A girl must settle herself some day, you know and you'd have it all your

But the offer certainly showed much generosity on the part of Aunt Greenow, inasmuch as Mr Cheesacre's

attentions were apparently paid to herself rather than to her niece. Mr Cheesacre was very attentive. He had

taken the lodgings in the Close, and had sent over fowls and cream from Oileymead, and had called on the

morning after their arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more particularly than the niece.

"I am all for Mr Cheesacre, Miss," said Jeannette once. "The Captain is perhaps the nicererlooking

gentleman, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a gentleman hasn't got nothing? I can't abide

anything that's poor; neither can't Missus." From which it was evident that Jeannette gave Miss Vavasor no

Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some quasimilitary employment there in the matter

of drilling volunteers. Certain capacities in that line it may be supposed that he possessed, and, as his friend

Cheesacre said of him, he was going to earn an honest penny once in his life. The Captain and Mr Cheesacre

had made up any little differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth, and were close allies again

when they left that place. Some little compact on matters of business must have been arranged between them

for the Captain was in funds again. He was in funds again through the liberality of his friend and no

payment of former loans had been made, nor had there been any speech of such. Mr Cheesacre had drawn his

pursestrings liberally, and had declared that if all went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be

wanting during the winter. Captain Bellfield had nodded his head and declared that all should go well.

"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr Cheesacre to Mrs Greenow on the morning of the

day after her arrival at Norwich. He had come across the whole way from Oileymead to ask her if she found

herself comfortable, and perhaps with an eye to the Norwich markets at the same time. He now wore a pair of

black riding boots over his trousers, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at home than he had done

"Not much, I dare say," said the widow. He tells me that he must be on duty ten or twelve hours a day. Poor

"It's a deuced good thing for him, and he ought to be very much obliged to me for putting him in the way of

getting it. But he told me to tell you that if he didn't call, you were not to be angry with him."

"You see, if he don't work now he must come to grief. He hasn't got a shilling that he can call his own."

"Not a shilling, Mrs Greenow and then he's awfully in debt. He isn't a bad fellow, you know, only there's

no trusting him for anything." Then after a few further inquiries that were almost tender, and a promise of

further supplies from the dairy, Mr Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss Vavasor.

But as he left the house he had a word to say to Jeannette. "He hasn't been here, has he, Jenny?" "We haven't

seen a sight of him yet, sir and I have thought it a little odd." Then Mr Cheesacre gave the girl

halfacrown, and went his way. Jeannette, I think, must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in after

The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work was performed,no doubt, at irregular intervals some days

late and some days early for he might be seen about Norwich almost at all times, during the early part of

that November and he might be very often seen going into the Close. In Norwich there are two weekly

market days, but on those days the Captain was no doubt kept more entirely to his military employment, for

at such times he never was seen near the Close. Now Mr Cheesacre's visits to the town were generally made

on market days, and so it happened that they did not meet. On such occasions Mr Cheesacre always was

driven to Mrs Greenow's door in a cab for he would come into town by railway and he would deposit a

basket bearing the rich produce of his dairy. It was in vain that Mrs Greenow protested against these gifts

for she did protest and declared that if they were continued, they would be sent back. They were, however,

continued, and Mrs Greenow was at her wits' end about them. Cheesacre would not come up with them; but

leaving them, would go about his business, and would return to see the ladies. On such occasions he would be

very particular in getting his basket from Jeannette. As he did so he would generally ask some question about

the Captain, and Jeannette would give him answers confidentially so that there was a strong friendship

"What am I to do about it?" said Mrs Greenow, as Kate came into the sittingroom one morning, and saw on

the table a small hamper lined with a clean cloth, "It's as much as Jeannette has been able to carry."

"Of course I don't want to offend him for many reasons," said the aunt, looking knowingly at her niece.

"I don't know anything about your reasons, aunt, but if I were you, I should leave the basket just as it is till he

"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that it won't do to go on in this way.

Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to take

"I think it's for both, ma'am; I do indeed. And there certainly ain't any cream to be bought like it in Norwich

"I wonder what there is in the basket." And the widow lifted up the corner of the cloth. "I declare if there isn't

"My!" said Jeannette. A turkey poult! Why, that's worth ten and sixpence in the market if it's worth a penny."

"It's out of the question that I should take upon myself to say anything to him about it," said Kate.

"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: let me just ask him who they're for he'll tell me anything."

"Don't do anything of the kind, Jeannette," said Kate. "Of course, aunt, they're brought for you. There's no

doubt about that. A gentleman doesn't bring cream and turkeys to I never heard of such a thing!"

"I don't see why a gentleman shouldn't bring cream and turkeys to you just as well as to me. Indeed, he told

"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them down outside the front door, and he may find his provisions there."

"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn; and which had, too,

something of sadness in its tone. "Leave it alone. I'll see Mr Cheesacre myself."

"And I do hope you won't mention my name. It's the most absurd thing in the world. The man never spoke

"He doesn't come here with those big flowers in his buttonhole for nothing," said Jeannette "not if I knows

"If you don't object, aunt," said Kate, I will write to grandpapa and tell him that I will return home at once."

"What! because of Mr Cheesacre?" said Mrs Greenow. "I don't think you'll be so silly as that, my dear."

On the present occasion Mrs Greenow undertook that she would see the generous gentleman, and endeavour

to stop the supplies from his farmyard. It was well understood that he would call about four o'clock, when his

business in the town would be over; and that he would bring with him a little boy, who would carry away the

basket. At that hour Kate of course was absent, and the widow received Mr Cheesacre alone. The basket and

cloth were there, in the sittingroom, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained; the

turkey poult first, on a dish provided in the lodginghouse, then a dozen fresh eggs in a soupplate, then the

cream in a little tin can, which, for the last fortnight, had passed regularly between Oileymead and the house

in the Close, and as to which Mr Cheesacre was very pointed in his inquiries with Jeannette. Then behind the

cream there were two or three heads of brocoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man's wrist. Altogether the

tribute was a very comfortable assistance to the housekeeping of a lady living in a small way in lodgings.

Mr Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the long sofatable, knew that he was to prepare himself for some

resistance; but that resistance would give him, he thought, an opportunity of saying a few words that he was

desirous of speaking, and he did not altogether regret it. "I just called in," he said, to see how you were."

"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs Greenow, pointing to the delicacies from Oileymead.

"Just a few trifles that my old woman asked me to bring in," said Cheesacre. "She insisted on putting them

"But your old woman is by far too magnificent," said Mrs Greenow. "She really frightens Kate and me out of

Mr Cheesacre had no wish that Miss Vavasor's name should be brought into play upon the occasion. "Dear

Mrs Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed, I can assure you. Mere trifles light as air,

"But I and Kate think a great deal of them a very great deal, I can assure you. Do you know, we had a

"Yes, indeed: what are women, situated as we are, to do under such circumstances? When gentlemen will be

"And have I been too liberal, Mrs Greenow? What is a young turkey and a stick of celery when a man is

"You've got a great deal more in the world, Mr Cheesacre, than you'd like to part with. But we won't talk of

"If you really have anything to say, you had by far better speak to Kate herself."

Just at this moment, as he was drawing close to the widow, she heard, or fancied that she heard, Jeannette's

step, and, going to the sittingroom door, called to her maid. Jeannette did not hear her, but the bell was rung,

and then Jeannette came. "You may take these things down, Jeannette," she said. "Mr Cheesacre has

"You will oblige me and Kate, I know and, Jeanette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."

Then Mr Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words on that occasion; and as the hour of his train

was near, he took his departure, and went out of the Close, followed by the little boy, carrying the basket, the

The next day was Sunday, and it was well known at the lodginghouse in the Close that Mr Cheesacre would

not be seen there then. Mrs Greenow had specially warned him that she was not fond of Sunday visitors,

fearing that otherwise he might find it convenient to give them too much of his society on that idle day. In the

morning the aunt and niece both went to the Cathedral, and then at three o'clock they dined. But on this

occasion they did not dine alone. Charlie Fairstairs, who, with her family, had come home from Yarmouth,

had been asked to join them; and in order that Charlie might not feel it dull, Mrs Greenow had, with her usual

good nature, invited Captain Bellfield. A very nice little dinner they had. The Captain carved the turkey,

giving due honour to Mr Cheesacre as he did so; and when he nibbled his celery with his cheese, he was

"So he is," said Captain Bellfield, and we'll drink his health. Poor old Cheesy! It's a great pity he shouldn't get

"I don't know any man more calculated to make a young woman happy," said Mrs Greenow.

"No, indeed," said Miss Fairstairs. I'm told that his house and all about it is quite beautiful."

"Especially the strawyard and the horsepond," said the Captain. And then they drank the health of their

It had been arranged that the ladies should go to church in the evening, and it was thought that Captain

Bellfield would, perhaps, accompany them; but when the time for starting came, Kate and Charlie were

ready, but the widow was not, and she remained in order, as she afterwards explained to Kate, that

Captain Bellfield might not seem to be turned out of the house. He had made no offer churchwards, and

"Poor man," as Mrs Greenow said in her little explanation, "if I hadn't let him stay there, he would have had

no restingplace for the sole of his foot, but some horrid barrackroom!" Therefore the Captain was allowed

to find a restingplace in Mrs Greenow's drawingroom; but on the return of the young ladies from church,

he was not there, and the widow was alone, "looking back," she said, to things that were gone that were

gone. But come, dears, I am not going to make you melancholy." So they had tea, and Mr Cheesacre's cream

Captain Bellfield had not allowed the opportunity to slip idly from his hands. In the first quarter of an hour

after the younger ladies had gone, he said little or nothing, but sat with a wineglass before him, which once

or twice he filled from the decanter. "I'm afraid the wine is not very good," said Mrs Greenow. "But one can't

"I'm not thinking very much about it, Mrs Greenow; that's the truth," said the Captain. "I daresay the wine is

"I suppose you find it rather dull, living in lodgings; don't you?" asked the Captain.

"I don't know quite what you mean by dull, Captain Bellfield; but a woman circumstanced as I am, can't find

her life very gay. It's not a full twelvemonth yet, since I lost all that made life desirable, and sometimes I

"That's what my dear Kate always says to me, and I'm sure I do my best to overcome it." Upon this some soft

tears trickled down her cheek, showing in their course that she at any rate used no paint in producing that

freshness of colour which was one of her great charms. Then she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, and

removing it, smiled faintly on the Captain. "I didn't intend to treat you to such a scene as this, Captain

"There is nothing on earth, Mrs Greenow, I desire so much, as permission to dry those tears."

"By friendship, yes. What would life be worth without the solace of friendship?"

"And how much better is the warm glow of love?" Captain Bellfield, as he asked this question, deliberately

got up, and moved his chair over to the widow's side. But the widow as deliberately changed her position to

the corner of a sofa. The Captain did not at once follow her, nor did he in any way show that he was aware

"How much better is the warm glow of love?" he said again, contenting himself with looking into her face

with all his eyes. He had hoped that he would have been able to press her hand by this time.

"If I have ever felt it! Do I not feel it now, Mrs Greenow? There can be no longer any mask kept upon my

feelings. I never could restrain the yearnings of my heart when they have been strong."

"What! not on the plains of Zululand, when with fifty picked men I kept five hundred Caffres at bay for

seven weeks never knew the comfort of a bed, or a pillow to my head, for seven long weeks!"

"No. Did I not see active service at Essequibo, on the burning coast of Guiana, when all the wild Africans

from the woods rose up to destroy the colony; or again at the mouth of the Kitchyhomy River, when I made

"Ah, I understand. I know. Cheesy is the best fellow in the world in some respects, but he cannot bring

himself to speak well of a fellow behind his back. I know who has belittled me. Who was the first to storm

the heights of Inkerman?" demanded the Captain, thinking in the heat of the moment that he might as well be

"But when you spoke of yearnings, I thought you meant yearnings of a softer kind."

"So I did. So I did. I don't know why I have been led away to speak of deeds that are very seldom mentioned,

at any rate by myself. But I cannot bear that a slanderous backbiting tongue should make you think that I

have seen no service. I have served her Majesty in the four quarters of the globe, Mrs Greenow; and now I am

ready to serve you in any way in which you will allow me to make my service acceptable." Whereupon he

"But, Captain Bellfield, I don't want any services. Pray get up, now; the girl will come in."

"I care nothing for any girl. I am planted here till some answer shall have been made to me; till some word

shall have been said that may give me a little hope." Then he attempted to get hold of her hand, but she put

them behind her back and shook her head. "Arabella," he said, will you not speak a word to me?"

"Not a word, Captain Bellfield, till you get up; and I won't have you call me Arabella. I am the widow of

Samuel Greenow, than whom no man was more respected where he was known, and it is not fitting that I

"Ah, then indeed! But that then isn't likely to come. Get up, Captain Bellfield, or I'll push you over and then

ring the bell. A man never looks so much like a fool as when he's kneeling down unless he's saying his

prayers, as you ought to be doing now. Get up, I tell you. It's just half past seven, and I told Jeannette to come

There was that in the widow's voice which made him get up, and he rose slowly to his feet. "You've pushed

all the chairs about, you stupid man," she said. Then in one minute she had restored the scattered furniture to

their proper places, and had rung the bell. When Jeannette came she desired that tea might be ready by the

time that the young ladies returned, and asked Captain Bellfield if a cup should be set for him. This he

declined, and bade her farewell while Jeannette was still in the room. She shook hands with him without any

sign of anger, and even expressed a hope that they might see him again before long.

"He's a very handsome man, is the Captain," said Jeannette, as the hero of the Kitchyhomy River descended

"And I'm sure I don't," said Jeannette. Not no more than anybody else; but if a man is handsome, ma'am,

"As for gloves and such like, Mr Cheesacre is much better for giving than the Captain; as we all know; don't

we, ma'am? But in regard to kisses, they're presents as I never takes from anybody. Let everybody pay his

On the following Tuesday morning Mr Cheesacre as usual called in the Close, but he brought with him no

basket. He merely left a winter nosegay made of green leaves and laurestinus flowers, and sent up a message

to say that he should call at half past three, and hoped that he might then be able to see Mrs Greenow on

"I dare say it's me he wishes to see. It seems to be the fashionable plan now for gentlemen to make offers by

"Yes, you can; you can tell him simply that I won't have him. But he is no more thinking of me than "

"Well, we shall see. If he does mean anything, of course you can please yourself; but I really think you might

At half past three o'clock punctually Mr Cheesacre came to the door, and was shown upstairs. He was told by

Jeannette that Captain Bellfield had looked in on the Sunday afternoon, but that Miss Fairstairs and Miss

Vavasor had been there the whole time. He had not got on his black boots nor yet had his round topped hat.

And as he did wear a new frock coat, and had his left hand thrust into a kid glove, Jeannette was quite sure

that he intended business of some kind. With new boots, creaking loudly, he walked up into the

"Thanks for the flowers," she said at once. It was so good of you to bring something that we could accept."

"As for that," said he, I don't see why you should scruple about a trifle of cream, but I hope that any such

feeling as that will be over before long." To this the widow made no answer, but she looked very sweetly on

He did sit down; but first he put his hat and stick carefully away in one corner, and then he pulled off his

glove somewhat laboriously, for his hand was warm. He was clearly prepared for great things. As he

pushed up his hair with his hands there came from his locks an ambrosial perfume as of marrowoil, and

there was a fixed propriety of position of every hair of his whiskers, which indicated very plainly that he had

been at a hairdresser's shop since he left the market. Nor do I believe that he had worn that coat when he

came to the door earlier in the morning. If I were to say that he had called at his tailor's also, I do not think

"How goes everything at Oileymead?" said Mrs Greenow, seeing that her guest wanted some little assistance

"Pretty well, Mrs Greenow; pretty well. Everything will go very well if I am successful in the object which I

"In all my business undertakings I am, Mrs Greenow. There isn't a shilling due on my land to e'er a bank in

Norwich; and I haven't thrashed out a quarter of last year's corn yet, which is more than many of them can

say. But there ain't many of them who don't have to pay rent, and so perhaps I oughtn't to boast."

"I know that Providence has been very good to you, Mr Cheesacre, as regards worldly matters."

"And I haven't left it all to Providence, either. Those who do, generally go to the wall, as far as I can see. I'm

always at work late and early, and I know when I get a profit out of a man's labour and when I don't, as well

"Yes, I do. I like a bit of fun well enough, when the time for it comes, as you saw at Yarmouth. And I keep

my three or four hunters, as I think a country gentleman should; and I shoot over my own ground. But I

always stick to my work. There are men, like Bellfield, who won't work. What do they come to? They're

"He fight! I suppose he's been telling you some of his old stories. He was ten years in the West Indies, and all

"But he was in the Crimea. At Inkerman, for instance " "He in the Crimea! Well, never mind. But do you

inquire before you believe that story. But as I was saying, Mrs Greenow, you have seen my little place at

"That's it; that's just it. All I want is a mistress for it. And there's only one woman on earth that I would wish

to see in that position. Arabella Greenow, will you be that woman?" As he made the offer he got up and stood

"Yes, you. Who else? Since I saw you what other woman has been anything to me; or, indeed, I may say

"No, no, no. There never was such a mistake as that. I have the highest regard and esteem for Miss Vavasor,

"What are you to say to me? Say that you'll be mine. Say that I shall be yours. Say that all I have at

Oileymead shall be yours. Say that the open carriage for a pair of ponies to be driven by a lady which I have

been looking at this morning shall be yours. Yes, indeed; the sweetest thing you ever saw in your life, just

like one that the lady of the Lord Lieutenant drives about in always. That's what you must say. Come, Mrs

"Ah, Mr Cheesacre, you don't know what it is to have buried the pride of your youth hardly yet twelve

"But you have buried him, and there let there be an end of it. Your sitting here all alone, morning, noon, and

night, won't bring him back. I'm sorry for him; I am indeed. Poor Greenow! But what more can I do?"

"No, no, no. What's the use of it breaking your heart for nothing and my heart too? You never think of

"Ah, but it can be. Come, Mrs Greenow. We understand each other well enough now, surely. Come, dearest."

And he approached her as though to put his arm round her waist. But at that moment there came a knock at

the door, and Jeannette, entering the room,told her mistress that Captain Bellfield was below, and wanted to

Before the day came on which Alice was to go to Matching Priory, she had often regretted that she had been

induced to make the promise, and yet she had as often resolved that there was no possible reason why she

should not go to Matching Priory. But she feared this commencement of a closer connexion with her great

relations. She had told herself so often that she was quite separated from them, that the slight accident of

blood in no way tied her to them or them to her this lesson had been so thoroughly taught to her by the

injudicious attempts of Lady Macleod to teach an opposite lesson, that she did not like the idea of putting

aside the effect of that teaching. And perhaps she was a little afraid of the great folk whom she might

probably meet at her cousin's house. Lady Glencora herself she had liked and had loved too with that

momentary love which certain circumstances of our life will sometimes produce, a love which is strong while

it lasts, but which can be laid down when the need of it is passed. She had liked and loved Lady Glencora,

and had in no degree been afraid of her during those strange visitings in Queen Anne Street but she was

by no means sure that she should like Lady Glencora in the midst of her grandeur and surrounded by the

pomp of her rank. She would have no other friend or acquaintance in that house, and feared that she might

find herself desolate, cold, and wounded in her pride. She had been tricked into the visit, too, or rather had

tricked herself into it, She had been sure that there had been a joint scheme between her cousin and Lady

Midlothian, and could not resist the temptation of repudiating it in her letter to Lady Glencora. But there had

been no such scheme; she had wronged Lady Glencora, and had therefore been unable to resist her second

request. But she felt unhappy, fearing that she would be out of her element, and more than once half made up

her mind to excuse herself. Her aunt had, from the first, thought well of her going, believing that it might

probably be the means of reconciling her to Mr Grey. Moreover, it was a step altogether in the right direction.

Lady Glencora would, if she lived, become a Duchess, and as she was decidedly Alice's cousin, of course

Alice should go to her house when invited. It must be acknowledged that Lady Macleod was not selfish in her

worship of rank. She had played out her game in life, and there was no probability that she would live to be

called cousin by a Duchess of Omnium. She bade Alice go to Matching Priory, simply because she loved her

niece, and therefore wished her to live in the best and most eligible way within her reach. "I think you owe it

What further correspondence about her affairs had passed between Lady Macleod and Lady Midlothian Alice

never knew. She steadily refused all entreaty made that she would answer the Countess's letter, and at last

threatened her aunt that if the request were further urged she would answer it telling Lady Midlothian that

"I am becoming a very old woman, Alice," the poor lady said, piteously, "and I suppose I had better not

interfere any further. Whatever I have said I have always meant to be for your good." Then Alice got up, and

kissing her aunt, tried to explain to her that she resented no interference from her, and felt grateful for all that

she both said and did; but that she could not endure meddling from people whom she did not know, and who

"And because they are cousins as well," said Lady Macleod, in a softly sad, apologetic voice.

Alice left Cheltenham about the middle of November on her road to Matching Priory. She was to sleep in

London one night, and go down to Matching in Yorkshire with her maid on the following day. Her father

undertook to meet her at the Great Western Station, and to take her on the following morning to the Great

Northern. He said nothing in his letter about dining with her, but when he met her, muttered something about

a engagement, and taking her home graciously promised that he would breakfast with her on the following

"I'm very glad you are going, Alice," he said when they were in the cab together.

"Why? because I think it's the proper thing to do. You know I've never said much to you about these

people. They're not connected with me, and I know that they hate the name of Vavasor not but what the

"And therefore I don't understand why you think I'm specially right. If you were to say I was specially wrong,

"You should go by all means. Rank and wealth are advantages, let anybody say what they will to the

"You'll get part of their value. Take them as a whole, the nobility of England are pleasant acquaintances to

have. I haven't run after them very much myself, though I married, as I may say, among them. That very

thing rather stood in my way than otherwise. But you may be sure of this, that men and women ought to

grow, like plants, upwards. Everybody should endeavour to stand as well as he can in the world, and if I had a

choice of acquaintance between a sugarbaker and a peer, I should prefer the peer unless, indeed, the

sugarbaker had something very strong on his side to offer. I don't call that tufthunting, and it does not

necessitate toadying. It's simply growing up, towards the light, as the trees do."

Alice listened to her father's worldly wisdom with a smile, but she did not attempt to answer him. It was very

seldom, indeed, that he took upon himself the labour of lecturing her, or that he gave her even as much

counsel as he had given now. "Well, papa, I hope I shall find myself growing towards the light," she said as

she got out of the cab. Then he had not entered the house, but had taken the cab on with him to his club.

On her table Alice found a note from her cousin George. "I hear you are going down to the Pallisers at

Matching Priory tomorrow, and as I shall be glad to say one word to you before you go, will you let me see

you this evening say at nine? G. V." She felt immediately that she could not help seeing him, but she

greatly regretted the necessity. She wished that she had gone directly from Cheltenham to the North

regardless even of those changes of wardrobe which her purposed visit required. Then she set herself to

considering. How had George heard of her visit to the Priory, and how had he learned the precise evening

which she would pass in London? Why should he be so intent on watching all her movements as it seemed

that he was? As to seeing him she had no alternative, so she completed her arrangements for her journey

"I'm so glad you're going to Matching Priory," were the first words he said. He, too, might have taught her to

grow towards the light, if she had asked him for his reasons but this she did not do just then.

"I heard it from a friend of mine. Well from Burgo Fitzgerald, if you must know."

"From Mr Fitzgerald?" said Alice, in profound astonishment. "How could Mr Fitzgerald have heard of it?"

"That's more than I know, Alice. Not directly from Lady Glencora, I should say."

"Yes; quite so, no doubt. I think she keeps up her intimacy with Burgo's sister, and perhaps it got round to

"And did he tell you also that I was going tomorrow? He must have known all about it very accurately."

"No; then I asked Kate, and Kate told me when you were going. Yes; I know. Kate has been wrong, hasn't

she? Kate was cautioned, no doubt, to say nothing about your comings and goings to so inconsiderable a

person as myself. But you must not be down upon Kate. She never mentioned it till I showed by my question

to her that I knew all about your journey to Matching. I own I do not understand why it should be necessary

Alice felt that she was blushing. The caution had been given to Kate because Kate still transgressed in her

letters, by saying little words about her brother. And Alice did not even now believe Kate to have been false

"I cannot understand it," continued George, speaking without looking at her. "It was but the other day that we

were such dear friends! Do you remember the balcony at Basle? and now it seems that we are quite estranged

nay, worse than estranged; that I am, as it were, under some ban. Have I done anything to offend you,

"Then why am I tabooed? Why was I told the other day that I might not congratulate you on your happy

emancipation? I say boldly, that had you resolved on that while we were together in Switzerland, you would

"I am sure you would. And why has Kate been warned not to tell me of this visit to the Pallisers? I know she

Alice sat silent, not knowing what to say in answer to this charge brought against her thinking, perhaps,

that the questioner would allow his question to pass without an answer. But Vavasor was not so complaisant.

For a few seconds she did not speak a word, but sat considering. He also remained silent with his eyes fixed

upon her. She looked at him and saw nothing but his scar nothing but his scar and the brightness of his

eyes, which was almost fierce. She knew that he was in earnest, and therefore resolved that she would be in

"I think that you have such a right, but I think also that you are ungenerous to exercise it."

"I cannot understand that. By heavens, Alice, I cannot be left in this suspense! If I have done anything to

"Or if there be any cause why our friendship should be dropped why we should be on a different footing

to each other in London than we were in Switzerland, I may acknowledge it, if it be explained to me. But I

cannot put up with the doubt, when I am told that I have a right to demand its solution."

"Then I will be frank with you, George, though my being so will, as you may guess, be very painful." She

paused again, looking at him to see if yet he would spare her; but he was all scar and eyes as before, and there

"Your sister, George, has thought that my parting with Mr Grey might lead to a renewal of a purpose of

marriage between you and me. You know her eagerness, and will understand that it may have been necessary

that I should require silence from her on that head. You ought now to understand it all."

"I then am being punished for her sins," he said; and suddenly the scar on his face was healed up again, and

there was something of the old pleasantness in his eyes. "I have said nothing about any sins, George, but I

"Well," he said, after a short pause, you are an honest woman, Alice the honestest I ever knew. I will

bring Kate to order and, now, we may be friends again; may we not?" And he extended his hand to her

"Yes," she said, certainly; if you wish it. She spoke doubtingly, with indecision in her voice, as though

remembering at the moment that he had given her no pledge. "I certainly do wish it very much," said he; and

"No," said she; no. Do not speak of that. A woman does not do what I have done in that affair without great

"But this other subject, this visit to Matching; surely I may speak of that?" There was something now in his

voice so bright, that she felt the influence of it, and answered him cheerfully,

"But I have a great deal. I am so glad you are going. Mind you cement a close intimacy with Mr Palliser."

"Yes; with Mr Palliser. You must read all the blue books about finance. I'll send them to you if you like it."

"I'm quite in earnest. That is, not in earnest about the blue books, as you would not have time; but about Mr

"Will he indeed? But why should I make a bosom friend of the Chancellor of the Exchequer? I don't want any

"And if I do, of course it will be my game to support the ministry or rather the new ministry; for of course

"Ah! that's impossible. It's very well as a dream; but there are no such men as you want to see men really

from the people strong enough to take high office. A man can't drive four horses because he's a

philanthropist or rather a philhorseophist, and is desirous that the team should be driven without any hurt

to them. A man can't govern well, simply because he is genuinely anxious that men should be well

"I won't say that. I don't mind confessing to you that it is my ambition to be such a one myself. But a child

must crawl before he can walk. Such a one as I, hoping to do something in politics, must spare no chance. It

would be something to me that Mr Palliser should become the friend of any dear friend of mine especially

"They say he is led immensely by his wife, and that she is very clever. But I mean this chiefly, Alice, that I

do hope I shall have all your sympathy in any political career that I may make, and all your assistance also."

"My sympathy I think I can promise you. My assistance, I fear, would be worthless."

"By no means worthless, Alice; not if I see you take that place in the world which I hope to see you fill. Do

you think women nowadays have no bearing upon the politics of the times? Almost as much as men have." In

answer to which Alice shook her head; but, nevertheless, she felt in some way pleased and flattered.

George left her without saying a word more about her marriage prospects past or future, and Alice as she

Alice reached the Matching Road Station about three o'clock in the afternoon without adventure, and

immediately on the stopping of the train became aware that all trouble was off her own hands. A servant in

livery came to the open window, and touching his hat to her, inquired if she were Miss Vavasor. Then her

dressingbag and shawls and cloaks were taken from her, and she was conveyed through the station by the

stationmaster on one side of her, the footman on the other, and by the railway porter behind. She instantly

perceived that she had become possessed of great privileges by belonging even for a time to Matching Priory,

Outside, on the broad drive before the little station, she saw an omnibus that was going to the small town of

Matching, intended for people who had not grown upwards as had been her lot; and she saw also a light

stylishlooking cart which she would have called a Whitechapel had she been properly instructed in such

matters, and a little low open carriage with two beautiful small horses, in which was sitting a lady enveloped

in furs. Of course this was Lady Glencora. Another servant was standing on the ground, holding the horses of

"Dear Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said a voice from the furs. "Look here, dear; your maid can go in the

dogcart with your things,' it wasn't a dogcart, but Lady Glencora knew no better "she'll be quite

"But it is awfully cold. You've been in the stuffy carriage, but you'll find it cold enough out here, I can tell

"Oh! Lady Glencora, I am so sorry that I've brought you out on such a morning," said Alice, getting in and

taking the place assigned her next to the charioteer. "What nonsense! Sorry! Why, I've looked forward to

meeting you all alone, ever since I knew you were coming. If it had snowed all the morning I should have

come just the same. I drive out almost every day when I'm down here that is, when the house is not too

crowded, or I can make an excuse. Wrap these things over you; there are plenty of them. You shall drive if

you like." Alice, however, declined the driving, expressing her gratitude in what prettiest words she could

"I like driving better than anything, I think. Mr Palliser doesn't like ladies to hunt, and of course it wouldn't

do as he does not hunt himself. I do ride, but he never gets on horseback. I almost fancy I should like to drive

"Yes; wouldn't it? The look would be the worst of it; as it is all the world over. Sometimes I wish there were

no such things as looks. I don't mean anything improper, you know; only one does get so hampered, right and

left, for fear of Mrs Grundy. I endeavour to go straight, and get along pretty well on the whole, I suppose.

Baker, you must put Dandy in the bar; he pulls so, going home, that I can't hold him in the check." She

stopped the horses, and Baker, a very completelygotup groom of some forty years of age, who sat behind,

got down and put the impetuous Dandy "in the bar," thereby changing the rein, so that the curb was brought

to bear on him. "They're called Dandy and Flirt," continued Lady Glencora, speaking to Alice.

"Ain't they a beautiful match? The Duke gave them to me and named them himself. Did you ever see the

"He won't be here before Christmas, but you shall be introduced some day in London. He's an excellent

creature and I'm a great pet of his; though, after all, I never speak half a dozen words to him when I see him.

He's one of those people who never talk. I'm one of those who like talking, as you'll find out. I think it runs in

families; and the Pallisers are nontalkers. That doesn't mean that they are not speakers, for Mr Palliser has

plenty to say in the House, and they declare that he's one of the few public men who've got lungs enough to

Alice was aware that she had as yet hardly spoken herself, and began to bethink herself that she didn't know

what to say. Had Lady Glencora paused on the subject of Dandy and Flirt, she mighthave managed to be

enthusiastic about the horses, but she could not discuss freely the general silence of the Palliser family, nor

the excellent lungs, as regarded public purposes, of the one who was the husband of her present friend. So she

"I didn't mean that," said Alice. I delight in the drive. But somehow one expects Matching Station to be near

"Ah, yes; that's a great cheat. It's not Matching Station at all, but Matching Road Station, and it's eight miles.

It is a great bore, for though the omnibus brings our parcels, we have to be constantly sending over, and it's

very expensive, I can assure you. I want Mr Palliser to have a branch, but he says he would have to take all

"Oh, a little bit of a place. I'll go round by it if you like, and in at the further gate."

"Ah, but I should like. It was a borough once, and belonged to the Duke; but they put it out at the Reform

Bill. They made some kind of bargain he was to keep either Silverbridge or Matching, but not both. Mr

Palliser sits for Silverbridge, you know. The Duke chose Silverbridge or rather his father did, as he was

then going to build his great place in Barsetshire that's near Silverbridge. But the Matching people haven't

forgiven him yet. He was sitting for Matching himself when the Reform Bill passed. Then his father died, and

he hasn't lived here much since. It's a great deal nicer place than Gatherum Castle, only not half so grand. I

"Having cut all your cousins and Lady Midlothian in particular, like a naughty girl as you are. I was so

angry with you when you accused me of selling you about that. You ought to have known that I was the last

"Yes, you did, Alice. I know what you thought; you thought that Lady Midlothian was making a tool of me

that I might bring you under her thumb, so that she might bully you into Mr Grey's arms. That's what you

thought. I don't know that I was at all entitled to your good opinion, but I was not entitled to that special bad

"You shall be guarded. I'll take you under my shield. Mr Grey shan't be named to you, except that I shall

expect you to tell me all about it; and you must tell me all about that dangerous cousin, too, of whom they

were saying such terrible things down in Scotland. I had heard of him before." These last words Lady

Glencora spoke in a lower voice and in an altered tone slowly, as though she were thinking of something

that pained her. It was from Burgo Fitzgerald that she had heard of George Vavasor.

Alice did not know what to say. She found it impossible to discuss all the most secret and deepest of her

feelings out in that open carriage, perhaps in the hearing of the servant behind, on this her first meeting with

her cousin of whom, in fact, she knew very little. She had not intended to discuss these things at all, and

certainly not in such a manner as this. So she remained silent. "This is the beginning of the park," said Lady

Glencora, pointing to a grand old ruin of an oak tree, which stood on the wide margin of the road, outside the

rounded corner of the park palings, propped up with a skeleton of supporting sticks all round it. "And that is

Matching oak, under which Coeur de Lion or Edward the Third, I forget which, was met by Sir Guy de

Palisere as he came from the war, or from hunting, or something of that kind. It was the king, you know, who

had been fighting or whatever it was, and Sir Guy entertained him when he was very tired. Jeffrey Palliser,

who is my husband's cousin, says that old Sir Guy luckily pulled out his brandy flask. But the king

immediately gave him all the lands of Matching only there was a priory then and a lot of monks, and I

don't quite understand how that was. But I know one of the younger brothers always used to be abbot and sit

in the House of Lords. And the king gave him Littlebury at the same time, which is about seven miles away

from here. As Jeffrey Palliser says, it was a great deal of money for a pull at his flask. Jeffrey Palliser is here

now, and I hope you'll like him. If I have no child, and Mr Palliser were not to marry again, Jeffrey would be

the heir." And here again her voice was low and slow, and altogether changed in its tone.

"Either so, or by robbery. Many of them were terrible thieves, my dear, and I dare say Sir Guy was no better

than he should be. But since that they have always called some of the Pallisers Plantagenet. My husband's

name is Plantagenet. The Duke is called George Plantagenet and the king was his godfather. The queen is my

godmother, I believe, but I don't know that I'm much the better for it. There's no use in godfathers and

"If I had a child Oh, Alice, it's a dreadful thing not to have a child when so much depends on it!"

"Ah, well; I can see it in his eyes when he asks me questions; but I don't think he'd say an unkind word, not if

his own position depended on it. Ah, well; this is Matching. That other gate we passed, where Dandy wanted

to turn in that's where we usually go up, but I've brought you round to show you the town. That's the inn

whoever can possibly come to stay there I don't know; I never saw anybody go in or out. That's the baker

who bakes our bread we baked it at the house at first, but nobody could eat it; and I know that that man

there mends Mr Palliser's shoes. He's very particular about his shoes. We shall see the church as we go in at

the other gate. It is in the park, and is very pretty but not half so pretty as the priory ruins close to the

house. The ruins are our great lion. I do so love to wander about them at moonlight. I often think of you when

I do; I don't know why. But I do know why, and I'll tell you some day. Come, Miss Flirt!"

As they drove up through the park, Lady Glencora pointed out first the church and then the ruins, through the

midst of which the road ran, and then they were at once before the front door. The corner of the modern

house came within two hundred yards of the gateway of the old priory. It was a large building, very pretty,

with two long fronts; but it was no more than a house. It was not a palace, nor a castle, nor was it hardly to be

called a mansion. It was built with gabled roofs, four of which formed the side from which the windows of

the drawingrooms opened out upon a lawn which separated the house from the old ruins, and which indeed

surrounded the ruins, and went inside them, forming the present flooring of the old chapel, and the old

refectory, and the old cloisters. Much of the cloisters indeed was standing, and there the stone pavement

remained; but the square of the cloisters was all turfed, and in the middle of it stood a large modern stone

vase, out of the broad basin of which hung flowering creepers and green tendrils.

As Lady Glencora drove up to the door, a gentleman, who had heard the sound of the wheels, came forth to

meet them. "There's Mr Palliser," said she; "that shows that you are an honoured guest, for you may be sure

that he is hard at work and would not have come out for anybody else. Plantagenet, here is Miss Vavasor,

perished. Alice, my husband." Then Mr Palliser put forth his hand and helped her out of the carriage.

"I hope you've not found it very cold," said he. The winter has come upon us quite suddenly."

He said nothing more to her than this, till he met her again before dinner. He was a tall thin man, apparently

not more than thirty years of age, looking in all respects like a gentleman, but with nothing in his appearance

that was remarkable. It was a face that you might see and forget, and see again and forget again; and yet when

you looked at it and pulled it to pieces, you found that it was a fairly good face, showing intellect in the

forehead, and much character in the mouth. The eyes too, though not to be called bright, had always

something to say for themselves, looking as though they had a real meaning. But the outline of the face was

almost insignificant, being too thin; and he wore no beard to give it character. But, indeed, Mr Palliser was a

man who had never thought of assisting his position in the world by his outward appearance. Not to be

looked at, but to be read about in the newspapers, was his ambition. Men said that he was to be Chancellor of

the Exchequer, and no one thought of suggesting that the insignificance of his face would stand in his way.

"The men have not come in from shooting at least I think not and some of the ladies are driving, I

"Of course you haven't. He never has time, Alice, to see any one. But we'll go upstairs, dear. I told them to let

us have tea in my dressingroom, as I thought you'd like that better than going into the drawingroom before

you had taken off your things. You must be famished, I know. Then you can come down, or if you want to

avoid two dressings you can sit over the fire upstairs till dinnertime." So saying she skipped upstairs and

Alice followed her. "Here's my dressingroom, and here's your room all but opposite. You look out into the

park. It's pretty isn't it? But come into my dressingroom, and see the ruins out of the window." Alice

followed Lady Glencora across the passage into what she called her dressingroom, and there found herself

surrounded by an infinitude of feminine luxuries. The prettiest of tables were there the easiest of chairs

the most costly of cabinets the quaintest of old china ornaments. It was bright with the gayest colours

made pleasant to the eye with the binding of many books, having nymphs painted on the ceiling and little

Cupids on the doors. "Isn't it pretty?" she said, turning quickly on Alice. "I call it my dressingroom because

in that way I can keep people out of it, but I have my brushes and soap in a little closet there, and my clothes

my clothes are everywhere I suppose, only there are none of them here. Isn't it pretty?"

"The Duke did it all. He understands such things thoroughly. Now to Mr Palliser a dressingroom is a

dressingroom, and a bedroom a bedroom. He cares for nothing being pretty; not even his wife, or he

"Well, I don't know. Sometimes when I look at myself, when I simply am myself, with no making up or

grimacing, you know, I think I'm the ugliest young woman the sun ever shone on. And in ten years' time I

shall be the ugliest old woman. Only think my hair is beginning to get grey, and I'm not twentyone yet.

Look at it;" and she lifted up the wavy locks just above her ear. "But there's one comfort; he doesn't care

"That's nonsense at any rate. Why should you think I should be ashamed of my age?"

"I don't know why, only, somehow, people are; and I didn't think you were so old. Fiveandtwenty seems so

old to me. It would be nothing if you were married; only, you see, you won't get married."

"Of course you will. You'll have to give way. You'll find that they'll get the better of you. Your father will

storm at you, and Lady Macleod will preach at you, and Lady Midlothian will jump upon you."

"I know what it is, my dear, to be jumped upon. We talk with such horror of the French people giving their

daughters in marriage, just as they might sell a house or a field, but we do exactly the same thing ourselves.

When they all come upon you in earnest how are you to stand against them? How can any girl do it?"

"To be sure you're older and you are not so heavily weighted. But never mind; I didn't mean to talk about

that not yet at any rate. Well, now, my dear, I must go down. The Duchess of St Bungay is here, and Mr

Palliser will be angry if I don't do pretty to her. The Duke is to be the new President of the Council, or rather,

I believe he is President now. I try to remember it all, but it is so hard when one doesn't really care tuppence

how it goes. Not but what I'm very anxious that Mr Palliser should be Chancellor of the Exchequer. And now,

will you remain here, or will you come down with me, or will you go to your own room, and I'll call for you

Alice decided that she would stay in her own room till dinner time, and was taken there by Lady Glencora.

She found her maid unpacking her clothes, and for a while employed herself in assisting at the work; but that

was soon done, and then she was left alone. "I shall feel so strange, ma'am, among all those people down

stairs," said the girl. "They all seem to look at me as though they didn't know who I was."

Alice, when she sat down alone, felt herself to be very much in the same condition as her maid. What would

the Duchess of St Bungay or Mr Jeffrey Palliser who himself might live to be a duke if things went well

for him care for her? As to Mr Palliser, the master of the house, it was already evident to her that he

would not put himself out of his way for her. Had she not done wrong to come there? If it were possible for

her to fly away, back to the dullness of Queen Anne Street, or even to the preachings of Lady Macleod,

would she not do so immediately? What business had she she asked herself to come to such a house as

that? Lady Glencora was very kind to her, but frightened her even by her kindness. Moreover, she was aware

that Lady Glencora could not devote herself especially to any such guest as she was. Lady Glencora must of

course look after her duchesses, and do pretty, as she called it, to her husband's important political alliances.

And then she began to think about Lady Glencora herself. What a strange, weird creature she was with her

round blue eyes and wavy hair, looking sometimes like a child and sometimes almost like an old woman!

And how she talked! What things she said, and what terrible forebodings she uttered of stranger things that

she meant to say! Why had she at their first meeting made that allusion to the mode of her own betrothal

and then, checking herself for speaking of it so soon, almost declared that she meant to speak more of it

"If her lot in life has not satisfied her, there is so much the more reason why she should not mention it." Then

Alice protested to herself that no father, no aunt, no Lady Midlothian should persuade her into a marriage of

which she feared the consequences. But Lady Glencora had made for herself excuses which were not

altogether untrue. She had been very young, and had been terribly weighted with her wealth.

And it seemed to Alice that her cousin had told her everything in that hour and a half that they had been

together. She had given a whole history of her husband and of herself. She had said how indifferent he was to

her pleasures, and how vainly she strove to interest herself in his pursuits. And then, as yet, she was childless

and without prospect of a child, when, as she herself had said "so much depended on it." It was very

strange to Alice that all this should have been already told to her. And why should Lady Glencora think of

The two hours seemed to her very long as though she were passing her time in absolute seclusion at

Matching. Of course she did not dare to go down stairs. But at last her maid came to dress her.

"Why, miss, they are uncommon civil, and I don't think after all it will be so bad. We had our teas very

comfortable in the housekeeper's room. There are five or six of us altogether, all ladies' maids, miss; and

there's nothing on earth to do all the day long, only sit and do a little needlework over the fire."

A few minutes before eight Lady Glencora knocked at Alice's door, and took her arm to lead her to the

drawingroom. Alice saw that she was magnificently dressed, with an enormous expanse of robe, and that

her locks had been so managed that no one could suspect the presence of a grey hair. Indeed, with all her

magnificence, she looked almost a child. "Let me see," she said, as they went down stairs together. "I'll tell

Jeffrey to take you in to dinner. He's about the easiest young man we have here. He rather turns up his nose at

everything, but that doesn't make him the less agreeable; does it, dear? unless he turns up his nose at you,

"No; he won't do that. That would be uncourteous and he's the most courteous man in the world. There's

nobody here, you see," she said as they entered the room, "and I didn't suppose there would be. It's always

proper to be first in one's own house. I do so try to be proper and it is such trouble. Talking of people

earning their bread, Alice I'm sure I earn mine. Oh dear! what fun it would be to be sitting somewhere

in Asia, eating a chicken with one's fingers, and lighting a big fire outside one's tent to keep off the lions and

tigers. Fancy your being on one side of the fire and the lions and tigers on the other, grinning at you through

the flames!" Then Lady Glencora strove to look like a lion, and grinned at herself in the glass.

"I dare say not. I have been reading about it in that woman's travels. Oh, here they are, and I mustn't make

any more faces. Duchess, do come to the fire. I hope you've got warm again. This is my cousin, Miss

The Duchess made a stiff little bow of condescension, and then declared that she was charmingly warm. "I

don't know how you manage in your house, but the staircases are so comfortable. Now at Longroyston we've

taken all the trouble in the world put down hotwater pipes all over the house, and everything else that

could be thought of, and yet, you can't move about the place without meeting with draughts at every corner of

the passages." The Duchess spoke with an enormous emphasis on every other word, sometimes putting so

great a stress on some special syllable, as almost to bring her voice to a whistle. This she had done with the

word "pipes" to a great degree so that Alice never afterwards forgot the hotwater pipes of Longroyston.

"I was telling Lady Glencora, Miss Palliser, that I never knew a house so warm as this or, I'm sorry to

say,' and here the emphasis was very strong on the word sorry "so cold as Longroyston." And the tone

in which Longroyston was uttered would almost have drawn tears from a critical audience in the pit of a

playhouse. The Duchess was a woman of about forty, very handsome, but with no meaning in her beauty,

carrying a good fixed colour in her face, which did not look like paint, but which probably had received some

little assistance from art. She was a wellbuilt, sizeable woman, with good proportions and fine health but

a fool. She had addressed herself to one Miss Palliser; but two Miss Pallisers, cousins of Plantagenet Palliser,

had entered the room at the same time, of whom I may say, whatever other traits of character they may have

"It's always easy to warm a small house like this," said Miss Palliser, whose Christian names, unfortunately

for her, were Iphigenia Theodata, and who by her cousin and sister was called Iphy "and I suppose equally

difficult to warm a large one such as Longroyston." The other Miss Palliser had been christened Euphemia.

"We've got no pipes, Duchess, at any rate," said Lady Glencora; and Alice, as she sat listening, thought she

discerned in Lady Glencora's pronunciation of the word pipes an almost hidden imitation of the Duchess's

whistle. It must have been so, for at the moment Lady Glencora's eye met Alice's for an instant, and was then

withdrawn, so that Alice was compelled to think that her friend and cousin was not always quite successful in

Then the gentlemen came in one after another, and other ladies, till about thirty people were assembled. Mr

Palliser came up and spoke another word to Alice in a kind voice meant to express some sense of

connection if not cousinship. "My wife has been thinking so much of your coming. I hope we shall be able to

amuse you." Alice, who had already begun to feel desolate, was grateful, and made up her mind that she

Jeffrey Palliser was almost the last in the room, but directly he entered Lady Glencora got up from her seat,

and met him as he was coming into the crowd. "You must take my cousin, Alice Vavasor, in to dinner," she

"Then try to make her comfortable." After that she introduced them, and Jeffrey Palliser stood opposite to

Alice found herself seated near to Lady Glencora's end of the table, and, in spite of her resolution to like Mr

Palliser, she was not sorry that such an arrangement had been made. Mr Palliser had taken the Duchess out to

dinner, and Alice wished to be as far removed as possible from Her Grace. She found herself seated between

her bespoken friend Jeffrey Palliser and the Duke, and as soon as she was seated Lady Glencora introduced

her to her second neighbour. "My cousin, Duke," Lady Glencora said, and a terrible Radical."

"Oh, indeed; I'm glad of that. We're sadly in want of a few leading Radicals, and perhaps I may be able to

Alice thought of her cousin George, and wished that he, instead of herself, was sitting next to the Duke of St

"No, Lady Glencora, not so. But as the pretty women lead the men who have eyes in their head. There is

nothing I want so much, Miss Vavasor, as to become a Radical if I only knew how."

"Do you? I don't. I've voted for every Liberal measure that has come seriously before Parliament since I had a

"Have you voted for the ballot?" asked Alice, almost trembling at her own audacity as she put the question.

"Well; no, I've not. And I suppose that is the crux. But the ballot has never been seriously brought before any

House in which I have sat. I hate it with so keen a private hatred, that I doubt whether I could vote for it."

"Palliser," said the Duke, speaking loudly from his end of the table, "I'm told you can never be entitled to call

"I don't want to be called a Radical," said Mr Palliser "or to be called anything at all."

"And that's about the finest ambition by which a man can be moved," said the Duke. "The man who can

manage the pursestrings of this country can manage anything." Then that conversation dropped and the

"I was especially commissioned to amuse you," said Mr Jeffrey Palliser to Alice. "But when I undertook the

task I had no conception that you would be calling Cabinet Ministers over the coals about their politics."

"I did nothing of the kind, surely, Mr Palliser. I suppose all Radicals do vote for the ballot, and that's why I

"Lady Glencora need not have been so anxious to provide specially for your amusement. Not but what I'm

very much obliged to her of course. But, Miss Vavasor, unfortunately I'm not a politician. I haven't a

"Thank God, they can't do much in that way not directly, I mean. Only think where we should be if we

had a feminine House of Commons, with feminine debates, carried on, of course, with feminine courtesy. My

cousins Iphy and Phemy there would of course be members. You don't know them yet?"

"Not especially. They have their tendencies, which are decidedly Liberal. There has never been a Tory

Palliser known, you know. But they are too clever to give themselves up to anything in which they can do

nothing. Being women they live a depressed life, devoting themselves to literature, fine arts, social economy,

and the abstract sciences. They write wonderful letters; but I believe their correspondence lists are quite full,

"Oh! if you mean because you don't know them, that has nothing to do with it." "But I have no claim either

"That has nothing to do with it either. They don't at all seek people of note as their correspondents. Free

communication with all the world is their motto, and Rowland Hill is the god they worship. Only they have

been forced to guard themselves against too great an accession of paper and ink. Are you fond of writing

"I shrewdly suspect they don't read half what they get. Is it possible anyone should go through two sheets of

paper filled by our friend the Duchess there? No; their delight is in writing. They sit each at her desk after

breakfast, and go on till lunch. There is a little rivalry between them, not expressed to each other, but visible

to their friends. Iphy certainly does get off the greater number, and I'm told crosses quite as often as Phemy,

"Oh, dear no. I don't think they ever write to any relative. They don't discuss family affairs and such topics as

that. Architecture goes a long way with them, and whether women ought to be clerks in public offices. Iphy

has certain American correspondents that take up much of her time, but she acknowledges she does not read

"But you are not American, I hope. I do hate the Americans. It's the only strong political feeling I have. I

"But they please themselves. I don't see they are to be hated because they don't live after our fashion."

"Oh; it's jealousy of course. I know that. I didn't come across a cabdriver who wasn't a much better educated

man than I am. And as for their women, they know everything. But I hated them, and I intend to hate them.

"Then I will make bold to say that any English lady who spent a month with them and didn't hate them would

have very singular tastes. I begin to think they'll eat each other up, and then there'll come an entirely new set

of people of a different sort. I always regarded the States as a Sodom and Gomorrah, prospering in

wickedness, on which fire and brimstone were sure to fall sooner or later." "I think that's wicked."

"No; I don't do that, because it's disagreeable; but I do work a good deal. Sometimes I have amused myself by

"Ah; they never do that here. I have heard that there is a library, but the clue to it has been lost, and nobody

now knows the way. I don't believe in libraries. Nobody ever goes into a library to read, any more than you

would into a larder to eat. But there is this difference the food you consume does come out of the larders,

"Ah, yes; he is the great librarian. And you mean to read all the time you are here, Miss Vavasor?"

"Then you must go by moonlight, and I'll go with you. Only isn't it rather late in the year for that?"

Then the Duke spoke to her again, and she found that she got on very well during dinner. But she could not

but feel angry with herself in that she had any fear on the subject and yet she could not divest herself of

that fear. She acknowledged to herself that she was conscious of a certain inferiority to Lady Glencora and to

Mr Jeffrey Palliser, which almost made her unhappy. As regarded the Duke on the other side of her, she had

no such feeling. He was old enough to be her father, and was a Cabinet Minister; therefore he was entitled to

her reverence. But how was it that she could not help accepting the other people round her as being indeed

superior to herself? Was she really learning to believe that she could grow upwards by their sunlight?

"Jeffrey is a pleasant fellow, is he not?" said Lady Glencora to her as they passed back through the

"I should think you would soon find yourself able to get the better of that if he tries it upon you," said Lady

"It is quite deliciously warm, coming from one room to another," said the Duchess, putting her emphasis on

"Then we had better keep continually moving," said a certain Mrs Conway Sparkes, a literary lady, who had

been very handsome, who was still very clever, who was not perhaps very goodnatured, and of whom the

"It makes me tremble in every limb when Mrs Sparkes attacks her," Lady Glencora said to Alice in Alice's

own room that night, "for I know she'll tell the Duke; and he'll tell that tall man with red hair whom you see

standing about, and the tall man with red hair will tell Mr Palliser, and then I shall catch it."

"He's a political link between the Duke and Mr Palliser. His name is Bott, and he's a Member of Parliament."

"I suppose it's his business. I don't quite understand all the ins and outs of it. I believe he's to be one of Mr

Palliser's private secretaries if he becomes Chancellor of the Exchequer. Perhaps he doesn't tell only I

think he does all the same. He always calls me Lady Glencowrer. He comes out of Lancashire, and made

calico as long as he could get any cotton." But this happened in the bedroom, and we must go back for a

The Duchess had made no answer to Mrs Sparkes, and so nothing further was said about the warmth. Nor,

indeed, was there any conversation that was comfortably general. The number of ladies in the room was too

great for that, and ladies do not divide themselves nicely into small parties, as men and women do when they

are mixed. Lady Glencora behaved pretty by telling the Duchess all about her pet pheasants; Mrs Conway

Sparkes told illnatured tales of someone to Miss Euphemia Palliser; one of the Duchess'sdaughters walked

off to a distant piano with an admiring friend and touched a few notes; while Iphigenia Palliser boldly took

up a book, and placed herself at a table. Alice, who was sitting opposite to Lady Glencora, began to speculate

whether she might do the same; but her courage failed her, and she sat on, telling herself that she was out of

her element. "Alice Vavasor," said Lady Glencora after a while, suddenly, and in a somewhat loud voice,

"Then you shall learn tonight, and if nobody else will teach you, you shall be my pupil." Whereupon Lady

Glencora rang the bell and ordered that the billiardtable might be got ready. "You'll play, Duchess, of

"It is so nice and warm, that I think I will," said the Duchess; but as she spoke she looked suspiciously to that

"Let us all play," said Mrs Conway Sparkes, and then it will be nicer and perhaps warmer, too."

The gentlemen joined them just as they were settling themselves round the table, and as many of them stayed

there, the billiardroom became full. Alice had first a cue put into her hand, and making nothing of that was

permitted to play with a mace. The duty of instructing her devolved on Jeffrey Palliser, and the next hour

passed pleasantly not so pleasantly, she thought afterwards, as did some of those hours in Switzerland

when her cousins were with her. After all, she could get more out of her life with such associates as them,

than she could with any of these people at Matching. She felt quite sure of that though Jeffrey Palliser did

take great trouble to teach her the game, and once or twice made her laugh heartily by quizzing the Duchess's

"I wish I could play billiards," said Mrs Sparkes, on one of these occasions; "I do indeed."

"I thought you said you were coming to play," said the Duchess, almost majestically, and with a tone of

"I don't know that there is anything more to see in me than in anybody else," said the Duchess. "Mr Palliser,

"Very well then I suppose Miss Vavasor plays now. That wasa miss. Will you mark that, if you please?"

This latter demand was made with great stress, as though she had been defrauded in the matter of the cannon,

and was obeyed. Before long, the Duchess, with her partner, Lady Glencora, won the game which fact,

however, was, I think, owing rather to Alice's ignorance than to Her Grace's skill. The Duchess, however,

was very triumphant, and made her way back into the drawingroom with a step which seemed to declare

Not long after this the ladies went upstairs on their way to bed. Many of them, perhaps, did not go to their

pillows at once, as it was as yet not eleven o'clock, and it was past ten when they all came down to breakfast.

At any rate, Alice, who had been up at seven, did not go to bed then, nor for the next two hours, "I'll come

into your room just for one minute," Lady Glencora said as she passed on from the door to her own room; and

in about five minutes she was back with her cousin. "Would you mind going into my room it's just there,

and sitting with Ellen for a minute?" This Lady Glencora said in the sweetest possible tone to the girl who

was waiting on Alice; and then, when they were alone together, she got into a little chair by the fireside and

"I must keep you up for a quarter of an hour while I tell you something. But first of all, how do you like the

people? Will you be able to be comfortable with them?" Alice of course said that she thought she would; and

then there came that little discussion in which the duties of Mr Bott, the man with the red hair, were

"But I've got something to tell you," said Lady Glencora, when they had already been there some twenty

"I won't have you call me Lady Glencora. Don't I call you Alice? Why are you so unkind to me? I have not

"But you are going to tell me something.' Alice felt sure that the thing to be told would have some

reference to Mr Fitzgerald, and she did not wish to hear Mr Fitzgerald's name from her cousin's lips. "Tell

you something of course I am. I'm going to tell you that that in writing to you the other day I wrote a

fib. But it wasn't that I wished to deceive you only I couldn't say it all in a letter."

"You know I confessed that I had been very bad in not coming to you in London last year."

"You did not care whether I came or not; was that it? But never mind. Why should you have cared? But I

cared. I told you in my letter that I didn't come because I had so many things on hand. Of course that was a

"But they don't make them to the very people of all others whom they want to know and love. I was longing

to come to you every day. But I feared I could not come without speaking of him and I had determined

never to speak of him again." This she said in that peculiar low voice which she assumed at times.

"I won't be called Lady Glencora. Call me Cora. I had a sister once, older than I, and she used to call me

Cora. If she had lived . But never mind that now. She didn't live, I'll tell you why I do it now. Because I

cannot help it. Besides, I've met him. I've been in the same room with him, and have spoken to him. What's

"Yes; he Mr Palliser knew all about it. When he talked of taking me to the house, I whispered to him

"Why not? why not his Christian name? I did when I told my husband. Or perhaps I said Burgo

"And he bade me go. He said it didn't signify, and that I had better learn to bear it. Bear it, indeed! If I am to

meet him, and speak to him, and look at him, surely I may mention his name." And then she paused for an

"Anything you please, that's not a falsehood. But I've got you here because I don't think you will tell a

Hard, indeed, poor creature, for one so weighted as she had been, and sent out into the world with so small

advantages of previous training or of present friendship! Alice began to feel now that she had been enticed to

Matching Priory because her cousin wanted a friend, and of course she could not refuse to give the friendship

that was asked from her. She got up from her chair, and kneeling down at the other's feet put up her face and

"I knew you would be good to me," said Lady Glencora. "I knew you would. And you may say whatever you

like. But I could not bear that you should not know the real reason why I neither came to you nor sent for you

"Yes and you'll come to me," said Alice, making in her mind a sort of bargain that she was not to be

received into Mr Palliser's house after the fashion in which Lady Midlothian had proposed to receive her. But

it struck her at once that this was unworthy of her, and ungenerous. "But I'll come to you," she added,

"I will go to you," said Lady Glencora, of course why shouldn't 1? But you know what I mean. We shall

"And therefore there is so much more excuse for your coming to me or rather I mean so much more

reason, for I don't want excuses. Well, dear, I'm so glad I've told you. I was afraid to see you in London. I

should hardly have known how to look at you then. But I've got over that now." Then she smiled and returned

the kiss which Alice had given her. It was singular to see her standing on the bedroom rug with all her

magnificence of dress, but with her hair pushed back behind her ears, and her eyes red with tears as

though the burden of the magnificence remained to her after its purpose was over.

"I declare it's ever so much past twelve. Good night, now, dear. I wonder whether he's come up. But I should

have heard his step if he had. He never treads lightly. He seldom gives over work till after one, and

sometimes goes on till three. It's the only thing he likes, I believe. God bless you! Good night. I've such a deal

more to say to you; and, Alice, you must tell me something about yourself, too; won't you, dear?" Then

without waiting for an answer Lady Glencora went, leaving Alice in a maze of bewilderment. She could

hardly believe that all she had heard, and all she had done, had happened since she left Queen Anne Street

Mr Palliser was one of those politicians in possessing whom England has perhaps more reason to be proud

than of any other of her resources, and who, as a body, give to her that exquisite combination of conservatism

and progress which is her present strength and best security for the future. He could afford to learn to be a

statesman, and had the industry wanted for such training. He was born in the purple, noble himself, and heir

to the highest rank as well as one of the greatest fortunes of the country, already very rich, surrounded by all

the temptations of luxury and pleasure; and yet he devoted himself to work with the grinding energy of a

young penniless barrister labouring for a penniless wife, and did so without any motive more selfish than that

of being counted in the roll of the public servants of England. He was not a brilliant man, and understood

well that such was the case. He was now listened to in the House, as the phrase goes; but he was listened to as

a laborious man, who was in earnest in what he did, who got up his facts with accuracy, and who, dull though

he be, was worthy of confidence. And he was very dull. He rather prided himself on being dull, and on

conquering in spite of his dullness. He never allowed himself a joke in his speeches, nor attempted even the

smallest flourish of rhetoric. He was very careful in his language, labouring night and day to learn to express

himself with accuracy, with no needless repetition of words, perspicuously with regard to the special object

he might have in view. He had taught himself to believe that oratory, as oratory, was a sin against that

honesty in politics by which he strove to guide himself. He desired to use words for the purpose of teaching

things which he knew and which others did not know; and he desired also to be honoured for his knowledge.

But he had no desire to be honoured for the language in which his knowledge was conveyed. He was an

upright, thin, laborious man; who by his parts alone could have served no political party materially, but

whose parts were sufficient to make his education, integrity, and industry useful in the highest degree. It is

the trust which such men inspire which makes them so serviceable trust not only in their labour for any

man rising from the mass of the people may be equally laborious; nor yet simply in their honesty and

patriotism. The confidence is given to their labour, honesty, and patriotism joined to such a personal stake in

the country as gives them a weight and ballast which no politician in England can possess without it.

If he was dull as a statesman he was more dull in private life, and it may be imagined that such a woman as

his wife would find some difficulty in making his society the source of her happiness. Their marriage, in a

point of view regarding business, had been a complete success and a success, too, when on the one side,

that of Lady Glencora, there had been terrible dangers of shipwreck, and when on his side also there had been

some little fears of a mishap. As regards her it has been told how near she went to throwing herself, with all

her vast wealth, into the arms of a young man, whom no father, no guardian, could have regarded as a

wellchosen husband for any girl one who as yet had shown no good qualities, who had been a

spendthrift, unprincipled, and debauched. Alas, she had loved him! It is possible that her love and her wealth

might have turned him from evil to good. But who would have ventured to risk her I will not say her and

her vast inheritances on such a chance? That evil, however, had been prevented, and those about her had

managed to marry her to a young man, very steady by nature, with worldly prospects as brilliant as her own,

and with a station than which the world offers nothing higher. His little threatened mischance a passing

fancy for a married lady who was too wise to receive vows which were proffered not in the most ardent

manner had, from special reasons, given some little alarm to his uncle, which had just sufficed at the time

to make so very judicious a marriage doubly pleasant to that noble duke. So that all things and all people had

conspired to shower substantial comforts on the heads of this couple, when they were joined together, and

men and women had not yet ceased to declare how happy were both in the accumulated gifts of fortune.

And as regards Mr Palliser, I think that his married life, and the wife, whom he certainly had not chosen, but

who had dropped upon him, suited him admirably. He wanted great wealth for that position at which he

aimed. He had been rich before his marriage with his own wealth so rich that he could throw thousands

away if hewished it; but for him and his career was needed that colossal wealth which would make men talk

about it which would necessitate an expansive expenditure, reaching far and wide, doing nothing, or less

than nothing, for his own personal comfort, but giving to him at once that rocklike solidity which is so

necessary to our great aristocratic politicians. And his wife was, as far as he knew, all that he desired. He had

not dabbled much in the fountains of Venus, though he had forgotten himself once, and sinned in coveting

another man's wife. But his sin then had hardly polluted his natural character, and his desire had been of a

kind which was almost more gratified in its disappointment than it would have been in its fruition. On the

morning after the lady had frowned on him he had told himself that he was very well out of that trouble. He

knew that it would never be for him to hang up on the walls of a temple a wellworn lute as a votive offering

when leaving the pursuits of love. Idoneus puellis he never could have been. So he married Lady Glencora

and was satisfied. The story of Burgo Fitzgerald was told to him, and he supposed that most girls had some

such story to tell. He thought little about it, and by no means understood her when she said to him, with all

the impressiveness which she could throw into the words, "You must know that I have really loved him."

"You must love me now," he had replied with a smile; and then, as regarded his mind, the thing was over.

And since his marriage he had thought that things matrimonial had gone well with him, and with her too. He

gave her almost unlimited power of enjoying her money, and interfered but little in her way of life.

Sometimes he would say a word of caution to her with reference to those childish ways which hardly became

the dull dignity of his position; and his words then would have in them something of unintentional severity

whether instigated or not by the redhaired Radical Member of Parliament, I will not pretend to say

but on the whole he was contented and loved his wife, as he thought, very heartily, and at least better than he

loved anyone else. One cause of unhappiness, or rather one doubt as to his entire good fortune, was beginning

to make itself felt, as his wife had to her sorrow already discovered. He had hoped that before this he might

have heard that she would give him a child. But the days were young yet for that trouble, and the care had not

But this judicious arrangement as to properties, this wellordered alliance between families, had not perhaps

suited her as well as it had suited him. I think that she might have learned to forget her early lover, or to look

back upon him with a soft melancholy hardly amounting to regret, had her new lord been more tender in his

ways with her. I do not know that Lady Glencora's heart was made of that stern stuff which refuses to change

its impressions; but it was a heart, and it required food. To love and fondle someone to be loved and

fondled, were absolutely necessary to her happiness. She wanted the little daily assurance of her supremacy

in the man's feelings, the constant touch of love, half accidental half contrived, the passing glance of the eye

telling perhaps of some little joke understood only between them two rather than of love, the softness of an

occasional kiss given here and there when chance might bring them together, some halfpretended interest in

her little doings, a nod, a wink, a shake of the head, or even a pout. It should have been given to her to feed

upon such food as this daily, and then she would have forgotten Burgo Fitzgerald. But Mr Palliser understood

none of these things; and therefore the image of Burgo Fitzgerald in all his beauty was ever before her eyes.

But not the less was Mr Palliser a prosperous man, as to the success of whose career few who knew him had

much doubt. It might be written in the book of his destiny that he would have to pass through some violent

domestic trouble, some ruin in the hopes of his home, of a nature to destroy then and for ever the worldly

prospects of other men. But he was one who would pass through such violence, should it come upon him,

without much scathe. To lose his influence with his party would be worse to him than to lose his wife, and

And the present was the very moment in which success was, as was said, coming to him. He had already held

laborious office under the Crown, but had never sat in the Cabinet. He had worked much harder than Cabinet

Ministers generally work but hitherto had worked without any reward that was worth his having. For the

stipend which he had received had been nothing to him as the great stipend which he would receive, if his

hopes were true, would also be nothing to him. To have ascendancy over other men, to be known by his

countrymen as one of their real rulers, to have an actual and acknowledged voice in the management of

nations those were the rewards for which he looked; and now in truth it seemed as though they were

coming to him. It was all but known that the existing Chancellor of the Exchequer would separate himself

from the Government, carrying various others with him, either before or immediately consequent on the

meeting of Parliament and it was all but known, also, that Mr Palliser would fill his place, taking that high

office at once, although he had never hitherto sat in that august assembly which men call the Cabinet. He

could thus afford to put up with the small everyday calamity of having a wife who loved another man better

The presence of the Duke of St Bungay at Matching was assumed to be a sure sign of Mr Palliser's coming

triumph. The Duke was a statesman of a very different class, but he also had been eminently successful as an

aristocratic pillar of the British Constitutional Republic. He was a minister of very many years' standing,

being as used to cabinet sittings as other men are to their own armchairs; but he had never been a

hardworking man. Though a constant politician, he had ever taken politics easy whether in office or out.

The world had said before now that the Duke might be Premier, only that he would not take the trouble. He

had been consulted by a very distinguished person so the papers had said more than once as to the

making of Prime Ministers. His voice in council was esteemed to be very great. He was regarded as a strong

rock of support to the Liberal cause, and yet nobody ever knew what he did; nor was there much record of

what he said. The offices which he held, or had held, were generally those to which no very arduous duties

were attached. In severe debates he never took upon himself the brunt of opposition oratory. What he said in

the House was generally short and pleasant with some slight, drolling undercurrent of uninjurious satire

running through it. But he was a walking miracle of the wisdom of common sense. He never lost his temper.

He never made mistakes. He never grew either hot or cold in a cause. He was never reckless in politics, and

never cowardly. He snubbed no man, and took snubbings from no man. He was a Knight of the Garter, a

Lord Lieutenant of his county, and at sixtytwo had his digestion unimpaired and his estate in excellent

order. He was a great buyer of pictures, which, perhaps, he did not understand, and a great collector of books

which certainly he never read. All the world respected him, and he was a man to whom the respect of all the

But even he was not without his peacock on the wall, his skeleton in the closet, his thorn in his side; though

the peacock did not scream loud, the skeleton was not very terrible in his anatomical arrangement, nor was

the thorn likely to fester to a gangrene. The Duke was always in awe about his wife.

He was ever uneasy about his wife, but it must not be supposed that he feared the machinations of any Burgo

Fitzgerald as being destructive of his domestic comfort. The Duchess was and always had been all that is

proper. Ladies in high rank, when gifted with excelling beauty, have often been made the marks of

undeserved calumny but no breath of slander had ever touched her name. I doubt if any man alive had

ever had the courage even to wink at her since the Duke had first called her his own. Nor was she a

spendthrift, or a gambler. She was not fast in her tastes, or given to any pursuit that was objectionable. She

was simply a fool, and as a fool was ever fearing that she was the mark of ridicule. In all such miseries she

would complain sorrowfully, piteously, and occasionally very angrily, to her dear Duke and protector; till

sometimes her dear Duke did not quite know what to do with her or how to protect her. It did not suit him, a

Knight of the Garter and a Duke of St Bungay, to beg mercy for that poor wife of his from such a one as Mrs

Conway Sparkes; nor would it be more in his way to lodge a formal complaint against that lady before his

host or hostess as one boy at school may sometimes do as regards another. "If you don't like the people,

my dear, we will go away," he said to her late on that evening of which we have spoken. "No," she replied, I

do not wish to go away. I have said that we would stay till December, and Longroyston won't be ready before

that. But I think that something ought to be done to silence that woman." And the accent came strong upon

The Duke did not know how to silence Mrs Conway Sparkes. It was a great principle of his life never to be

angry with anyone. How could he get at Mrs Conway Sparkes? "I don't think she is worth your attention,"

said the husband, "That's all very well, Duke," said the wife, "and perhaps she is not. But I find her in this

house, and I don't like to be laughed at. I think Lady Glencora should make her know her place."

"I don't know about being so very young," said the Duchess, whose ear had perhaps caught some little hint of

poor Lady Glencora's almost unintentional mimicry. Now as appeals of this kind were being made frequently

to the Duke, and as he was often driven to say some word, of which he himself hardly approved, to someone

in protection of his Duchess, he was aware that the matter was an annoyance, and at times almost wished that

Her Grace was at Longroyston. And there was a third politician staying at Matching Priory who had never

yet risen to the rank of a statesman, but who had his hopes. This was Mr Bott, the member for St Helens,

whom Lady Glencora had described as a man who stood about, with red hair and perhaps told tales of her

to her husband. Mr Bott was a person who certainly had had some success in life and who had won it for

himself. He was not very young, being at this time only just on the right side of fifty. He was now enjoying

his second session in Parliament, having been returned as a pledged disciple of the Manchester school. Nor

had he apparently been false to his pledges. At St Helens he was still held to be a good man and true. But they

who sat on the same side with him in the House and watched his political manoeuvres, knew that he was

striving hard to get his finger into the public pie. He was not a rich man, though he had made calico and had

got into Parliament. And though he claimed to be a thoroughgoing Radical, he was a man who liked to live

with aristocrats, and was fond of listening to the whispers of such as the Duke of St Bungay or Mr Palliser. It

was supposed that he did understand something of finance. He was at any rate great in figures; and as he was

possessed of much industry, and was obedient withal, he was a man who might make himself useful to a

There are men who get into such houses as Matching Priory and whose presence there is a mystery to many

as to whom the ladies of the house never quite understand why they are entertaining such a guest. "And

Mr Bott is coming," Mr Palliser had said to his wife. "Mr Bott!" Lady Glencora had answered. Goodness me!

Who is Mr Bott?" "He is member for St Helens, said Mr Palliser. "A very serviceable man in his way. And

what am I to do with him?" asked Lady Glencora. "I don't know that you can do anything with him. He is a

man who has a great deal of business, and I dare say he will spend most of his time in the library." So Mr

Bott arrived. But though a huge pile of letters and papers came to him every morning by post, he

unfortunately did not seem to spend much of his time in the library. Perhaps he had not found the clue to that

lost apartment. Twice he went out shooting, but as on the first day he shot the keeper, and on the second very

nearly shot the Duke, he gave that up. Hunting he declined, though much pressed to make an essay in that art

by Jeffrey Palliser. He seemed to spend his time, as Lady Glencora said, in standing about except at

certain times when he was closeted with Mr Palliser, and when, it may be presumed, he made himself useful.

On such days he would be seen at the hour of lunch with fingers much stained with ink, and it was generally

supposed that on those occasions he had been counting up taxes and calculating the effect of great financial

changes. He was a tall, wiry, strong man, with a bald head and bristly red beard, which, however, was cut off

from his upper and under lip. This was unfortunate, as had he hidden his mouth he would not have been in so

marked a degree an ugly man. His upper lip was very long, and his mouth was mean. But he had found that

without the help of a razor to these parts he could not manage his soup to his satisfaction, and preferring

"I shouldn't dislike Mr Bott so much," Lady Glencora said to her husband, "if he didn't rub his hands and

smile so often, and seem to be going to say something when he really is not going to say anything."

"I don't think you need trouble yourself about him, my dear," Mr Palliser had answered.

"But when he looks at me in that way, I can't help stopping, as I think he is going to speak; and then he

She instantly saw that her husband did not like this. "Don't be angry with me, dear," she said. "You must

"I am not at all angry, Glencora," said the husband; "and if you insist upon it, I will see that he leaves and

in such case will of course never ask him again. But that might be prejudicial to me, as he is a man whom I

Of course Lady Glencora declared that Mr Bott might remain as long as he and her husband desired, and of

course she mentioned his name no more to Mr Palliser; but from that time forth she regarded Mr Bott as an

When it was known among outside politicians that the Duke of St Bungay was staying at Matching Priory,

outside politicians became more sure than ever that Mr Palliser would be the new Chancellor of the

Exchequer. The old minister and the young minister were of course arranging matters together. But I doubt

whether Mr Palliser and the Duke ever spoke on any such topic during the entire visit. Though Mr Bott was

occasionally closeted with Mr Palliser, the Duke never troubled himself with such closetings. He went out

shooting on his pony, read his newspaper, wrote his notes, and looked with the eye of a connoisseur over all

Mr Palliser's farming apparatus. "You seem to have a good man, I should say," said the Duke. "What!

Hubbings? Yes he was a legacy from my uncle when he gave me up the Priory.'"A very good man, I

should say. Of course he won't make it pay; but he'll make it look as though it did which is the next best

thing. I could never get rent out of land that I farmed myself never.'"I suppose not," said Mr Palliser, who

did not care much about it. The Duke would have talked to him by the hour together about farming had Mr

Palliser been so minded; but he talked to him very little about politics. Nor during the whole time of his stay

at Matching did the Duke make any other allusion to Mr Palliser's hopes as regarded the ministry, than that in

which he had told Lady Glencora at the dinnertable that her husband's ambition was the highest by which

"We shall muster pretty strong, your Grace," Mr Bott had said to him one day before dinner.

"Oh yes; there'll be a change certainly, I should say. And it will be in your direction."

"Yes; I should think so that is, if it suits him. Bytheby, Mr Bott " Then there was a little whispered

communication, in which perhaps Mr Bott was undertaking some commission of that nature which Lady

At the end of ten days Alice found herself quite comfortable till the second week of December, at which time

she was to go to Vavasor Hall there to meet her father and Kate. The Pallisers were to pass their

Christmas with the Duke of Omnium in Barsetshire. "We always are to do that," said Glencora. "It is the state

occasion at Gatherum Castle, but it only lasts for one week. Then we go somewhere else. Oh dear!"

"That's so like you, Alice. But I can be as firm as you, and I'm sure I won't tell you unless you do ask." But

Alice did not ask, and it was not long before Lady Glencora's firmness gave way.

But, as I have said, Alice had become quite comfortable at Matching Priory. Perhaps she was already

growing upwards towards the light. At any rate she could listen with pleasure to the few words the Duke

would say to her. She could even chat a little to the Duchess so that Her Grace had observed to Lady

Glencora that "her cousin was a very nice person a very nice person indeed. What a pity it was that she

had been so illtreated by that gentleman in Oxfordshire?" Lady Glencora had to explain that the gentleman

lived in Cambridgeshire, and that he, at any rate, had not treated anybody ill. "Do you mean that she jilted

him?" said the Duchess, almost whistling, and opening her eyes very wide. "Dear me, I'm sorry for that. I

shouldn't have thought it." And when she next spoke to Alice she assumed rather a severe tone of emphasis

Alice also had learned to ride, or rather had resumed her riding, which for years had been abandoned. Jeffrey

Palliser had been her squire, and she had become intimate with him so as to learn to quarrel with him and to

like him to such an extent that Lady Glencora had laughingly told her that she was going to do more.

"Upon my word it would be very nice and then perhaps some day you'd be the Duchess."

"Those are the speculations which people make. Only I should spite you by killing myself, so that he might

"I think I shall some day. What right have I to stand in his way? He spoke to me the other day about

Jeffrey's altered position, and I knew what he meant or rather what he didn't mean to say, but what he

"You are thinking of things which should never be in your thoughts," said Alice vehemently. "Have you no

Mr Bott had gone away, much to Lady Glencora's delight, but had unfortunately come back again. On his

return Alice heard more of the feud between the Duchess and Mrs Conway Sparkes. "I did not tell you," said

Lady Glencora to her friend "I did not tell you before he went that I was right about his talebearing."

"Yes; I did get the scolding, and I know very well that it came through him, though Mr Palliser did not say

so. But he told me that the Duchess had felt herself hurt by that other woman's way of talking."

"No; that's what I said. It was he who desired me to ask Mrs Conway Sparkes to come here. I didn't want her.

She goes everywhere, and it is thought a catch to get her; but if she had been drowned in the Red Sea I

shouldn't have minded. When I told him that, he said it was nonsense which of course it was; and then he

said I ought to make her hold her tongue. Of course I said I couldn't. Mrs Conway Sparkes wouldn't care for

me. If she quizzedme, myself, I told him that I could take care of myself, though she were ten times Mrs

"Oh, I dare say! I know a great deal of it by heart, only I wouldn't give her the pleasure of supposing that I

have ever thought so much about her poetry. And then I told him that I couldn't take care of the Duchess

"I am a child; I know that. Why didn't he marry some strongminded, ferocious woman that could keep his

house in order, and frown Mrs Sparkes out of her impudence? It wasn't my fault."

"But I did. Then he kissed me, and said it was all right, and told me that I should grow older. "And Mrs

Sparkes will grow more impudent", I said, "and the Duchess more silly.' And after that I went away. Now this

horrid Mr Bott has come back again, and only that it would be mean in me to condescend so far, I would

punish him. He grins and smiles at me, and rubs his big hands more than ever, because he feels that he has

"Yes; but I am the mistress here, and am told that I am to entertain the people. Fancy entertaining the

Alice had now become so intimate with Lady Glencora that she did not scruple to read her wise lectures

telling her that she allowed herself to think too much of little things and too much also of some big things.

"As regards Mr Bott," said Alice, "I think you should bear it as though there were no such person."

"No; it would not be pretence; it would be the reticence which all women should practise and you, in your

position, more almost than any other woman." Then Lady Glencora pouted, told Alice that it was a pity she

That evening the evening of Mr Bott's return to Matching, that gentleman found a place near to Alice in

the drawingroom. He had often come up to her, rubbing his hands together, and saying little words, as

though there was some reason from their positions that they two should be friends. Alice had perceived this,

and had endeavoured with all her force to shake him off; but he was a man,who if he understood a hint, never

took it. A cold shoulder was nothing to him, if he wanted to gain the person who showed it him. His code of

perseverance taught him that it was a virtue to overcome cold shoulders. The man or woman who received his

first overtures with grace would probably be one on whom it would be better that he should look down and

waste no further time; whereas he or she who could afford to treat him with disdain would no doubt be worth

gaining. Such men as Mr Bott are ever gracious to cold shoulders. The colder the shoulders, the more

"What a delightful person is our dear friend, Lady Glencora!" said Mr Bott, having caught Alice in a position

Alice had half a mind to differ, or to make any remark that might rid her from Mr Bott. But she did not dare

to say a word that might seem to have been said playfully. "Yes, indeed," she replied. "How very cold it is

tonight!" She was angry with herself for her own stupidity as soon as the phrase was out of her mouth, and

then she almost laughed as she thought of the Duchess and the hotwater pipes at Longroyston.

"Yes, it is cold. You and her ladyship are great friends, I believe, Miss Vavasor."

"Ah! yes; that is so pleasant. I have reason to know that Mr Palliser is very much gratified that you should be

This was unbearable. Alice could not quite assume sufficient courage to get up from her chair and walk away

from him, and yet she felt that she must escape further conversation. "I don't know that I am very much with

But Mr Bott was not a man to be put down when he had a purpose in hand. "I can assure you that those are

his sentiments. Of course we all know that dear Lady Glencora is young. She is very young."

"I haven't her welfare in view, Mr Bott; not in the least. There is no reason why I should. You must excuse

me if I say I cannot talk about her welfare with a perfect stranger." Then she did get up, and went away from

the Member of Parliament, leaving him rather astonished at her audacity. But he was a constant man, and his

I wonder whether Jeffrey Palliser did think much of the difference between his present position and that

which would have been his had Lady Glencora been the happy possessor of a cradle upstairs with a boy in it.

I suppose he must have done so. It is hardly possible that any man should not be alive to the importance of

such a chance. His own present position was one of the most unfortunate which can fall to the lot of a man.

His father, the Duke's youngest brother, had left him about six hundred a year, and had left him also a taste

for living with people of six thousand. The propriety of earning his bread had never been put before him. His

father had been in Parliament, and had been the most favoured son of the old Duke, who for some years

before his death had never spoken to him who now reigned over the house of the Pallisers. Jeffrey's father

had been brought up at Matching Priory as scions of ducal houses are brought up, and on the old man's death

had been possessed of means sufficient to go on in the same path, though with difficulty. His brother had

done something for him, and at various times he had held some place near the throne. But on his death, when

the property left behind him was divided between his son and three daughters, Jeffrey Palliser became

possessed of the income above stated. Of course he could live on it and as during the winter months of the

year a home was found for him free of cost, he could keep hunters, and live as rich men live. But he was a

poor, embarrassed man, without prospects until this fine ducal prospect became opened to him by the

But the prospect was no doubt very distant. Lady Glencora might yet have as many sons as Hecuba. Or she

might die, and some other more fortunate lady might become the mother of his cousin's heir. Or the Duke

might marry and have a son. And, moreover, his cousin was only one year older than himself, and the great

prize, if it came his way, might not come for forty years as yet. Nevertheless his hand might now be

acceptable in quarters where it would certainly be rejected had Lady Glencora possessed that cradle upstairs.

"It is a pity you should do nothing all your life," his cousin Plantagenet said to him one morning just at this

time. Jeffrey had sought the interview in his cousin's room, and I fear had done so with some slight request

"Oh, yes I could marry. There's no man so poor but what he can do that. The question would be how I

"I don't see that you need starve. Though your own fortune is small, it is something and many girls have

Jeffrey thought of Lady Glencora, but he made no allusion to her in speech. "I don't think I'm very good at

that kind of thing," he said, "When the father and mother came to ask of my house and my home I should

break down. I don't say it as praising myself indeed, quite the reverse; but I fear I have not a mercenary

"Men must have mercenary tendencies or they would not have bread. The man who ploughs that he may live

"There is no vulgar error so vulgar that is to say, common or erroneous as that by which men have

been taught to say that mercenary tendencies are bad. A desire for wealth is the source of all progress.

Civilization comes from what men call greed. Let your mercenary tendencies be combined with honesty and

they cannot take you astray." This the future Chancellor of the Exchequer said with much of that air and tone

of wisdom which a Chancellor of the Exchequer ought to possess. "But I haven't got any such tendencies,"

"You mean a desk in the Treasury with a hundred a year. Yes; I think I am too old."

"No I shouldn't do that. I should get up an opposition to theGovernment and that sort of thing, and then

"That does very well here, Jeffrey, if a man can get into Parliament and has capital enough to wait; but I don't

"What; here? Of course I should. Only I should be sure to get terribly into debt. I don't owe very much, now

"You owe nothing to me," said Plantagenet, with some little touch of magniloquence in his tone. "No; don't

speak of it. I have no brother, and between you and me it means nothing. You see, Jeffrey, it may be that I

shall have to look to you as my my my heir, in short." Hereupon Jeffrey muttered something as to the

small probability of such necessity, and as to the great remoteness of any result even if it were so.

"That's all true," said the elder heir of the Pallisers, "but still . In short, I wish you would do something.

Do think about it; and then some day speak to me again." Jeffrey, as he left his cousin with a cheque for �500

in his waistcoat pocket, thought that the interview which had at one time taken important dimensions, had not

been concluded altogether satisfactorily. A seat in Parliament! Yes, indeed! If his cousin would so far use his

political, monetary, or ducal interest as to do that for him as to give him something of the status properly

belonging to the younger son of the House, then indeed life would have some charms for him! But as for the

farm in Scotland, or a desk at an office in London his own New Zealand plan would be better than those.

And then as he went along of course he bethought himself that it might be his lot yet to die, and at least to be

buried, in the purple, as a Duke of Omnium. If so, certainly it would be his duty to prepare another heir, and

"Are you going to ride with us after lunch?" said Lady Glencora to him as he strolled into the drawingroom.

"To study or rather I shall spend today in sitting down and considering what I will study. My cousin has

"But he didn't seem to have any clear opinion what it ought to be. You see there can't be two Chancellors of

the Exchequer at the same time. Mrs Sparkes, what ought a young man like me to set about doing?"

"Ah, yes; exactly. He had some notion of that kind, too, but he didn't name any particular place. I think I'll try

the City of London. They've four there, and of course the chance of getting in would thereby be doubled."

"I thought that commercial men were generally preferred in the City," said the Duchess, taking a strong and

"Mr Palliser means to make a fortune in trade as a preliminary," said Mrs Sparkes.

Twice during this little conversation Lady Glencora had looked up, catching Alice's eye, and Alice had well

known what she had meant. "You see," the glance had said, Plantagenet is beginning to take an interest in his

cousin, and you know why. The man who is to be the father of the future dukes must not be allowed to fritter

away his time in obscurity. Had I that cradle upstairs Jeffrey might be as idle as he pleased." Alice

Of course Jeffrey did join the riding party. "What is a man like to me to do who wants to do something?" he

said to Alice. Alice was quite aware that Lady Glencora had contrived some little scheme that Mr Palliser

should be riding next to her. She liked Mr Palliser, and therefore had no objection; but she declared to herself

"Yes and the dear Duchess would perhaps suggest a house in Belgrave Square. I want to hear your advice

"What! Iphy? About procrastination? But you see the more of my time he steals the better it is for me."

"A very good thing too, I'm sure," said Alice; only it depends something on the sort of wife you get."

"Looking at it from my cousin's point of view, I suppose that it is the only important point. Who are there

"Upon my word I don't know. In the first place, how much money makes an heiress?"

"No ; perhaps that's too moderate. But the lower one went in the money speculation, the greater would be

the number to choose from, and the better the chance of getting something decent in the woman herself. I

have something of my own not much you know; so with the lady's ten thousand pounds we might be able

"My people here would have got rid of me. That seems to be the great thing. If you hear of any girl with

about that sum, moderately goodlooking, not too young so that she might know something of the world,

"Yes, I will," said Alice, who was quite aware that he had made an accurate picture of her own position.

"I declare I don't think he could do anything better," her cousin said to her that night. Lady Glencora was now

in the habit of having Alice with her in what she called her dressingroom every evening, and then they

would sit till the small hours came upon them. Mr Palliser always burnt the midnight oil and came to bed

with the owls. They would often talk of him and his prospects till Alice had perhaps inspired his wife with

more of interest in him and them than she had before felt. And Alice had managed generally to drive her

friend away from those topics which were so dangerous those allusions to her childlessness, and those

hints that Burgo Fitzgerald was still in her thoughts. And sometimes, of course, they had spoken of Alice's

own prospects, till she got into a way of telling her cousin freely all that she felt. On such occasions Lady

Glencora would always tell her that she had been right if she did not lovethe man. "Though your finger

were put out for the ring," said Lady Glencora on one such occasion, "you should go back, if you did not love

"Then I don't understand it," said Lady Glencora; and, in truth, close as was their intimacy, they did not

"But why should it be nonsense? You would be very comfortable with your joint incomes. He is one of the

best fellows in the world. It is clear that he likes you; and then we should be so near to each other. I am sure

Mr Palliser would do something for him if he married and especially if I asked him."

"That he would not take me for his wife, and that I would not take him for my husband."

"I don't dislike him at all. I like him very much indeed. But one can't marry all the people one likes."

"This chiefly," said Alice, after a pause; that I have just separated myself from a man whom I certainly did

love truly, and that I cannot transfer my affections quite so quickly as that." As soon as the words were out of

her mouth she knew that they should not have been spoken. It was exactly what Glencora had done. She had

loved a man and had separated herself from him and had married another, all within a month or two. Lady

Glencora first became red as fire over her whole face and shoulders, and Alice afterwards did the same as she

"It is an unmaidenly thing to do, certainly," said Lady Glencora very slowly, and in her lowest voice. "Nay, it

is unwomanly; but one may be driven. One may be so driven that all gentleness of womanhood is driven out

"I did do it suddenly. I know it. I did it like a beast that is driven as its owner chooses. I know it. I was a

"But I love you with all my heart," said Alice. "Glencora, I have learned to love you so dearly!"

"Then you are the only being that does. He can't love me. How is it possible? You and perhaps another."

"It is impossible. I have never said a word to him that could make him love me. I have never done a thing for

him that can make him love me. The mother of his child he might have loved, because of that. Why should he

love me? We were told to marry each other and did it. When could he have learned to love me? But, Alice, he

requires no loving, either to take it or to give it. I wish it were so with me."

Alice said what she could to comfort her, but her words were but of little avail as regarded those marriage

"Forgive you!" at last Glencora said. What have I to forgive? You don't suppose I do not know it all, and

think of it all without the chance of some stray word like that! Forgive you! I am so grateful that you love

A week or ten days after this, Alice, when she came down to the breakfast parlour one morning, found herself

alone with Mr Bott. It was the fashion at Matching Priory for people to assemble rather late in the day. The

nominal hour for breakfast was ten, and none of the ladies of the party were ever seen before that. Some of

the gentlemen would breakfast earlier, especially on hunting mornings; and on some occasions the ladies,

when they came together, would find themselves altogether deserted by their husbands and brothers. On this

day it was fated that Mr Bott alone should represent the sterner sex, and when Alice entered the room he was

standing on the rug with his back to the fire, waiting till the appearance of some other guest should give him

the sanction necessary for the commencement of his morning meal. Alice, when she saw him, would have

retreated had it been possible, for she had learned to dislike him greatly, and was, indeed, almost afraid of

"Do you intend to prolong your stay here, Miss Vavasor?" said Mr Bott, taking advantage of the first moment

"Ah! I'm glad of that. Mr Palliser has pressed me so much to remain till he goes to the Duke's, that I

cannot get away sooner. As I am an unmarried man myself, I can employ my time as well in one place as in

"Yes, it is convenient. You see in my position Parliamentary position, I mean I am obliged, as a public

man, to act in concert with others. A public man can be of no service unless he is prepared to do that. We

As Miss Vavasor made no remark in answer to this, Mr Bott continued "I always say to the men of my

"Yes. I came into Parliament on that understanding; and I have never seen any occasion as yet to change any

political opinion that I have expressed. But I always say to the gentlemen with whom I act, that nothing can

be done if we don't give and take. I don't mind saying to you, Miss Vavasor, that I look upon our friend, Mr

"I am happy to hear you say so," said his victim, who found herself driven to make some remark.

"And I, as an extreme Radical, do not think I can serve my party better than by keeping in the same boat with

him, as long as it will hold the two. "He'll make a Government hack of you," a friend of mine said to me the

other day. "And I'll make a Manchester school Prime Minister of him," I replied. I rather think I know what

"And so does he and so does he. Mr Palliser is not the man to be led by the nose by anyone. But it's a fair

system of give and take. You can't get on in politics without it. What a charming woman is your relative,

"And I quite agree with you that confidential intercourse regarding dear friends should not be lightly made."

"But there are occasions, Miss Vavasor; there are occasions when the ordinary laws by which we govern our

"Is it not? Just listen to me for one moment, Miss Vavasor. Our friend, Mr Palliser, I am proud to say, relies

much upon my humble friendship. Our first connection has, of course, been political; but it has extended

beyond that, and has become pleasantly social I may say, very pleasantly social."

"But I need not tell you that Lady Glencowrer is very young; we may say, very young indeed."

"Mr Bott, I will not talk to you about Lady Glencora Palliser." This Alice said in a determined voice, and

with all the power of resistance at her command. She frowned too, and looked savagely at Mr Bott. But he

was a man of considerable courage, and knew how to bear such opposition without flinching.

"When I tell you, Miss Vavasor, that I speak solely with a view to her domestic happiness!"

"But if he wishes it, Miss Vavasor! Now I have the means of knowing that he has the greatest reliance on

Hereupon Alice got up with the intention of leaving the room, but she was met at the door by Mrs Conway

"No, Mrs Sparkes; I am running from Mr Bott," said Alice, who was almost beside herself with anger.

Alice returned to the room, and Mrs Sparkes immediately saw that she had in truth been running from Mr

Bott. "I hope I shall be able to keep the peace," said she. "I trust his offence was not one that requires special

Alice was very angry with herself, feeling that she had told more of the truth to Mrs Sparkes than she should

have done, unless she was prepared to tell the whole. As it was, she wanted to say something, and did not

know what to say; but her confusion was at once stopped by the entrance of Lady Glencora.

"Mrs Sparkes, good morning,'said Lady Glencora. I hope nobody has waited breakfast. Good morning, Mr

"Oh, Alice; such a blow!" But Alice could see that her cousin was not quite in earnest that the new

trouble, though it might be vexatious, was no great calamity. "Come here," said Lady Glencora; and they both

went into an embrasure of the window. "Now I shall have to put your confidence in me to the test. This letter

"From Lady Midlothian! and she's coming here on Monday, on her road to London. Unless you tell me that

you are quite sure this is as unexpected by me as by you, I will never speak to you again."

"I am quite sure of that." "Ah! then we can consult. But first we'll go and have some breakfast." Then more

ladies swarmed into the room the Duchess and her daughter, and the two Miss Pallisers, and others; and

Mr Bott had his hands full in attending or rather in offering to attend, to their little wants.

The morning was nearly gone before Alice and her cousin had any further opportunity of discussing in

private the approach of Lady Midlothian; but Mr Palliser had come in among them, and had been told of the

good thing which was in store for him. "We shall be delighted to see Lady Midlothian," said Mr Palliser.

"But there is somebody here who will not be at all delighted to see her," said Lady Glencora to her husband.

"Her most undutiful cousin, Alice Vavasor. But, Alice, Mr Palliser knows nothing about it, and it is too long

"I can assure you it does not signify in the least," said Alice. "It will only be taking me away three days

Upon hearing this Mr Palliser looked very serious. What quarrel could Miss Vavasor have had with Lady

Midlothian which should make it impossible for them to be visitors at the same house?

"It will do no such thing," said Lady Glencora. Do you mean to say that you are coward enough to run away

"I'm afraid, Miss Vavasor, that we can hardly bid her not come," said Mr Palliser. In answer to this, Alice

protested that she would not for worlds have been the means of keeping Lady Midlothian away from

Matching. "I should tell you, Mr Palliser, that I have never seen Lady Midlothian, though she is my faraway

cousin. Nor have I ever quarrelled with her. But she has given me advice by letter, and I did not answer her

because I thought she had no business to interfere. I shall go away, not because I am afraid of her, but

"You could tell her that Miss Vavasor is here," said Mr Palliser. "And then she need not come unless she

The matter was so managed at last that Alice found herself unable to leave Matching without making more of

Lady Midlothian's coming than it was worth. It would undoubtedly be very disagreeable this unexpected

meeting with her relative; but, as Lady Glencora said, Lady Midlothian would not eat her. In truth, she felt

ashamed of herself in that she was afraid of her relative. No doubt shewas afraid of her. So much she was

forced to admit to herself. But she resolved at last that she would not let her fear drive her out of the house.

"Is Mr Bott an admirer of your cousin?" Mrs Sparkes said that evening to Lady Glencora.

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed an old lady who had been rather awed by Alice's intimacy and cousinship

"Don't suppose that I am asking whether Miss Vavasor is an admirer of his," said Mrs Sparkes. "I have no

suspicion of that nature. I rather think that when he plays Bacchus she plays Ariadne, with the full intention

"I rather thought he was this morning. If you observe, he has something of a godlike and triumphant air about

"I really think she would be throwing herself very much away," said the old lady.

"Miss Vavasor is not at all disposed to do that," said Mrs Sparkes. Then that conversation was allowed to

On the following Monday, Lady Midlothian arrived. The carriage was sent to meet her at the station about

three o'clock in the afternoon, and Alice had to choose whether she would undergo her first introduction

immediately on her relative's arrival, or whether she would keep herself out of the way till she should meet

"I shall receive her when she comes," said Lady Glencora, "and of course will tell her that you are here."

"No; that would be too solemn," said Alice. That would make her understand that I thought a great deal about

"Then we'll let things take their chance, and you shall come across her just as you would any other stranger."

It was settled at last that this would be the better course, but that Lady Midlothian was to be informed of

Alice's presence at the Priory as soon as she should arrive. Alice was in her own room when the carriage in

which sat the unwelcome old lady was driven up to the hall door. She heard the wheels plainly, and knew

well that her enemy was within the house. She had striven hard all the morning to make herself feel

indifferent to this arrival, but had not succeeded; and was angry with herself at finding that she sat up stairs

with an anxious heart, because she knew that her cousin was in the room down stairs. What was Lady

Midlothian to her that she should be afraid of her? And yet she was very much afraid of Lady Midlothian.

She questioned herself on the subject over and over again, and found herself bound to admit that such was the

fact. At last, about five o'clock, having reasoned much with herself, and rebuked herself for her own timidity,

she descended into the drawingroom Lady Glencora having promised that she would at that hour be

there and on opening the door became immediately conscious that she was in the presence of her august

relative. There sat Lady Midlothian in a great chair opposite the fire, and Lady Glencora sat near to her on a

stool. One of the Miss Pallisers was reading in a further part of the room, and there was no one else present in

The Countess of Midlothian was a very little woman, between sixty and seventy years of age, who must have

been very pretty in her youth. At present she made no pretension either to youth or beauty as some ladies

above sixty will still do but sat confessedly an old woman in all her external relations. She wore a round

bonnet which came much over her face being accustomed to continue the use of her bonnet till dinner

time when once she had been forced by circumstances to put it on. She wore a short cloak which fitted close

to her person, and, though she occupied a great armchair, sat perfectly upright, looking at the fire. Very small

she was, but she carried in her grey eyes and sharpcut features a certain look of importance which saved her

from being considered as small in importance. Alice, as soon as she saw her, knew that she was a lady over

"Here is Alice," said Lady Glencora, rising as her cousin entered the room. "Alice, let me introduce you to

Alice, as she came forward, was able to assume an easy demeanour, even though her heart within was failing

her. She put out her hand, leaving it to the elder lady to speak the first words of greeting.

"I am glad at last to be able to make your acquaintance, my dear," said Lady Midlothian; "very glad. But still

Alice did not speak. "Your aunt, Lady Macleod, is one of my oldest friends, and I have heard her speak of

"Then we know each other's names," said the Countess; "and it will be well that we should be acquainted

with each other's persons. I am becoming an old woman, and if I did not learn to know you now, or very

Alice could not help thinking that even under those circumstances neither might have had, so far as that was

concerned, much cause of sorrow, but she did not say so. She was thinking altogether of Lady Midlothian's

letter to her, and trying to calculate whether or no it would be well for her to rush away at once to the subject.

That Lady Midlothian would mention the letter, Alice felt well assured; and when could it be better

mentioned than now, in Glencora's presence when no other person was near them to listen to her? "You

"I would wish to be so," said Lady Midlothian. Blood is thicker than water, my dear; and I know no earthly

ties that can bind people together if those of family connection will not do so. Your mother, when she and I

"I never knew my mother," said Alice feeling, however, as she spoke, that the strength of her resistance to

"No, my dear, you never did and that is to my thinking another reason why they who loved her should

love you. But Lady Macleod is your nearest relative, on your mother's side, I mean and she has done her

"She has, and others, therefore, have been the less called upon to interfere. I only say this, my dear, in my

"It is what I think rather than what Alice thinks that concerns my own shortcomings," said Lady Midlothian,

with a smile which was intended to be pleasant. "But I have wished to make up for former lost opportunities."

Alice knew that she was about to refer to her letter, and trembled. "I am very anxious now to be reckoned one

"I can only be too proud if " "If what, my dear?" said the old lady. I believe that she meant to be

gracious, but there was something in her manner, or, perhaps, rather in her voice, so repellent, that Alice felt

"I hardly know how to say what I do mean," said Alice, whose spirit within her was rising higher as the

occasion for using it came upon her. "I am assured that you and I, Lady Midlothian, differ very much as to a

certain matter; and as it is one in which I must be guided by my own opinion, and not that of any other

"I think so much about that matter, and your happiness as therein concerned, that when I heard that you were

here I was determined to take Matching in my way to London, so that I might have an opportunity of

Lady Glencora was forced to acknowledge that she had heard the history "the history" being poor Alice's

"And what do you think of it?" Both Alice and her hostess looked round to the further end of the room in

which Miss Palliser was reading, intending thus to indicate that that lady knew as yet none of the

circumstances, and that there could be no good reason why she should be instructed in them at this moment.

"Perhaps another time and another place may be better," said Lady Midlothian; "but as I must go the day after

"You must regard this as merely a passing visit, made upon business. But, as I was saying, when shall I get an

opportunity of speaking to Alice where we need not be interrupted?" Lady Glencora suggested her room

upstairs, and offered the use of it then, or on that night when the world should be about to go to bed. But the

idea of this premeditated lecture was terrible to Alice, and she determined that she would not endure it.

"I shall be so sorry if I give offence, but it is a subject which I cannot bring myself to discuss' she was

going to say with a stranger, but she was able to check herself before the offensive word was uttered

"I will not talk upon that matter," said Alice. I will not do it even with Lady Macleod."

"No," said Lady Midlothian, and her sharp grey eyes now began to kindle with anger; "and therefore it is so

"But I will endure no interference," said Alice, "either from persons who are friends or who are not friends."

And as she spoke she rose from her chair. "You must forgive me, Lady Midlothian, if I say that I can have no

conversation with you on this matter." Then she walked out of the room, leaving the Countess and Lady

Glencora together. As she went Miss Palliser lifted her eyes from her book, and knew that there had been a

"The most selfwilled young woman I ever met in my life," said Lady Midlothian, as soon as Alice was

"But it is quite frightful, my dear. She has been engaged, with the consent of all her friends, to this young

"I don't quite understand her, but I suppose she fears they would not be happy together."

"Understand her! I should think not; nobody can understand her. A young woman to become engaged to a

gentleman in that way before all the world, as one may say to go to his house, as I am told, and talk to

the servants, and give orders about the furniture, and then turn round and simply say that she has changed her

mind! She hasn't given the slightest reason to my knowledge." And Lady Midlothian, as she insisted on the

absolute iniquity of Alice's proceedings, almost startled Lady Glencora by the eagerness of her countenance.

Lady Midlothian had been one of those who, even now not quite two years ago, had assisted in obtaining the

submission of Lady Glencora herself. Lady Midlothian seemed on the present occasion to remember nothing

of this, but Lady Glencora remembered it very exactly. "I shall not give it up," continued Lady Midlothian. "I

have the greatest possible objection to her father, who contrived to connect himself with our family in a most

shameful manner, without the slightest encouragement. I don't think I have spoken to him since, but I shall

Alice held her ground, and avoided all further conversation with Lady Midlothian. A message came to her

"Even yet I hope that things may go right, and if so you will find that I can forget and forgive."

"If perseverance merits success," said Lady Glencora to Alice, "she ought to succeed."

Lady Midlothian went away on her road to London on the Wednesday morning, and Alice was to follow her

on the next day. It was now December, and the weather was very clear and frosty, but at night there was

bright moonlight. On this special night the moon would be full, and Lady Glencora had declared that she and

Alice would go out amidst the ruins. It was no secret engagement, having been canvassed in public and

having been met with considerable discouragement by some of the party. Mr Palliser had remarked that the

night air would be very cold, and Mr Bott had suggested all manner of evil consequences. Had Mr Palliser

alone objected, Lady Glencora might have given way, but Mr Bott's word riveted her purpose.

"That's just the reason why we want to do it," said Lady Glencora. "But we shall wrap ourselves up, and

nobody need be afraid. Jeffrey, we shall expect you to stand sentinel at the old gate, and guard us from the

Jeffrey Palliser, bargaining that he might be allowed a cigar, promised that he would do as he was bidden.

The party at Matching Priory had by this time become very small. There were indeed no guests left, not

counting those of the Palliser family, excepting Miss Vavasor, Mr Bott, and an old lady who had been a great

friend of Mr Palliser's mother. It was past ten in the evening when Lady Glencora declared that the time had

arrived for them to carry out their purpose. She invited the two Miss Pallisers to join her, but they declined,

urging their fear of the night air, and showing by their manner that they thought the proposition a very

imprudent one. Mr Bott offered to accompany them, but Lady Glencora declined his attendance very stoutly.

"No, indeed, Mr Bott; you were one of those who preached a sermon against my dissipation in the morning,

and I'm not going to allow you to join it, now the time for its enjoyment has come."

"My dear Lady Glencora, if I were you, indeed I wouldn't," said the old lady, looking round towards Mr

"My dear Mrs Marsham, if you were me, indeed you would," and Lady Glencora also looked at her husband.

She and Alice were already muffled in cloaks and thick shawls, and Alice now followed her out of the room.

There was a door which opened from the billiardroom out on to the grand terrace, which ran in front of the

house, and here they found Jeffrey Palliser already armed with his cigar. Alice, to tell the truth, would much

have preferred to abandon the expedition, but she had felt that it would be cowardly in her to desert Lady

Glencora. There had not arisen any very close intimacy between her and Mr Palliser, but she entertained a

certain feeling that Mr Palliser trusted her, and liked her to be with his wife. She would have wished to justify

this supposed confidence, and was almost sure that Mr Palliser expected her to do so in this instance. She did

say a word or two to her cousin upstairs, urging that perhaps her husband would not like it.

"Let him say so plainly," said Lady Glencora, and I'll give it up instantly. But I'm not going to be lectured out

of my purposes secondhand by Mr Bott or old Mother Marsham. I understand all these people, my dear. And

After this Alice resolved that she would not throw her friend over. She was afraid to do so. But she was also

becoming a little afraid of her friend afraid that she would be driven some day either to throw her over, or

"Now, Jeffrey," said Lady Glencora, as they walked abreast along the broad terrace towards the ruins, "when

we get under the old gateway you must let me and Alice go round the dormitory and the chapel alone. Then

we'll come back by the cloisters, and we'll take another turn outside with you. The outside is the finest by this

"You're not afraid, I know, and if Miss Vavasor is not " "Miss Vavasor who, I think, would have

allowed you to call her by her other name on such an occasion as this is never afraid."

"Glencora, how dare you say so?" said Alice. I really think we had better go back."

She felt herself to be very angry with her cousin. She almost began to fear that she had mistaken her, and had

thought better of her than she had deserved. What she had now said struck Alice as being vulgar as being

premeditated vulgarity, and her annoyance was excessive. Of course Mr Palliser would think that she was a

"Go back!" said Glencora. No, indeed. We'll go on, and leave him here. Then he can call nobody anything.

Don't be angry with me," she said, as soon as they were out of hearing. "The truth is this if you choose to

"Then there can be no harm done, and I will tell him so. But, Alice think of this. Whom will you meet that

would suit you better? And you need not decide now. You need not say a word, but leave me to tell him, that

if it is to be thought of at all, it cannot be thought of till he meets you in London. Trust me, you will be safe

"You shall tell him nothing of the kind," said Alice. "I believe you to be joking throughout, and I think the

"No; there you wrong me. Indeed I am not joking. I know that in what I am saying I am telling you the simple

truth. He has said enough to me to justify me in saying so. Alice, think of it all. It would reconcile me to

"To me it would be nothing," said Alice; less than nothing. I mean to say that the temptation is one so easily

resisted that it acts in the other way. Don't say anything more about it, Glencora."

"No I do not wish it. I don't think I ever saw moonlight so bright as this. Look at the lines of that window

They were now standing just within the gateway of the old cruciform chapel, having entered the transept

from a ruined passage which was supposed to have connected the church with the dormitory. The church was

altogether roofless, but the entire walls were standing. The small clerestory windows of the nave were

perfect,and the large windows of the two transepts and of the west end were nearly so. Of the opposite

window, which had formed the back of the choir, very little remained. The top of it, with all its tracery, was

gone, and three broken upright mullions of uneven heights alone remained. This was all that remained of the

old window, but a transom or crossbar of stone had been added to protect the carved stonework of the sides,

and save the form of the aperture from further ruin. That this transom was modern was to be seen from the

magnificent height and light grace of the workmanship in the other windows, in which the long slender

mullions rose from the lower stage or foundation of the whole up into the middle tracery of the arch without

protection or support, and then lost themselves among the curves, not running up into the roof or soppit, and

there holding on as though unable to stand alone. Such weakness as that had not as yet shown itself in

"Is it not beautiful!" said Glencora. I do love it so! And there is a peculiar feeling of cold about the chill of

the moon, different from any other cold. It makes you wrap yourself up tight, but it does not make your teeth

chatter; and it seems to go into your senses rather than into your bones. But I suppose that's nonsense," she

"That's unkind. I'd like what I say on such an occasion to be more poetical or else more nonsensical than what

other people say under the same circumstances. And now I'll tell you why I always think of you when I come

"Yes, I do; that is to say, I did come very often when we had the full moon in August. The weather wasn't

like this, and I used to run out through the open windows and nobody knew where I was gone. I made him

come once, but he didn't seem to care about it. I told him that part of the refectory wall was falling; so he

looked at that, and had a mason sent the next day. If anything is out of order he has it put to rights at once.

"No I say no. Things may live too long. But now I'm going to tell you. Do you remember that night I

"Indeed I do very well." Alice had occasion to remember it, for it had been in the carriage on that evening

that she had positively refused to give any aid to her cousin in that matter relating to Burgo Fitzgerald.

"I know I do. As we came round the corner out of Cavendish Square he was standing there and a friend of

"Yes, I do mean your cousin; and oh, Alice! dear Alice! I don't know why I should love you, for if you had

not been hardhearted that night stony cruel in your hard propriety, I should have gone with him then, and

She was standing quite close to Alice, and as she spoke she shook with shivering and wrapped her furs closer

"No, I am not cold not in that way. I won't go in yet. Jeffrey will come to us directly. Yes we should

have escaped that night if you would have allowed him to come into your house. Ah, well! We didn't, and

"Not regret it! Alice, where can your heart be? Or have you a heart? Not regret it! I would give everything I

have in the world to have been true to him. They told me that he would spend my money. Though he should

have spent every farthing of it, I regret it; though he should have made me a beggar, I regret it. They told me

that he would illuse me, and desert me perhaps beat me. I do not believe it; but even though that should

have been so, I regret it. It is better to have a false husband than to be a false wife."

"Glencora, do not speak like that. Do not try to make me think that anything could tempt you to be false to

"Tempt me to be false! Why, child, it has been all false throughout. I never loved him. How can you talk in

that way, when you know that I never loved him? They browbeat me and frightened me till I did as I was told

"You are his honest wife. Glencora, listen to me." And Alice took hold of her arm. "No," she said, no; I am

not honest. By law I am his wife; but the laws are liars! I am not his wife. I will not say the thing that I am.

When I went to him at the altar, I knew that I did not love the man that was to be my husband. But him

Burgo I love him with all my heart and soul. I could stoop at his feet and clean his shoes for him, and

"Oh, Cora, my friend, do not say such words as those! Remember what you owe your husband and yourself,

"I do know what I owe him, and I will pay it him. Alice, if I had a child I think I would be true to him. Think!

I know I would though I had no hour of happiness left to me in my life. But what now is the only honest

thing that I can do? Why, leave him so leave him that he may have another wife and be the father of a

child. What injury shall I do him by leaving him? He does not love me; you know yourself that he does not

"Alice, that is untrue. He does not; and you have seen clearly that it is so. It may be that he can love no

woman. But another woman would give him a son, and he would be happy. I tell you that every day and

every night every hour of every day and of every night I am thinking of the man I love. I have nothing

else to think of. I have no occupation no friends no one to whom I care to say a word. But I am always

talking to Burgo in my thoughts; and he listens to me. I dream that his arm is round me "

"Well! Do you begrudge me that I should tell you the truth? You have said that you would be my friend,

and you must bear the burden of my friendship. And now this is what I want to tell you. Immediately

after Christmas, we are to go to Monkshade, and he will be there. Lady Monk is his aunt."

"That is easily said, child; but all the same I must go. I told Mr Palliser that he would be there, and he said it

did not signify. He actually said that it did not signify. I wonder whether he understands what it is for people

"I did. I told him plainly as words could tell him."Glencora," he said and you know the way he looks

when he means to be lord and master, and put on the very husband indeed "This is an annoyance which

you must bear and overcome. It suits me that weshould go to Monkshade, and it does not suit me that there

should be anyone whom you are afraid to meet." Could I tell him that he would lose his wife if I did go?

Could I threaten him that I would throw myself into Burgo's arms if that opportunity were given to me? You

"Alice, look here. I know what I am, and what I am like to become. I loathe myself, and I loathe the thing that

I am thinking of. I could have clung to the outside of a man's body, to his very trappings, and loved him ten

times better than myself ay, even though he had illtreated me if I had been allowed to choose a

husband for myself. Burgo would have spent my money all that it would have been possible for me to

give him. But there would have been something left, and I think that by that time I could have won even him

Alice had no doubt as to what her cousin should do. She should be true to her marriage vow, whether that

vow when made were true or false. She should be true to it as far as truth would now carry her. And in order

that she might be true, she should tell her husband as much as might be necessary to induce him to spare her

the threatened visit to Monkshade. All that she said to Lady Glencora, as they walked slowly across the

chapel. But Lady Glencora was more occupied with her own thoughts than with her friend's advice. "Here's

"Don't mention it," he said. And I shouldn't have come to you now, only that I thought I should find you both

"We are not such coldblooded creatures as that are we, Alice?" said Lady Glencora. "And now we'll go

round the outside; only we must not stay long, or we shall frighten those two delicious old duennas, Mrs

These last words were said as it were in a whisper to Alice; but they were so whispered that there was no real

attempt to keep them from the ears of Mr Jeffrey Palliser. Glencora, Alice thought, should not have allowed

the word duenna to have passed her lips in speaking to anyone; but, above all, she should not have done so in

the hearing of Mr Palliser's cousin. They walked all round the ruin, on a raised gravelpath which had been

made there; and Alice, who could hardly bring herself to speak so full was her mind of that which had just

been said to her was surprised to find that Glencora could go on, in her usual light humour, chatting as

As they came in at the billiardroom door, Mr Palliser was there to meet them. "You must be very cold," he

said to Glencora, who entered first. "No, indeed," said Glencora but her teeth were chattering, and her

whole appearance gave the lie to her words. "Jeffrey," said Mr Palliser, turning to his cousin, "I am angry

with you. You, at least, should have known better than to have allowed her to remain so long." Then Mr

Palliser turned away, and walked his wife off, taking no notice whatsoever of Miss Vavasor.

Alice felt the slight, and understood it all. He had told her plainly enough, though not in words, that he had

trusted his wife with her, and that she had betrayed the trust. She might have brought Glencora in within five

or six minutes, instead of allowing her to remain out there in the freezing night air for nearly threequarters

of an hour. That was the accusation which Mr Palliser made against her, and he made it with the utmost

severity. He asked no question of her whether she were cold. He spoke no word to her, nor did he even look

at her. She might get herself away to her bedroom as she pleased. Alice understood all this completely, and

though she knew that she had not deserved such severity, she was not inclined to resent it. There was so much

in Mr Palliser's position that was to be pitied, that Alice could not find it in her heart to be angry with him.

"He is provoked with us, now," said Jeffrey Palliser, standing with her for a moment in the billiardroom, as

"Yes; and he thinks it wrong that she should remain out at night so long. You can easily understand, Miss

"I dare say he is right," said Alice, not exactly knowing what to say, and not being able to forget what had

been said about herselfand Jeffrey Palliser when they first left the house."Romance usually means nonsense, I

"No; but she is younger than I am. My feet are very cold, Mr Palliser, and I think I will go up to my room,"

"Good night," said Jeffrey, offering her his hand. I think it so hard that you should have incurred his

"As it is the last night, may I say "goodnight, Alice"? I shall be away tomorrow before you are up."

He still held her hand; but it had not been in his for half a minute, and she had thought nothing of that, nor did

she draw it away even now suddenly. "No," said she, Glencora was very wrong there doing an injury

without meaning it to both of us. There can be no possible reason why you should call me otherwise than is

"No, Mr Palliser. Good night and if I am not to see you tomorrow morning, goodbye."

"Goodbye. Had it not been for this folly of Glencora's, our acquaintance would have been very pleasant."

"To me it has been very pleasant. Good night." Then she left him, and went up alone to her own room.

Whether or no other guests were still left in the drawingroom she did not know; but she had seen that Mr

Palliser took his wife up stairs, and therefore she considered herself right in presuming that the party was

broken up for the night. Mr Palliser Plantagenet Palliser, according to all rules of courtesy should have

said a word to her as he went; but, as I have said before, Alice was disposed to overlook his want of civility

on this occasion. So she went up alone to her room, and was very glad to find herself able to get close to a

good fire. She was, in truth, very cold cold to her bones, in spite of what Lady Glencora had said on

behalf of the moonlight. They two had been standing all but still during the greater part of the time that they

had been talking, and Alice, as she sat herself down, found that her feet were numbed with the damp that had

penetrated through her boots. Certainly Mr Palliser had reason to be angry that his wife should have remained

out in the night air so long though perhaps not with Alice. And then she began to think of what had been

told her, and to try to think of what, under such circumstances, it behoved her to do. She could not doubt that

Lady Glencora had intended to declare that, if opportunity offered itself, she would leave her husband, and

put herself under the protection of Mr Fitzgerald; and Alice, moreover, had become painfully conscious that

the poor deluded unreasoning creature had taught herself to think that she might excuse herself for this sin to

her own conscience by the fact that she was childless, and that she might thus give to the man who had

married her an opportunity of seeking another wife who might give him an heir. Alice well knew how

insufficient such an excuse would be even to the wretched woman who had framed it for herself. But still it

would operate manifestly had already operated, on her mind, teaching her to hope that good might come

out of evil. Alice, who was perfectly clearsighted as regarded her cousin, however much impaired her vision

might have been with reference to herself, saw nothing but absolute ruin, ruin of the worst and most

intolerable description, in the plan which Lady Glencora seemed to have formed. To her it was black as the

depths of hell; and she knew that to Glencora also it was black. "I loathe myself," Glencora had said, and the

What was Alice to do under these circumstances? Mr Palliser, she was aware, had quarrelled with her: for in

his silent way he had first shown that he had trusted her as his wife's friend; and then, on this evening, he had

shown that he had ceased to trust her. But she cared little for this. If she told him that she wished to speak to

him, he would listen, let his opinion of her be what it might; and having listened he would surely act in some

way that would serve to save his wife. What Mr Palliser might think of herself, Alice cared but little.

But then there came to her an idea an idea that was in every respect feminine that in such a matter she

had no right to betray her friend. When one woman tells the story of her love to another woman, the confidant

always feels that she will be a traitor if she reveals the secret. Had Lady Glencora made Alice believe that she

meditated murder, or robbery, Alice would have had no difficulty in telling the tale, and thus preventing the

crime. But now she hesitated, feeling that she would disgrace herself by betraying her friend. And, after all,

was it not more than probable that Glencora had no intention of carrying out a threat the very thought of

which must be terrible to herself? As she was thinking of all this, sitting in her dressinggown close over the

fire, there came a loud knock at the door, which, as she had turned the key, she was forced to answer in

person. She opened the door, and there was Iphigenia Palliser, Jeffrey's cousin, and Mr Palliser's cousin.

"Miss Vavasor," she said, I know that I am taking a great liberty, but may I come into your room for a few

minutes? I so much wish to speak to you!" Alice of course bade her enter, and placed a chair for her by the

Alice Vavasor had made very little intimacy with either of the two Miss Pallisers. It had seemed to herself as

though there had been two parties in the house, and that she had belonged to the one which was headed by the

wife, whereas the Miss Pallisers had been naturally attached to that of the husband. These ladies, as she had

already seen, almost idolized their cousin; and though Plantagenet Palliser had till lately treated Alice with

the greatest personal courtesy, there had been no intimacy of friendship between them, and consequently

none between her and his special adherents. Nor was either of these ladies prone to sudden friendship with

such a one as Alice Vavasor. A sudden friendship with a snuffy president of a foreign learned society, with

some personally unknown lady employed on female emigration, was very much in their way. But Alice had

not shown herself to be useful or learned, and her special intimacy with Lady Glencora had marked her out as

"I know that I am intruding," said Miss Palliser, as though she were almost afraid of Alice.

"You are going tomorrow, and if I did not speak to you now I should have no other opportunity. Glencora

seems to be very much attached to you, and we all thought it so good a thing that she should have such a

"I hope you have not all changed your minds," said Alice, with a faint smile, thinking as she spoke that the

"Oh, no by no means. I did not mean that. My cousin, Mr Palliser, I mean, liked you so much when you

"And he does not like me quite so much now, because I went out in the moonlight with his wife. Isn't that it?"

"Well no, Miss Vavasor. I had not intended to mention that at all. I had not indeed. I have seen him

certainly since you came in just for a minute, and he is vexed. But it is not about that that I would speak to

"And why should he think that I can manage his wife? She was the mistress out there as she is in here. Mr

"I don't think he has been unreasonable; I don't, indeed, Miss Vavasor. He has certainly been vexed.

Sometimes he has much to vex him. You see, Glencora is very young." Mr Bott also had declared that Lady

Glencora was very young. It was probable, therefore, that that special phrase had been used in some

discussion among Mr Palliser's party as to Glencora's foibles. So thought Alice as the remembrance of the

"You mean that if a man marries a young wife he must put up with the trouble. That is a matter of course. But

their ages, in truth, are very suitable. My cousin himself is not yet thirty. When I say that Glencora is young

"You mean that she is younger in spirit, and perhaps in conduct, than he had expected to find her."

"But you are not to suppose that he complains, Miss Vavasor. He is much too proud for that."

"I hardly know how to explain to you what I wish to say, or how far I may be justified in supposing that you

will believe me to be acting solely on Glencora's behalf. I think you have some influence with her and I

"In supposing that you had heard the name of Mr Fitzgerald as connected with Glencora's before her marriage

"And I think you were agreed, with her other relations, that such a marriage would have been very dreadful."

"I never spoke of the matter in the presence of any relatives of Glencora's. You must understand, Miss

Palliser, that though I am her faraway cousin, I do not even know her nearest connections. I never saw Lady

Then there was a pause, and Miss Palliser, in truth, scarcely knew how to go on. There had been a hardness

about Alice which her visitor had not expected an unwillingness to speak or even to listen, which made

Miss Palliser almost wish that she were out of the room. She had, however, mentioned Burgo Fitzgerald's

name, and out of the room now she could not go without explaining why she had done so. But at this point

"Just then she was often with me," said Alice, continuing her reply; "and there was much talk between us

about Mr Fitzgerald. What was my advice then can be of little matter; but in this we shall be both agreed,

Miss Palliser, that Glencora now should certainly not be called upon to be in his company."

"She has told me that Mr Palliser expects her to meet him at the place to which they are going when they

leave the Duke's, and that she thinks it hard that she should be subjected to such a trial."

"How can it be otherwise? Come, Miss Palliser; if you are her friend, be fair to her."

"I am her friend but I am, above everything, my cousin's friend. He has told me that she has complained

of having to meet this man. He declares that it should be nothing to her, and that the fear is an idle folly. It

should be nothing to her, but still the fear may not be idle. Is there any reason any real reason why she

should not go? Miss Vavasor, I conjure you to tell me even though in doing so you must cast so deep

"I conceive that I cast no reproach upon her in saying that there is great reason why she should not go to

"You think there is absolute ground for interference? I must tell him, you know, openly what he would have

"I think nay, Miss Palliser, I know that there is amplereason why you should save her from being taken

"Then tell him. You must have thought of that, I suppose, before you came to me."

"Yes yes, Miss Vavasor. I had thought of it. No doubt I had thought of it. But I had believed all through

that you would assure me that there was no danger. I believed that you would have said that she was

"And she is innocent," said Alice, rising from her chair, as though she might thus give emphasis to words

which she hardly dared to speak above a whisper. "She is innocent. Who accuses her of guilt? You ask me a

"A question which I feel myself bound to answer truly to answer with reference to the welfare of them

both; but I will not have it said that I accuse her. She had been attached to Mr Fitzgerald when your cousin

married her. He knew that this had been the case. She told him the whole truth. In a worldly point of view her

"Perhaps so; I say nothing about that. But as it turned out, she gave up her own wishes and married your

"It is what she did. She would have married Mr Fitzgerald, had she not been hindered by the advice of those

around her. It cannot be supposed that she has forgotten him in so short a time. There can be no guilt in her

"Then, Miss Palliser, it was her marriage that was guilty, and not her love. But all that is done and past. It

should be your cousin's object to teach her to forget Mr Fitzgerald, and he will not do that by taking her to a

"I do not know that I need declare to you what she has said herself. You have asked me a question, and I have

answered it, and I am thankful to you for having asked it. What object can either of us have but to assist her

in her position?" "And to save him from dishonour. I had so hoped that this was simply a childish dread on

"It is not so. It is no childish dread. If you have the power to prevent her going to Lady Monk's, I implore you

"Exactly. There is no alternative. Either for his sake or for hers, there is none."

Thereupon Miss Palliser got up, and wishing her companion goodnight, took her departure. Throughout the

interview there had been no cordiality of feeling between them. There was no pretence of friendship, even as

they were parting. They acknowledged that their objects were different. That of Alice was to save Lady

Glencora from ruin. That of Miss Palliser was to save her cousin from disgrace with perhaps some further

honest desire to prevent sorrow and sin. One loved Lady Glencora, and the other clearly did not love her. But,

nevertheless, Alice felt that Miss Palliser, in coming to her, had acted well, and that to herself this coming

had afforded immense relief. Some step would now be taken to prevent that meeting which she had so

deprecated, and it would be taken without any great violation of confidence on her part. She had said nothing

On the next morning she was down in the breakfastroom soon after nine, and had not been in the room

many minutes before Mr Palliser entered. "The carriage is ordered for you at a quarter before ten," he said,

"and I have come down to give you your breakfast." There was a smile on his face as he spoke, and Alice

But as it happened, no giving on either side was needed, as Alice's breakfast was brought to her separately.

Alice then made some inquiry with reference to the effects of last night's imprudence, which received only a

halfpronounced reply. Mr Palliser was willing to be gracious, but did not intend to be understood as having

forgiven the offence. The Miss Pallisers then came in together, and after them Mr Bott, closely followed by

Mrs Marsham, and all of them made inquiries after Lady Glencora, as though it was to be supposed that she

might probably be in a perilous state after what she had undergone on the previous evening. Mr Bottwas

particularly anxious. "The frost was so uncommonly severe," said he, "that any delicate person like Lady

The insinuation that Alice was not a delicate person, and that, as regarded her, the severity of the frost was of

no moment, was very open, and was duly appreciated. Mr Bott was aware that his great patron had in some

sort changed his opinion about Miss Vavasor, and he was of course disposed to change his own. A fortnight

Alice knew that she was being accused of being robust herself; but she bore it in silence. Ploughboys and

milkmaids are robust, and the accusation was a heavy one. Alice, however, thought that she would not have

minded it, if she could have allowed herself to reply; but this at the moment of her going away she could not

"I think she is as strong as the rest of us," said Iphigenia Palliser, who felt that after last night she owed

At this moment Lady Glencora entered, and encountered the eager inquiries of her two duennas. These,

however, she quickly put aside, and made her way up to Alice. "The last morning has come, then," she said.

"Yes, indeed," said Alice. Mr Palliser must have thought that I was never going."

"On the other hand," said he, I have felt much obliged to you for staying." But he said it coldly; and Alice

"Obliged!" exclaimed Lady Glencora. I can't tell you how much obliged I am. Oh, Alice, I wish you were

"Of course we are," said Lady Glencora, With all my heart I wish we were not. Dear Alice! I suppose we

"You will let me know when you come up," said Alice. "I will send to you instantly; and, Alice, I will write

Alice could not help looking round and catching Miss Palliser's eye. Miss Palliser was standing with her foot

on the fender, but was so placed that she could see Alice. She made a slight sign with her head, as much as to

say that Lady Glencora must have no opportunity of writing from that latter place; but she said nothing.

Then the carriage was announced, and Mr Palliser took Alice out on his arm. "Don't come to the door,

Glencora," he said. I especially wish you not to do so." The two cousins then kissed each other, and Alice

"Goodbye, Miss Vavasor," said Mr Palliser; but he expressed no wish that he might see her again as his

Alice, as she was driven in solitary grandeur to the railway station, could not but wish that she had never

On the night before Christmas Eve two men were sitting together in George Vavasor's rooms in Cecil Street.

It was past twelve o'clock, and they were both smoking; there were square bottles on the table containing

spirits, with hot water and cold water in jugs, and one of the two men was using, and had been using, these

materials for enjoyment. Vavasor had not been drinking, nor did it appear as though he intended to begin.

There was a little weak brandy and water in a glass by his side, but there it had remained untouched for the

last twenty minutes. His companion, however, had twice in that time replenished his beaker, and was now

puffing out the smoke of his pipe with the fury of a steamer's funnel when she has not yet burned the black

off her last instalment of fresh coals. This man was Burgo Fitzgerald. He was as handsome as ever a man

whom neither man nor woman could help regarding as a thing beautiful to behold but not the less was

there in his eyes and cheeks a look of haggard dissipation of riotous living, which had become wearisome,

by its continuance, even to himself that told to all who saw him much of the history of his life. Most men

who drink at nights, and are out till cockcrow doing deeds of darkness, become red in their faces, have

pimpled cheeks and watery eyes, and are bloated and not comfortable to be seen. It is a kind dispensation of

Providence who thus affords to such sinners a visible sign, to be seen day by day, of the injury which is being

done. The first approach of a carbuncle on the nose, about the age of thirty, has stopped many a man from

drinking. No one likes to have carbuncles on his nose, or to appear before his female friends with eyes which

look as though they were swimming in grog. But to Burgo Fitzgerald Providence in her anger had not

afforded this protection. He became at times pale, sallow, worn, and haggard. He grew thin, and still thinner.

At times he had been ill to death's door. Among his intimate friends there were those who heard him declare

frequently that his liver hadbecome useless to him; and that, as for gastric juices, he had none left to him. But

still his beauty remained. The perfect form of his almost godlike face was the same as ever, and the

On the present occasion he had come to Vavasor's room with the object of asking from him certain

assistance, and perhaps also some amount of advice. But as regarded the latter article he was, I think, in the

state of most men when they seek for counsellors who shall counsel them to do evil. Advice administered in

accordance with his own views would give him comfortable encouragement, but advice on the other side he

was prepared to disregard altogether. These two men had known each other long, and a close intimacy had

existed between them in the days past, previous to Lady Glencora's engagement with Mr Palliser. When Lady

Glencora endeavoured, vainly as we know, to obtain aid from Alice Vavasor, Burgo had been instigated to

believe that Alice's cousin might assist him. Any such assistance George Vavasor would have been quite

ready to give. Some pecuniary assistance he had given, he at that time having been in good funds. Perhaps he

had for a moment induced Burgo to think that he could obtain for the pair the use of the house in Queen Anne

Street as a point at which they might meet, and from whence they might start on their journey of love. All

that was over. Those hopes had been frustrated, and Lady Glencora M'Cluskie had become Lady Glencora

Palliser and not Lady Glencora Fitzgerald. But now other hopes had sprung up, and Burgo was again looking

"I believe she would," Burgo said, as he lifted the glass to his mouth. "It's a thing of that sort that a man can

only believe perhaps only hope till he has tried. I know that she is not happy with him, and I have

"I don't know how that would be. I haven't inquired, and I don't mean to inquire. Of course I don't expect you

or anyone else to believe me, but her money has no bearing on the question now. Heaven knows I want

"You don't mean to say you think it would be wicked. I supposed you to be above those prejudices."

"It's no chaff at all. I tell you fairly I wouldn't run away with any man's wife. I have an oldfashioned idea

that when a man has got awife he ought to be allowed to keep her. Public opinion, I know, is against me."

"I think he ran away with my wife," said Burgo, with emphasis; "that's the way I look at it. She was engaged

"Nevertheless, marriage is marriage, and the law is against you. But if I did go in for such a troublesome job

"Of course it did. My people brought us together because she had a large fortune and I had none. There's no

doubt in the world about that. And I'll tell you what; I believe that old harridan of an aunt of mine is willing

to do the same thing now again. Of course she doesn't say as much. She wouldn't dare do that, but I do

"Upon my soul I hate her. I do indeed. It isn't love for me now so much as downright malice against Palliser,

because he baulked her project before. She is a wicked old woman. Some of us fellows are wicked enough

"Thank you. I don't know, however, that I am qualified to run in a curricle with you."

"But we are angels to such an old shedevil as that. You may believe me or not, as you like I dare say you

"The truth is, I want to get her, partly because I love her; but chiefly because I do believe in my heart that she

"It's for her sake then! You are ready to sacrifice yourself to do her a good turn."

"As for sacrificing myself, that's done. I'm a man utterly ruined and would cut my throat tomorrow for the

sake of my relations, if I cared enough about them. I know my own condition pretty well. I have made a

"No, by heavens! But sometimes, when I do think about it at all which I do as seldom as I can it seems

to me that I might still become a different fellow if it were possible for me to marry her." "Had you married

her when she was free to marry anyone and when her money was her own, it might have been so."

"I think it would be quite as much so now. I do, indeed. If I could get her once, say to Italy, or perhaps to

Greece, I think I could treat her well, and live with her quietly. I know that I would try."

"With only a little. I know you'll laugh at me; but I make pictures to myself of a sort of life which I think

would suit us, and be very different from this hideous way of living, with which I have become so sick that I

"Something like Juan and Haidee, with Planty Pall coming after you, like old Lambro." By the nickname of

Planty Pall George Vavasor intended to designate Lady Glencora's present husband.

"He'd get a divorce, of course, and then we should be married. I really don't think he'd dislike it, when it was

"Once only so as to be able to do more than ask her if she were well. Once, for about two minutes, I did

"She said it would be better that we should not meet. When she said that, I knew that she was still fond of me.

I could have fallen at her feet that moment, only the room was full of people. I do think that she is fond of

Vavasor paused a few minutes. "I dare say she is fond of you," he then said; "but whether she has pluck for

such a thing as this, is more than I can say. Probably she has not. And if she has, probably you would fail in

"And that's an operation which no doubt you find more difficult every day, as you grow older."

"Just beyond the Foundling Hospital. I went to him, and he was quite civil about it. He says I owe him over

three thousand pounds, but that doesn't seem to make any difference." "How much did you ever have from

"I don't recollect that I ever absolutely had any money. He got a bill of mine from a tailor who went to smash,

and he kept on renewing that till it grew to be ever so many bills. I think he did once let me have twentyfour

"And he says he'll give you money now? I suppose you told him why you wanted it."

"I didn't name her but I told him what would make him understand that I hoped to get off with a lady who

had a lot of tin. I asked him for two hundred and fifty. He says he'll let me have one hundred and fifty on a

"But he won't come upon you then nor for a year or more afterwards. I did pay you what you lent me

"And you'll find I'll pull you through now in some way. If I don't succeed in this I shall go off the hooks

Before the evening was over Vavasor promised the assistance asked of him. He knew that he was lending his

name to a man who was utterly ruined, and putting it into the hands of another man who was absolutely

without conscience in the use he would make of it. He knew that he was creating for himself trouble, and in

all probability loss, which he was ill able to bear. But the thing was one which came within the pale of his

laws. Such assistance as that he might ask of others, and had asked and received before now. It was a reckless

deed on his part, but then all his doings were reckless. It was consonant with his mode of life.

"I thought you would, old fellow," said Burgo, as he got up to go away. "Perhaps, you know, I shall pull

through in this; and perhaps, after all, some part of her fortune will come with her. If so you'll be all right."

"Perhaps I may. But look here, Burgo don't you give that fellow up the bill till you've got the money into

"You may be quite easy about that. I know their tricks. He and I will go to the bank together, and we shall

squabble there at the door about four or five odd sovereigns and at last I shall have to give him up two or

three. Beastly old robber! I declare I think he's worse than I am myself." Then Burgo Fitzgerald took a little

He was living at this time in the house of one of his relatives in Cavendish Square, north of Oxford Street.

His uncles and his aunts, and all those who were his natural friends, had clung to him with a tenacity that was

surprising; for he had never been true to any of them, and did not even pretend to like them. His father, with

whom for many years he had not been on speaking terms, was now dead; but he had sisters whose husbands

would still open their houses to him, either in London or in the country would open their houses to him,

and lend him their horses, and provide him with every luxury which the rich enjoy except ready money.

When the uttermost stress of pecuniary embarrassment would come upon him, they would pay something to

stave off the immediate evil. And so Burgo went on. Nobody now thought of saying much to reproach him. It

was known to be waste of words, and trouble in vain. They were still fond of him because he was beautiful

and never vain of his beauty because in the midst of his recklessness there was always about him a certain

kindliness which made him pleasant to those around him. He was soft and gracious with children, and would

be very courteous to his lady cousins. They knew that as a man he was worthless, but nevertheless they loved

him. I think the secret of it was chiefly in this that he seemed to think so little of himself.

But now as he walked home in the middle of the night from Cecil Street to Cavendish Square he did think

much of himself. Indeed such selfthoughts come naturally to all men, be their outward conduct ever so

reckless. Every man to himself is the centre of the whole world the axle on which it all turns. All

knowledge is but his own perception of the things around him. All love, and care for others, and solicitude for

the world's welfare, are but his own feelings as to the world's wants and the world's merits.

He had played his part as a centre of all things very badly. Of that he was very well aware. He had sense

enough to know that it should be a man's lot to earn his bread after some fashion, and he often told himself

that never as yet had he earned so much as a penny roll. He had learned to comprehend that the world's

progress depends on the way in which men do their duty by each other that the progress of one generation

depends on the discharge of such duties by that which preceded it and he knew that he, in his generation,

haddone nothing to promote such progress. He thoroughly despised himself if there might be any good in

that! But on such occasions as these, when the wine he had drunk was sufficient only to drive away from him

the numbness of despair, when he was all alone with the cold night air upon his face, when the stars were

bright above him and the world around him was almost quiet, he would still ask himself whether there might

not yet be, even for him, some hope of a redemption some chance of a better life in store for him. He was

still young wanting some years of thirty. Could there be, even for him, some mode of extrication from his

We know what was the mode which now, at this moment, was suggesting itself to him. He was proposing to

himself, as the best thing that he could do, to take away another man's wife and make himself happy with her!

What he had said to Vavasor as to disregarding Lady Glencora's money had been perfectly true. That in the

event of her going off with him, some portion of her enormous wealth would still cling to her, he did believe.

Seeing that she had no children he could not understand where else it should all go. But he thought of this as

it regarded her, not as it regarded him. When he had before made his suit to her a suit which was then

honourable, however disadvantageous it might have seemed to be to her he had made in his mind certain

calculations as to the good things which would result to him if he were successful. He would keep hounds,

and have three or four horses every day for his own riding, and he would have no more interviews with

Magruin, waiting in that rogue's dingy back parlour for many a weary wretched halfhour, till the rogue

should be pleased to show himself. So far he had been mercenary; but he had learned to love the girl, and to

care more for her than for her money, and when the day of disappointment came upon him the day on

which she had told him that all between them was to be over for ever he had, for a few hours, felt the loss

Then he had had no further hope. No such idea as that which now filled his mind had then come upon him.

The girl had gone from him and married another man, and there was an end of it. But by degrees tidings had

reached him that she was not happy reaching him through the mouths of people who were glad to

exaggerate all that they had heard. A whole tribe of his female relatives had been anxious to promote his

marriage with Lady Glencora M'Cluskie, declaring that, after all that was come and gone, Burgo would come

forth from his troubles as a man of great wealth. So great was the wealth of the heiress that it might withstand

even his propensities for spending. That whole tribe had been bitterly disappointed; and when they heard that

Mr Palliser's marriage had given him no child, and that Lady Glencora was unhappy they made their

remarks in triumph rather than in sorrow. I will not say that they looked forward approvingly to such a step as

that which Burgo now wished to take though as regarded his aunt, Lady Monk, he himself had accused

her; but they whispered that such things had been done and must be expected, when marriages were made up

As he walked on, thinking of his project, he strove hard to cheat himself into a belief that he would do a good

thing in carrying Lady Glencora away from her husband. Bad as had been his life he had never before done

aught so bad as that. The more fixed his intention became, the more thoroughly he came to perceive how

great and grievous was the crime which he contemplated. To elope with another man's wife no longer

appeared to him to be a joke at which such men as he might smile. But he tried to think that in this case there

would be special circumstances which would almost justify him, and also her. They had loved each other and

had sworn to love each other with constancy. There had been no change in the feelings or even in the wishes

of either of them. But cold people had come between them with cold calculations, and had separated them.

She had been, he told himself, made to marry a man she did not love. If they two loved each other truly,

would it not still be better that they should come together? Would not the sin be forgiven on account of the

injustice which had been done to them? Had Mr Palliser a right to expect more from a wife who had been

made to marry him without loving him? Then he reverted to those dreams of a life of love, in some sunny

country, of which he had spoken to Vavasor, and he strove to nourish them. Vavasor had laughed at him,

talking of Juan and Haidee. But Vavasor, he said to himself, was a hard cold man, who had no touch of

romance in his character. He would not be laughed out of his plan by such as he nor would he be

frightened by the threat of any Lambro who might come after him, whether he might come in the guise of

He had crossed from Regent Street through Hanover Square, and as he came out by the iron gates into Oxford

Street, a poor wretched girl, lightly clad in thin raiment, into whose bones the sharp freezing air was

penetrating, asked him for money. Would he give her something to get drink, so that for a moment she might

feel the warmthof her life renewed? Such midnight petitions were common enough in his ears, and he was

passing on without thinking of her. But she was urgent, and took hold of him. "For love of God," she said, if

it's only a penny to get a glass of gin! Feel my hand how cold it is." And she strove to put it up against his

He looked round at her and saw that she was very young sixteen, perhaps, at the most, and that she had

once nay very lately been exquisitively pretty. There still lingered about her eyes some remains of that

look of perfect innocency and pure faith which had been hers not more than twelve months since. And now,

at midnight, in the middle of the streets, she was praying for a pennyworth of gin, as the only comfort she

"Cold!" said she, repeating the word, and striving to wrap herself closer in her rags, as she shivered "Oh

God! if you knew what it was to be as cold as I am! I have nothing in the world not one penny not a

"We are alike then," said Burgo, with a slight low laugh. "I also have nothing. You cannot be poorer than I

"You poor!" she said. And then she looked up into his face. "Gracious; how beautiful you are! Such as you

are never poor." He laughed again in a different tone. He always laughed when anyone told him of his

beauty. "I am a deal poorer than you, my girl," he said. "You have nothing. I have thirty thousand pounds

"Will you?" said she, eagerly. Then looking up at him again, she exclaimed "Oh, you are so handsome!"

He took her to a public house and gave her bread and meat and beer, and stood by her while she ate it. She

was shy with him then, and would fain have taken it to a corner by herself, had he allowed her. He perceived

this, and turned his back to her, but still spoke to her a word or two as she ate. The woman at the bar who

served him looked at him wonderingly, staring into his face; and the potboy woke himself thoroughly that

he might look at Burgo; and the waterman from the cabstand stared at him; and women who came in for gin

looked almost lovingly up into his eyes. He regarded them all not at all, showing no feeling of disgrace at his

position, and no desire to carry himself as a ruffler. He quietly paid what was due when the girl had finished

her meal, and then walked with her out of the shop. "And now," said he, "what must I do with you? If I give

you a shilling can you get abed?" She told him that she could get a bed for sixpence. "Then keep the other

sixpence for your breakfast," said he. "But you must promise me that you will buy no gin tonight." She

promised him, and then he gave her his hand as he wished her goodnight his hand, which it had been the

dearest wish of Lady Glencora to call her own. She took it and pressed it to her lips. "I wish I might once see

you again," she said, "because you are so good and so beautiful." He laughed again cheerily, and walked on,

crossing the street towards Cavendish Square. She stood looking at him till he was out of sight, and then as

she moved away let us hope to the bed which his bounty had provided, and not to a ginshop she

"He's a good un," the woman at the public house had said as soon as he left it; "but, my! Did you ever see a

man's face handsome as that fellow's?" Poor Burgo! All who had seen him since life had begun with him had

loved him and striven to cherish him. And with it all, to what a state had he come! Poor Burgo! had his eyes

been less brightly blue, and his face less godlike in form, it may be that things would have gone better with

him. A sweetertempered man than he never lived nor one who was of a kinder nature. At this moment he

had barely money about him to take him down to his aunt's house at Monkshade, and as he had promised to

be there before Christmas Day, he was bound to start on the next morning, before help from Mr Magruin was

possible. Nevertheless, out of his very narrow funds he had given half a crown to comfort the poor creature

Vavasor as he sat alone in his room, after Fitzgerald had left him, began to think of the days in which he had

before wished to assist his friend in his views with reference to Lady Glencora or rather he began to think

of Alice's behaviour then, and of Alice's words. Alice had steadfastly refused to give any aid. No less likely

assistant for such a purpose could have been selected. But she had been very earnest in declaring that it was

Glencora's duty to stand by her promise to Burgo. "He is a desperate spendthrift," Kate Vavasor had said to

her. "Then let her teach him to be otherwise," Alice had answered. "That might have been a good reason for

refusing his offer when he first made it; but it can be no excuse for untruth, now that she has told him that she

loves him!" "If a woman, she had said again, "won't venture her fortune for the man she loves, her love is not

worth having." All this George Vavasor remembered now; and as he remembered it he asked himself whether

Though his sister had pressed him on the subject with all the vehemence that she could use, he had hardly

hitherto made up his mind that he really desired to marry Alice. There had grown upon him lately certain

Bohemian propensities a love of absolute independence in his thoughts as well as actions which were

antagonistic to marriage. He was almost inclined to think that marriage was an oldfashioned custom, fitted

indeed well enough for the usual dull life of the world at large as many men both in heathen and in

Christian ages have taught themselves to think of religion but which was not adapted to his advanced

intelligence. If he loved any woman he loved his cousin Alice. If he thoroughly respected any woman he

respected her. But that idea of tying himself down to a household was in itself distasteful to him. "It is a thing

terrible to think of", he once said to a congenial friend in these days of his life, "that a man should give

permission to a priest to tie himto another human being like a Siamese twin, so that all power of separate and

solitary action should be taken from him for ever! The beasts of the field do not treat each other so badly,

They neither drink themselves drunk, nor eat themselves stupid nor do they bind themselves together in a

union which both would have to hate." In this way George Vavasor, trying to imitate the wisdom of the

brutes, had taught himself some theories of a peculiar nature. But, nevertheless, as he thought of Alice

Vavasor on this occasion, he began to feel that if a Siamese twin were necessary for him, she of all others was

And if he did it at all, he must do it now. Under the joint instigation of himself and his sister as he

thought, and perhaps not altogether without reason she had broken her engagement with Mr Grey. That

she would renew it again if left to herself, he believed probable. And then, despite that advanced intelligence

which had taught him to regard all forms and ceremonies with the eye of a philosopher, he had still enough of

human frailty about him to feel keenly alive to the pleasure of taking from John Grey the prize which John

Grey had so nearly taken from him. If Alice could have been taught to think as he did as to the absurdity of

those indissoluble ties, that would have been better. But nothing would have been more impossible than the

teaching of such a lesson to his cousin Alice. George Vavasor was a man of courage, and dared do most

things but he would not have dared to commence the teaching of such a lesson to her.

And now, at this moment, what was his outlook into life generally? He had very high ambition, and a fair

hope of gratifying it if he could only provide that things should go well with him for a year or so. He was still

a poor man, having been once nearly a rich man; but still so much of the result of his nearly acquired riches

remained to him, that on the strength of them he might probably find his way into Parliament. He had paid

the cost of the last attempt, and might, in a great degree, carry on this present attempt on credit. If he

succeeded there would be open to him a mode of life, agreeable in itself, and honourable among men. But

how was he to bear the cost of this for the next year, or the next two years? His grandfather was still alive,

and would probably live over that period. If he married Alice he would do so with no idea of cheating her out

of her money. She should learn nay, she had already learned from his own lips how perilous was his

enterprise. But he knew her to be a woman who would boldly risk all in money,though no consideration

would induce her to stir a hair's breadth towards danger in reputation. Towards teaching her that doctrine at

which I have hinted, he would not have dared to make an attempt; but he felt that he should have no

repugnance to telling her that he wanted to spend all her money in the first year or two of their married life!

He was still in his armchair, thinking of all this, with that small untasted modicum of brandy and water beside

him, when he heard some distant Lambeth clock strike three from over the river. Then he rose from his seat,

and taking the candles in his hand, sat himself down at a writingdesk on the other side of the room. "I

needn't send it when it's written," he said to himself "and the chances are that I won't." Then he took his

"The time was when the privilege was mine of beginning my letters to you with a warmer show of love than

the above word contains when I might and did call you dearest; but I lost that privilege through my own

folly, and since that it has been accorded to another. But you have found with a thorough honesty of

purpose than which I know nothing greater that it has behoved you to withdraw that privilege also. I need

hardly say that I should not have written as I now write, had you not found it expedient to do as you have

"I now once again ask you to be my wife. In spite of all that passed in those old days of all the selfish

folly of which I was then guilty, I think you know, and at the time knew, that I ever loved you. I claim to say

for myself that my love to you was true from first to last, and I claim from you belief for that statement.

"Nevertheless, when you told me that I might no longer hope to make you my wife, I had no word of

remonstrance that I could utter. You acted as any woman would act whom love had not made a fool. Then

came the episode of Mr Grey; and bitter as have been my feelings whilst that engagement lasted, I never

made any attempt to come between you and the life you had chosen. In saying this I do not forget the words

which I spoke last summer at Basle, when, as far as I knew, you still intended that he should be your husband.

But what I said then was nothing to that which, with much violence, I refrained from saying. Whether you

remember those few words I cannot tell; but certainly you would not have rememberedthem had your

"But all this is nothing. You are now again a free woman; and once again I ask you to be my wife. We are

both older than we were when we loved before, and will both be prone to think of marriage in a somewhat

different light. Then personal love for each other was most in our thoughts. God forbid that it should not be

much in our thoughts now! Perhaps I am deceiving myself in saying that it is not even now stronger in mine

than any other consideration. But we have both reached that time of life, when it is probable that in any

proposition of marriage we should think more of our adaptability to each other than we did before. For myself

I know that there is much in my character and disposition to make me unfit to marry a woman of the common

stamp. You know my mode of life, and what are my hopes and my chances of success. I run great risk of

failing. It may be that I shall encounter ruin where I look for reputation and a career of honour. The chances

are perhaps more in favour of ruin than of success. But, whatever may be the chances, I shall go on as long as

any means of carrying on the fight are at my disposal. If you were my wife tomorrow I should expect to use

your money, if it were needed, in struggling to obtain a seat in Parliament and a hearing there. I will hardly

stoop to tell you that I do not ask you to be my wife for the sake of this aid but if you were to become my

wife I should expect all your cooperation with your my wife I should expect all your cooperation

"And now, once again, Alice dearest Alice, will you be my wife? I have been punished, and I have kissed

the rod as I never kissed any other rod. You cannot accuse my love. Since the time in which I might sit

with my arm round your waist, I have sat with it round no other waist. Since your lips were mine, no other

lips have been dear to me. Since you were my counsellor, I have had no other counsellor unless it be poor

Kate, whose wish that we may at length be married is second in earnestness only to my own. Nor do I think

you will doubt my repentance. Such repentance indeed claims no merit, as it has been the natural result of the

loss which I have suffered. Providence has hitherto been very good to me in not having made that loss

irremediable by your marriage with Mr Grey. I wish you now to consider the matter well, and to tell me

whether you can pardon me and still love me. Do I flatter myself when I feel that I doubt your pardon almost

"Think of this thing in all its bearings before you answer me. I am so anxious that you should think of it that I

will not expect your reply till this day week. It can hardly be your desire to go through life unmarried. I

should say that it must be essential to your ambition that you should join your lot to that of some man the

nature of whose aspirations would be like to your own. It is because this was not so as regarded him whose

suit you had accepted, that you found yourself at last obliged to part from him. May I not say that with us

there would be no such difference? It is because I believe that in this respect we are fitted for each other, as

"This will reach you at Vavasor, where you will now be with the old squire and Kate. I have told her nothing

of my purpose in writing this letter. If it should be that your answer is such as I desire, I should use the

opportunity of our reengagement to endeavour to be reconciled to my grandfather. He has misunderstood

me and has illused me. But I am ready to forgive that, if he will allow me to do so. In such case you and

Kate would arrange that, and I would, if possible, go down to Vavasor while you are there. But I am

galloping on ahead foolishly in thinking of this, and am counting up my wealth while the crockery in my

basket is so very fragile. One word from you will decide whether or no I shall ever bring it into market.

"If that word is to be adverse do not say anything of a meeting between me and the Squire. Under such

circumstances it would be impossible. But, oh, Alice! Do not let it be adverse. I think you love me. Your

woman's pride towards me has been great and good and womanly; but it has had its way; and, if you love me,

Vavasor, when he had finished his letter, went back to his seat over the fire, and there he sat with it close at

his hand for nearly an hour. Once or twice he took it up with fingers almost itching to throw it into the fire.

He took it up and held the corners between his forefinger and thumb, throwing forward his hand towards the

flame, as though willing that the letter should escape from him and perish if chance should so decide. But

chance did not so decide, and the letter was put back upon the table at his elbow. Then when the hour was

nearly over he read it again. "I'll bet two to one that she gives way," he said to himself, as he put the sheet of

paper back into the envelope. "Women are such outandout fools." Then he took his candle, and, carrying

The next morning was the morning of Christmas Eve. At about nine o'clock a boy came into his room who

was accustomed to call for orders for the day. "Jem," he said to the boy, there's half a crown lying there on

the lookingglass." Jem looked and acknowledged the presence of the halfcrown. "Is it a head or a tail,

Jem?" asked the boy's master. Jem scrutinized the coin, and declared that the uppermost surface showed a

tail. "Then take that letter and post it," said George Vavasor. Whereupon Jem, asking no question, and

thinking but little of the circumstances under which the command was given, did take the letter and did post

it. In due accordance with postal regulations it reached Vavasor Hall and was delivered to Alice on the

A merry Christmas did not fall to the lot of George Vavasor on the present occasion. An early Christmas box

he did receive in the shape of a very hurried note from his friend Burgo. "This will be brought to you by

Stickling," the note said; but who Stickling was Vavasor did not know. "I send the bill. Couldn't you get the

money and send it me, as I don't want to go up to town again before the thing comes off? You're a trump; and

will do the best you can. Don't let that rogue off for less than a hundred and twenty. Yours, B.F." Vavasor,

therefore, having nothing better to do, spent his Christmas morning in calling on Mr Magruin.

"Time and tide wait for no man, Mr Magruin, and my friend wants his money tomorrow."

"Yes, tomorrow. If time and tide won't wait, neither will love. Come, Mr Magruin, out with your

"Ladies never are sure," said Vavasor; hardly more sure than bills made over to moneylenders. I'm not

But Vavasor before he left did get the money from Mr Magruin �122 10s. for which an acceptance at

two months for �500 wasgiven in exchange and carried it off in triumph. "Do tell him to be punctual,"

said Mr Magruin, when Vavasor took his leave. "I do so like young men to be punctual. But I really think Mr

"I think he is," said George Vavasor, as he went away. He ate his Christmas dinner in absolute solitude at an

eatinghouse near his lodgings. It may be supposed that no man dares to dine at his club on a Christmas Day.

He at any rate did not so dare and after dinner he wandered about through the streets, wondering within

his mind how he would endure the restraints of married life. And the same dull monotony of his days was

continued for a week, during which he waited, not impatiently, for an answer to his letter. And before the end

Alice came down to breakfast on that Christmas morning at Vavasor Hall without making any sign as to the

letter she had received. The party there consisted of her grandfather, her father, her cousin Kate, and herself.

They all made their Christmas salutations as is usual, and Alice received and made hers as did the others,

without showing that anything had occurred to disturb her tranquility. Kate remarked that she had heard that

morning from Aunt Greenow, and promised to show Alice the letter after breakfast. But Alice said no word

"Perhaps, sir, because you didn't ask her," said Kate, standing close to her grandfather for the old man was

"And why didn't you ask her that is, if she stands upon asking to come to her old home?"

"Nay, sir, but I couldn't do that without your bidding. We Vavasors are not always fond of meeting each

"Hold your tongue, Kate. I know what you mean, and you should be the last to speak of it. Alice, my dear,

come and sit next to me. I am much obliged to you for coming down all this way to see your old grandfather

at Christmas. I am indeed. I only wish you had brought better news about your sweetheart."

"Papa, you shouldn't say that. You would not wish me to marry against my own judgment."

"I don't know much about ladies' judgments," said the old man. "It does seem to me that when a lady makes a

"According to that," said Kate, if I were engaged to a man and found that he was a murderer, I still ought to

"But Mr Grey is not a murderer," said the Squire. "Pray pray, don't talk about it," said Alice. If you do I

"I have given over saying anything on the subject," said John Vavasor, speaking as though he had already

expended upon it a vast amount of paternal eloquence. He had, however, never said more than has been

recorded in these pages. Alice, during this conversation, sat with her cousin's letter in her pocket, and as yet

The Squire of Vavasor Hall was a stout old man, with a red face and grey eyes, which looked fiercely at you,

and with long grey hair, and a rough grey beard, which gave him something of the appearance of an old lion.

He was passionate, unreasoning, and specially impatient of all opposition; but he was affectionate, prone to

forgive when asked to do so, unselfish, and hospitable. He was, moreover, guided strictly by rules, which he

believed to be rules of right. His grandson George had offended him very deeply had offended him and

never asked his pardon. He was determined that such pardon should never be given, unless it were asked for

with almost bended knees; but, nevertheless, this grandson should be his heir. That was his present intention.

The right of primogeniture could not, in accordance with his theory, be abrogated by the fact that it was, in

George Vavasor's case, protected by no law. The Squire could leave Vavasor Hall to whom he pleased, but he

could not have hoped to rest quietly in his grave should it be found that he had left it to anyone but the eldest

son of his own eldest son. Though violent, and even stern, he was more prone to love than to anger; and

though none of those around him dared to speak to him of his grandson, yet he longed in his heart for some

The whole party went to church on this Christmas morning. The small parish church of Vavasor, an

unpretending wooden structure, with a single bell which might be heard tinkling for a mile or two over the

fells, stood all alone about half a mile from the Squire's gate. Vavasor was a parish situated on the

intermediate ground between the mountains of the lake country and the plains. Its land was unproductive,

illdrained, and poor, and yet it possessed little or none of the beauty which tourists go to see. It was all

amidst the fells, and very dreary. There were long skirtings of dark pines around a portion of the Squire's

property, and at the back of the house there was a thick wood of firs running up to the top of what was there

called the Beacon Hill. Through this there was a wild steep walkwhich came out upon the moorland, and

from thence there was a track across the mountain to Hawes Water and Naddale, and on over many miles to

the further beauties of Bowness and Windermere. They who knew the country, and whose legs were of use to

them, could find some of the grandest scenery in England within reach of a walk from Vavasor Hall; but to

others the place was very desolate. For myself, I can find I know not what of charm in wandering over open,

unadorned moorland. It must be more in the softness of the grass to the feet, and the freshness of the air to the

lungs, than in anything that meets the eye. You might walk for miles and miles to the northeast, or east, or

southeast of Vavasor without meeting any object to arrest the view. The great road from Lancaster to

Carlisle crossed the outskirt of the small parish about a mile from the church, and beyond that the fell seemed

to be interminable. Towards the north it rose, and towards the south it fell, and it rose and fell very gradually.

Here and there some slight appearance of a valley might be traced which had been formed by the action of

the waters; but such breakings of ground were inconsiderable, and did not suffice to interrupt the stern

The daily life at Vavasor was melancholy enough for such a one as the Squire's son, who regarded London as

the only place on the earth's surface in which a man could live with comfort. The moors offered no charms to

him. Nor did he much appreciate the homely comforts of the Hall; for the house, though warm, was old

fashioned and small, and the Squire's cook was nearly as old as the Squire himself. John Vavasor's visits to

Vavasor were always visits of duty rather than of pleasure. But it was not so with Alice. She could be very

happy there with Kate; for, like herself, Kate was a good walker and loved the mountains. Their regard for

each other had grown and become strong because they had gone together o'er river and moor, and because

they had together disregarded those impediments of mud and wet which frighten so many girls away from the

On this Christmas Day they all went to church, the Squire being accompanied by Alice in a vehicle which in

Ireland is called an inside jauntingcar, and which is perhaps the most uncomfortable kind of vehicle yet

invented; while John Vavasor walked with his niece. But the girls had arranged that immediately after church

they would start for a walk up the Beacon Hill, across the fells, towards Hawes Water. They always dined at

the Hall at the vexatious hour of five; but as their church service, with the sacrament included, would

becompleted soon after twelve, and as lunch was a meal which the Squire did not himself attend, they could

have full four hours for their excursion. This had all been planned before Alice received her letter; but there

"Alice, my dear," said the old man to her when they were together in the jauntingcar, "you ought to get

married." The Squire was hard of hearing, and under any circumstances an inside jauntingcar is a bad place

for conversation, as your teeth are nearly shaken out of your head by every movement which the horse

makes. Alice therefore said nothing, but smiled faintly, in reply to her grandfather. On returning from church

he insisted that Alice should again accompany him, telling her specially that he desired to speak to her. "My

dear child," he said, I have been thinking a great deal about you, and you ought to get married."

"Not if you quarrel with all your suitors," said the old man. "You quarrelled with your cousin George, and

now you have quarrelled with Mr Grey. You'll never get married, my dear, if you go on in that way."

"Oh, Kate! I don't know that anybody wants to marry Kate. I wish you'd think of what I say. If you don't get

married before long, perhaps you'll never get married at all. Gentlemen won't stand that kind of thing for

The two girls took a slice of cake, each in her hand, and started on their walk. "We shan't be able to get to the

"No," said Alice; but we can go as far as the big stone on Swindale Fell, where we can sit down and see it."

"Do you remember the last time we sat there?" said Kate. "It is nearly three years ago, and it was then that

you told me that all was to be over between you and George. Do you remember what a fool I was, and how I

screamed in my sorrow? I sometimes wonder at myself and my own folly. How is it that I can never get up

any interest about my own belongings? And then we got soaking wet through coming home."

"And how dark it was! That was in September, but we had dined early. If we go as far as Swindale we shall

have it very dark coming home today but I don't mind that through the BeaconWood, because I know my

"Yes; I do remember that day. Well; it's all for the best, I suppose. And now I must read you my aunt's letter."

Then, while they were still in the wood, Kate took out the letter from her aunt and read it, while they still

walked slowly up the hill. It seemed that hitherto neither of her two suitors had brought the widow to terms.

Indeed, she continued to write of Mr Cheesacre as though that gentleman were inconsolable for the loss of

Kate, and gave her niece much serious advice as to the expedience of returning to Norfolk, in order that she

might secure so eligible a husband. "You must understand all the time, Alice," said Kate, pausing as she read

the letter, "that the dear man has never given me the slightest ground for the faintest hope, and that I know to

a certainty that he makes an offer to her twice a week that is, on every market day. You can't enjoy half

the joke if you won't bear that in mind." Alice promised that she would bear it all in mind, and then Kate

went on with her reading. Poor Bellfield was working very hard at his drill, Mrs Greenow went on to say; so

hard that sometimes she really thought the fatigue would be too much for his strength. He would come in

sometimes of an evening and just take a cup of tea generally on Mondays and Thursdays. "These are not

"He comes in," said Mrs Greenow, and takes a little tea; and sometimes I think that he will faint at my feet."

"That he kneels there on every occasion," said Kate, "and repeats his offer also twice a week, I have not the

"Really I don't know what to think of it. Sometimes I fancy that she likes the fun of the thing, but that she is

too wideawake to put herself into any man's power: I have no doubt she lends him money, because he wants

it sadly and she is very generous. She gives him money, I feel sure, but takes his receipt on stamped paper for

The letter then went on to say that the writer had made up her mind to remain at Norwich certainly through

the winter and spring, and that she was anxiously desirous that her dear Kate should go back to her. "Come

and have one other look at Oileymead," said the letter, "and then, if you make up your mind that you don't

like it or him, I won't ask you to think of them ever again. I believe him to be a very honest fellow." "Did you

ever know such a woman? said Kate; "with all her faults I believe she would go through fire and water to

serve me. I think she'd lend me money without any stamped paper." Then Aunt Greenow's letter was put up,

It was a delicious afternoon for a winter's walk. The air was clear and cold, but not actually frosty. The

ground beneath their feet was dry, and the sky, though not bright, had that appearance of enduring weather

which gives no foreboding of rain. There is a special winter's light, which is very clear though devoid of all

brilliancy through which every object strikes upon the eye with wellmarked lines, and under which

almost all forms of nature seem graceful to the sight if not actually beautiful. But there is a certain

melancholy which ever accompanies it. It is the light of the afternoon, and gives token of the speedy coming

of the early twilight. It tells of the shortness of the day, and contains even in its clearness a promise of the

gloom of night. It is absolute light, but it seems to contain the darkness which is to follow it. I do not know

that it is ever to be seen and felt so plainly as on the wide moorland, where the eye stretches away over miles,

and sees at the world's end the faint low lines of distant clouds settling themselves upon the horizon. Such

was the light of this Christmas afternoon, and both the girls had felt the effects of it before they reached the

big stone on Swindale Fell, from which they intended to look down upon the loveliness of Hawes Water. As

they went up through the wood there had been some laughter between them over Aunt Greenow's letter; and

they had discussed almost with mirth the merits of Oileymead and Mr Cheesacre; but as they got further on to

the fell, and as the halfmelancholy wildness of the place struck them, their words became less light, and

Alice had still her letter in her pocket. She had placed it there when she came down to breakfast, and had

carried it with her since. She had come to no resolution as yet as to her answer to it, nor had she resolved

whether or no she would show it to Kate. Kate had ever been regarded by her as her steadfast friend. In all

these affairs she had spoken openly to Kate. We know that Kate had in part betrayed her, but Alice suspected

no such treason. She had often quarrelled with Kate; but she had quarrelled with her not on account of any sin

against the faith of their friendship. She believed in her cousin perfectly, though she found herself often

called upon to disagreewith her almost violently. Why should she not show this letter to Kate, and discuss it

in all its bearings before she replied to it? This was in her mind as she walked silently along over the fell.

The reader will surmise from this that she was already half inclined to give way, and to join her lot to that of

her cousin George. Alas, yes! The reader will be right in his surmise. And yet it was not her love for the man

that prompted her to run so terrible a risk. Had it been so, I think that it would be easier to forgive her. She

was beginning to think that love, the love of which she had once thought so much did not matter. Of what

use was it, and to what had it led? What had love done for her friend Glencora? What had love done for her?

Had she not loved John Grey, and had she not felt that with all her love life with him would have been

distasteful to her? It would have been impossible for her to marry a man whom personally she disliked but

she liked her cousin George, well enough, as she said to herself almost indifferently.

Upon the whole it was a grievous task to her in these days this having to do something with her life. Was

it not all vain and futile? As for that girl's dream of the joys of love which she had once dreamed that had

gone from her slumbers, never to return. How might she best make herself useful useful in some sort that

might gratify her ambition that was now the question which seemed to her to be of most importance.

Her cousin's letter to her had been very crafty. He had studied the whole of her character accurately as he

wrote it. When he had sat down to write it he had been indifferent to the result; but he had written it with that

care to attain success which a man uses when he is anxious not to fail in an attempt. Whether or no he cared

to marry his cousin was a point so little interesting to him that chance might decide it for him; but when

chance had decided that he did wish it, it was necessary for his honour that he should have that for which he

His letter to her had been clever and very crafty. "At any rate he does me justice," she said to herself, when

she read those words about her money, and the use which he proposed to make of it. "He is welcome to it all

if it will help him in his career, whether he has it as my friend or as my husband." Then she thought of Kate's

promise of her little mite, and declared to herself that she would not be less noble than her cousin Kate. And

would it not be well that she should be the means of reconciling George to his grandfather? George was the

representative of the family of a family so old that no one now knew which had first taken the ancient

titular name of some old Saxon landowner the parish, or the man. There had been in old days some

worthy Vavaseurs, as Chaucer calls them, whose rank and bearing had been adopted on that moorland side.

Of these things Alice thought much, and felt that it should be her duty so to act, that future Vavasors might at

any rate not be less in the world than they who had passed away. In a few years at furthest, George Vavasor

must be Vavasor of Vavasor. Would it not be right that she should help him to make that position

They walked on, exchanging now and again a word or two, till the distant Cumberland mountains began to

form themselves in groups of beauty before their eyes. "There's Helvellyn at last," said Kate. "I'm always

"And isn't that Kidsty Pyk?" asked Alice. No; you don't see Kidsty yet. But you will when you get up to the

bank there. That's Scaw Fell on the left the round distant top. I can distinguish it, though I doubt whether

you can." Then they went on again, and were soon at the bank from whence the sharp top of the mountain

which Alice had named was visible. "And now we are on Swindale, and in five minutes we shall get to the

In less than five minutes they were there; and then, but not till then, the beauty of the little lake, lying down

below them in the quiet bosom of the hills, disclosed itself. A lake should, I think, be small, and should be

seen from above, to be seen in all its glory. The distance should be such that the shadows of the mountains on

its surface may just be traced, and that some faint idea of the ripple on the waters may be present to the eye,

And the form of the lake should be irregular, curving round from its base among the lower hills, deeper and

still deeper into some close nook up among the mountains from which its head waters spring. It is thus that a

lake should be seen, and it was thus that Hawes Water was seen by them from the flat stone on the side of

Swindale Fell. The basin of the lake has formed itself into the shape of the figure of 3, and the top section of

the figure lies embosomed among the very wildest of the Westmoreland mountains. Altogether it is not above

three miles long, and every point of it was to be seen from the spot on which the girls sat themselves down.

The water beneath was still as death, and as dark and looked almost as cold. But the slow clouds were

passing over it, and the shades of darkness on its surface changed themselves with gradual changes. And

though no movement was visible, there was ever and again in places a slight sheen upon the lake, which

"I'm so glad I've come here," said Alice, seating herself. "I cannot bear the idea of coming to Vavasor without

"I don't think we shall. I don't think it possible that I should stay long. Kate, I've got a letter to show you."

And there was that in the tone of her voice which instantly put Kate upon her mettle.

Kate seated herself also, and put up her hand for the letter. "Is it from Mr Grey?" she asked,

"No," said Alice; it is not from Mr Grey. And she gave her companion the paper. Kate before she had touched

it had seen that it was from her brother George; and as she opened it looked anxiously into Alice's face. "Has

"Read it," said Alice, and then we'll talk of it afterwards, as we go home." Then she got up from the stone and

walked a step or two towards the brow of the fell, and stood there looking down upon the lake, while Kate

"Well," said Kate. Alice, Alice, it will, indeed, be well if you listen to him. Oh, Alice, may I hope? Alice, my

own Alice, my darling, my friend! Say that it shall be so." And Kate knelt at her friend's feet upon the

heather, and looked up into her face with eyes full of tears. What shall we say of a woman who could be as

Alice made no immediate answer, but still continued to gaze down over her friend upon the lake. "Alice,"

continued Kate, I did not think I should be made so happy this Christmas Day. You could not have the heart

to bring me here and show me his letter in this way, and bid me read it so calmly, and then tell me that it is all

for nothing. No; you could not do that? Alice, I am so happy. I will so love this place. I hated it before." And

then she put her face down upon the boulderstone and kissed it. Still Alice said nothing, but she began to

feel that she had gone further than she had intended. It was almost impossible for her now to say that her

Then Kate again went on speaking. "But is it not a beautiful letter? Say, Alice is it not a letter of which if

he were your brother you would feel proud if another girl had shown it to you? I do feel proud of him. I know

that he is a man with a manly heartand manly courage, who will yet do manly things. Here out on the

mountain, with nobody near us, with Nature all round us, I ask you on your solemn word as a woman, do you

"Yes love him: as a woman should love her husband. Is not your heart his? Alice, there need be no lies

now. If it be so, it should be your glory to say so, here, to me, as you hold that letter in your hand."

"I can have no such glory, Kate. I have ever loved my cousin but not so passionately as you seem to

"Perhaps not, Kate. I would sometimes hope that it is so. But come; we shall be late; and you will be cold

"I would sit here all night to be sure that your answer would be as I would have it. But, Alice, at any rate you

shall tell me before I move what your answer is to be. I know you will not refuse him; but make me happy by

"Ah, that is impossible. That is quite impossible. On such a subject and under such circumstances a woman

must resolve at the first moment. You had resolved, I know, before you had half read the letter though,

"You are quite mistaken. Come along and let us walk, and I will tell you all." Then Kate arose, and they

turned their back to the lake, and began to make their way homewards. "I have not made up my mind as to

what answer I will give him; but I have shown you his letter in order that I might have someone with whom I

might speak openly. I knew well how it would be, and that you would strive to hurry me into an immediate

"No, Alice, I will not hurry you. I will do nothing that you do not wish. But you cannot be surprised that I

should be very eager. Has it not been the longing of all my life? Have I not passed my time plotting and

planning and thinking of it till I have had time to think of nothing else? Do you not know what I suffered

when, through George's fault, the engagement was broken off? Was it not martyrdom to me that horrid

time in which your Crichton from Cambridgeshire was in the ascendant? Did I not suffer the torturesof

purgatory while that went on and yet, on the whole, did I not bear them with patience? And, now, can you

be surprised that I am wild with joy when I begin to see that everything will be as I wish for it will be as I

wish, Alice. It may be that you have not resolved to accept him. But you would have resolved to refuse him

instantly had that been your destined answer to his letter." There was but little more said between them on the

subject as they were passing over the fell, but when they were going down the path through the Beacon

Wood, Kate again spoke: "You will not answer him without speaking to me first?" said Kate.

"Nay," said Alice; I will not promise that. But if it is unfavourable I will show it you."

"Then I shall never see it," said Kate, laughing. But that is quite enough for me. I by no means wish to

criticise the lovesweet words in which you tell him that his offences are all forgiven. I know how sweet they

Then they were at home; and the old man met them at the front door, glowering at them angrily from out his

old leonine eyes, because the roast beef was already roasted. He had his great uncouth silver watch in his

hand, which was always a quarter of an hour too fast, and he pointed at it fiercely, showing them the minute

"Don't wait! That's what they always say," he muttered, peevishly. "As if one would be any better waiting for

them after the meat is on the table." But neither Kate nor Alice heard this, as they were already in their

Nothing more was said that evening between Alice and Kate about the letter; but Kate, as she wished her

cousin goodnight inside her bedroom door, spoke to her just one word "Pray for him tonight," she said,

"as you pray for those you love best. Alice made no answer, but we may believe that she did as she was

Alice had had a week allowed to write her answer; but she sent it off before the full week was past. "Why

should I keep him in suspense?" she said. "If it is to be so, there can be no good in not saying so at once."

Then she thought, also, that if this were to be her destiny it might be well for Mr Grey that all his doubts on

the matter should be dispelled. She had treated him badly very badly. She had so injured him that the

remembrance of the injury must always be a source of misery to her; but she owed to him above everything

to let him know what were her intentions as soon as they were settled. She tried to console herself by thinking

that the wound to him would be easy of cure. "He also is not passionate," she said. But in so saying she

deceived herself. He was a man in whom Love could be very passionate and was, moreover, one in whom

Each morning Kate asked her whether her answer was written; and on the third day after Christmas, just

"But it isn't postday," said Kate for the post illuminated Vavasor but three days a week.

"I have kept my promise," said Alice; and do you keep yours by asking no further questions."

"My sister my own sister," said Kate. And then, as Alice met her embrace, there was no longer any doubt

After this there was of course much close discussion between them as to what other steps should now be

taken. Kate wantedher cousin to write immediately to Mr Grey, and was somewhat frightened when Alice

declined to do so till she had received a further letter from George. "You have not proposed any horrid

stipulations to him?" exclaimed Kate. "I don't know what you may call horrid stipulations," said Alice,

gravely. "My conditions have not been very hard, and I do not think you would have disapproved them."

"There shall be none, then. I have told him that I cannot bring myself to marry him instantly that he must

allow me twelve months to wear off if I can in that time, much of sadness and of selfreproach which has

"Listen to me. I have said so. But I have told him also that if he wishes it still, I will at once tell papa and

grandpapa that I hold myself as engaged to him, so that he may know that I bind myself to him as far as it is

possible that I should do so. And I have added something else, Kate," she continued to say after a slight pause

"something else which I can tell you, though I could tell it to no other person. I can tell you because you

would do, and will do the same. I have told him that any portion of my money is at his service which may be

"Oh, Alice! No no. You shall not do that. It is too generous." And Kate perhaps felt at the moment that her

"But I have done it. Mercury, with sixpence in his pocket, is already posting my generosity at Shap. And, to

tell the truth, Kate, it is no more than fair. He has honestly told me that while the old Squire lives he will want

my money to assist him in a career of which I do much more than approve. It has been my earnest wish to see

him in Parliament. It will now be the most earnest desire of my heart the one thing as to which I shall feel

an intense anxiety. How then can I have the face to bid him wait twelve months for that which is specially

needed in six months' time? It would be like the workhouses which are so long in giving bread, that in the

"But the wretch shan't starve," said Kate. My money, small as it is, will carry him over this bout. I have told

him that he shall have it, and that I expect him to spend it. Moreover, I have no doubt that Aunt Greenow

"But I should not wish him to borrow from Aunt Greenow. She would advance him the money, as you say,

"He shall not touch your money till you are his wife," said Kate, very seriously. "I wish you would consent to

change your mind about this stupid tedious year, and then you might do as you pleased. I have no doubt such

a settlement might be made as to the property here, when my grandfather hears of it, as would make you

"And do you think I care to be ultimately safe, as you call it? Kate, my dear, you do not understand me."

"It is because I do not care for the safety of which you speak that I am now going to become your brother's

"You prefer the excitement of London to the tranquility, may I say, of Cambridgeshire."

"Exactly and therefore I have told George that he shall have my money whenever he wants it."

Kate was very persistent in her objection to this scheme till George's answer came. His answer to Alice was

accompanied by a letter to his sister, and after that Kate said nothing more about the money question. She

said no more then; but it must not therefore be supposed that she was less determined than she had been that

no part of Alice's fortune should be sacrificed to her brother's wants at any rate before Alice should

become her brother's wife. But her brother's letter for the moment stopped her mouth. It would be necessary

In what words Alice had written her assent it will be necessary that the reader should know, in order that

something may be understood of the struggle which she made upon the occasion; but they shall be given

presently, when I come to speak of George Vavasor's position as he received them. George's reply was very

short andapparently very frank. He deprecated the delay of twelve months, and still hoped to be able to

induce her to be more lenient to him. He advised her to write to Mr Grey at once and as regarded the

Squire he gave her carte blanche to act as she pleased. If the Squire required any kind of apology, expression

of sorrow any asking for pardon, or such like, he, George, would, under the circumstances as they now

existed, comply with the requisition most willingly. He would regard it as a simple form, made necessary by

his coming marriage. As to Alice's money, he thanked her heartily for her confidence. If the nature of his

coming contest at Chelsea should make it necessary, he would use her offer as frankly as it had been made.

Such was his letter to Alice. What was contained in his letter to Kate, Alice never knew.

Then came the business of telling this new love tale the third which poor Alice had been forced to tell her

father and grandfather and a grievous task it was. In this matter she feared her father much more than her

grandfather, and therefore she resolved to tell her grandfather first or, rather, she determined that she

would tell the Squire, and that in the mean time Kate should talk to her father.

"Grandpapa," she said to him the morning after she had received her cousin's second letter. The old man

was in the habit of breakfasting alone in a closet of his own, which was called his dressingroom, but in

which he kept no appurtenances for dressing, but in lieu of them a large collection of old spuds and sticks and

horse'sbits. There was a broken spade here, and a hoe or two; and a small table in the corner was covered

with the debris of tradesmen's bills from Penrith, and dirty scraps which he was wont to call his farm

accounts "Grandpapa," said Alice, rushing away at once into the middle of her subject, "you told me the

This made Alice's task not very easy; but, nevertheless, she persevered. "I am come, grandpapa, to tell you of

"Another!" said he. And by the tone of his voice he accused his granddaughter of having a larger number of

favoured suitors than ought to fall to the lot of any young lady. It was very hard upon her, but still she went

on. "You know," said she, that some years ago I was to have been married to my cousin George;' and then

"So I was. George was doing well then; or which is more likely had made us believe that he was doing

Poor Alice! It is hard to explain how heavy a blow fell upon her from the open utterance of that word! Of all

words in the language it was the one which she now most dreaded. She had called herself a jilt, with that

inaudible voice which one uses in making selfaccusations but hitherto no lips had pronounced the odious

word to her ears. Poor Alice! She was a jilt; and perhaps it may have been well that the old man should tell

"Grandpapa!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voice which somewhat softened the Squire's

"Well, my dear, I don't want to be illnatured. So you are going at last to marry George, are you? I hope he'll

"I have told you first, sir because I wish to obtain your consent to seeing George again here as your

"If he has been wrong! Didn't he want to squander every shilling of the property property which has never

belonged to him property which I could give to Tom, Dick, or Harry tomorrow, if I liked? If he has

"I am not defending him, sir but I thought that, perhaps, on such an occasion as this "

"A Tom Fool's occasion! You've got money of your own. He'll spend all that now."

"He will be less likely to do so if you will recognize him as your heir. Pray believe, sir, that he is not the sort

"He must be a very clever sort of a man, I think, when he has talked you out of such a husband as John Grey.

It's astounding to me with that ugly mug of his! Well, my dear, if your father approves of it, and if George

"He will, sir. I am his messenger for as much as that." "Oh, you are, are you? Then you may also be my

messenger to him, and tell him that, for your sake, I will let him come back here. I know he'll insult me the

first day; but I'll try and put up with it for your sake, my dear. Of course I must know what your father

It may be imagined that Kate's success was even less than that which Alice achieved. "I knew it would be so,"

said John Vavasor, when his niece first told him and as he spoke he struck his hand upon the table. "I

"I think that he is as unsafe a man as ever I knew to be intrusted with the happiness of any young woman.

"Perhaps so. Tell Alice this from me that as I have never yet been able to get her to think anything of my

opinion, I do not at all expect that I shall be able to induce her to do so now. I will not even make the attempt.

Alice was told her father's message; but Kate in telling it felt no deep regret. She well knew that Alice would

not be turned back from her present intention by her father's wishes. Nor would it have been very reasonable

that she should. Her father had for many years relieved himself from the burden of a father's cares, and now

We will now go once again to George Vavasor's room in Cecil Street, in which he received Alice's letter. He

was dressing when it was first brought to him; and when he recognized the handwriting he put it down on his

toilet table unopened. He put it down, and went on brushing his hair, as though he were determined to prove

to himself that he was indifferent as to the tidings which it might contain. He went on brushing his hair, and

cleaning his teeth, and tying his cravat carefully over his turneddown collar, while the unopened letter lay

close to his hand. Of course he was thinking of it of course he was anxious of course his eye went to it

from moment to moment. But he carried it with him into the sittingroom still unopened, and so it remained

until after the girl had brought him his tea and his toast. "And now," said he, as he threw himself into his

armchair, "let us see what the girl of my heart says to me." The girl of his heart said to him as follows:

"I feel great difficulty in answering your letter. Could I have my own way, I should make no answer to it at

present, but leave it for the next six months, so that then such answer might hereafter be made as

circumstances should seem to require. This will be little flattering to you, but it is less flattering to myself.

Whatever answer I may make, how can anything in this affair be flattering either to you or to me? We have

been like children who have quarrelled over our game of play, till now, at the close of our little day of

pleasure, we are fain to meet each other in tears, and acknowledge that we have looked for delights where no

"Kate, who is here, talks to me of passionate love. There is no such passion left to me nor, as I think, to

you either. It would not now be possible that you and I should come together on such terms as that. We could

not stand up together as man and wife with any hope of a happy marriage, unless we had both agreed that

"You will see from all this that I do not refuse your offer. Without passion, I have for you a warm affection,

which enables me to take a livelier interest in your career than in any other of the matters which are around

me. Of course, if I become your wife that interest will be still closer and dearer, and I do feel that I can take in

"If it suits you, I will become your wife but it cannot be quite at once. I have suffered much from the past

conflicts of my life, and there has been very much with which I must reproach myself. I know that I have

behaved badly. Sometimes I have to undergo the doubly bitter selfaccusation of having behaved in a manner

which the world will call unfeminine. You must understand that I have not passed through this unscathed,

and I must beg you to allow me some time for a cure. A perfect cure I may never expect, but I think that in

twelve months from this time I may so far have recovered my usual spirit and ease of mind as to enable me to

devote myself to your happiness. Dear George, if you will accept me under such circumstances, I will be your

"I have said that even now, as your cousin, I take a lively interest in your career of course I mean your

career as a politician and especially in your hopes of entering Parliament. I understand, accurately as I

think, what you have said about my fortune, and I perfectly appreciate your truth and frankness. If I had

nothing of my own you, in your circumstances, could not possibly take me as your wife. I know, moreover,

that your need of assistance from my means is immediate rather than prospective. My money may be

absolutely necessary to you within this year, during which, as I tell you most truly, I cannot bring myself to

become a married woman. But my money shall be less crossgrained than myself. You will take it as frankly

as I mean it when I say, that whatever you want for your political purposes shall be forthcoming at your

slightest wish. Dear George, let me have the honour and glory of marrying a man who has gained a seat in the

Parliament of Great Britain! Of all positions which a man may attain that, to me, is the grandest.

"I shall wait for a further letter from you before I speak either to my father or to my grandfather. If you can

tell me that you accede to my views, I will at once try to bring about a reconciliation between you and the

Squire. I think that that will be almost easier than inducing my father to look with favour upon our marriage.

But I need hardly say that should either one or the other oppose it or should both do so that would not

George Vavasor when he had read the letter threw it carelessly from him on to the breakfast table, and began

to munch his toast. He threw it carelessly from him, as though taking a certain pride in his carelessness.

"Very well," said he; so be it. It is probably the best thing that I could do, whatever the effect may be on her."

Then he took up his newspaper. But before the day was over he had made many plans plans made almost

unconsciously as to the benefit which might accrue to him from the offer which she had made of her

money. And before night he had written that reply to her of which we have heard the contents; and had

written also to his sister Kate a letter, of which Kate had kept the contents to herself.

When the first of the new year came round Lady Glencora was not keeping her appointment at Lady Monk's

house. She went to Gatherum Castle, and let us hope that she enjoyed the magnificent Christmas hospitality

of the Duke; but when the time came for moving on to Monkshade, she was indisposed, and Mr Palliser went

thither alone. Lady Glencora returned to Matching and remained at home, while her husband was away, in

When the tidings reached Monkshade that Lady Glencora was not to be expected, Burgo Fitzgerald was

already there, armed with such pecuniary assistance as George Vavasor had been able to wrench out of the

hands of Mr Magruin. "Burgo," said his aunt, catching him one morning near his bedroom door as he was

about to go down stairs in hunting trim, "Burgo, your old flame, Lady Glencora, is not coming here."

"Lady Glencora not coming!" said Burgo, betraying by his look and the tone of his voice too clearly that this

change in the purpose of a married lady was to him of more importance than it should have been. Such

"But, by heavens, it is," said he, putting his hand up to his forehead, and leaning back against the wall of the

passage as though in despair. "It is matter of moment to me, I am the most unfortunate devil that ever lived."

"Fie, Burgo, fie! You must not speak in that way of a married woman. I begin to think it is better that she

should not come." At this moment another man booted and spurred came down the passage, upon whom

Lady Monk smiled sweetly, speaking some pretty little word as he passed. Burgo spoke never a word, but

still stood leaningagainst the wall, with his hand to his forehead, showing that he had heard something which

had moved him greatly. "Come back into your room, Burgo," said his aunt; and they both went in at the door

that was nearest to them, for Lady Monk had been on the lookout for him, and had caught him as soon as he

appeared in the passage. "If this does annoy you, you should keep it to yourself! What will people say?"

"But you would not wish to injure her, I suppose? I thought it best to tell you, for fear you should show any

special sign of surprise if you heard of it first in public. It is very weak in you to allow yourself to feel that

sort of regard for a married woman. If you cannot constrain yourself I shall be afraid to let you meet her in

Burgo looked for a moment into his aunt's face without answering her, and then turned away towards the

door. "You can do as you please about that," said he; "but you know as well as I do what I have made up my

"Nonsense, Burgo; I know nothing of the kind. But do you go down stairs to breakfast, and don't look like

Lady Monk was a woman now about fifty years of age, who had been a great beauty, and who was still

handsome in her advanced age. Her figure was very good. She was tall and of fine proportion, though by no

means verging to that state of body which our excellent American friend and critic Mr Hawthorne has

described as beefy and has declared to be the general condition of English ladies of Lady Monk's age. Lady

Monk was not beefy. She was a comely, handsome, upright dame, one of whom, as regards her outward

appearance, England might be proud and of whom Sir Cosmo Monk was very proud. She had come of the

family of the Worcestershire Fitzgeralds, of whom it used to be said that there never was one who was not

beautiful and worthless. Looking at Lady Monk you would hardly think that she could be a worthless woman;

but there were one or two who professed to know her, and who declared that she was a true scion of the

family to which she belonged that even her husband's ample fortune had suffered from her extravagance,

that she had quarrelled with her only son, and had succeeded in marrying her daughter to the greatest fool in

the peerage. She had striven very hard to bring about a marriage between her nephew and the greatheiress,

At this moment Burgo felt very certain that his aunt was aware of his purpose, and could not forgive her for

pretending to be innocent of it. In this he was most ungrateful, as well as unreasonable and very indiscreet

also. Had he been a man who ever reflected he must have known that such a woman as his aunt could only

assist him as long as she might be presumed to be ignorant of his intention. But Burgo never reflected. The

Fitzgeralds never reflected till they were nearer forty than thirty, and then people began to think worse of

When Burgo reached the diningroom there were many men there, but no ladies. Sir Cosmo Monk, a fine

baldheaded hale man of about sixty, was standing up at the sideboard, cutting a huge game pie. He was a

man also who did not reflect much, but who contrived to keep straight in his course through the world

without much reflection. "Palliser is coming without her," he said in his loud clear voice, thinking nothing of

"Planty is no fool, I can tell you," said Sir Cosmo, coming to the table with his plate full of pie. "We think

he's about the most rising man we have." Sir Cosmo was the member for his county, and was a Liberal. He

had once, when a much younger man, been at the Treasury, and had since always spoken of the Whig

"Burgo, do you hear that? Palliser is coming without his wife," said one man a very young man, who

hardly knew what had been the circumstances of the case. The others, when they saw Burgo enter, had been

"I have heard and be d d to him," said Burgo. Then there was suddenly a silence in the room, and

everyone seemed to attend assiduously to his breakfast. It was very terrible, this clear expression of a guilty

meaning with reference to the wife of another man! Burgo regarded neither his plate nor his cup, but thrusting

his hands into his breeches pockets, sat back in his chair with the blackness as of a thunder cloud upon his

"I don't want any breakfast." He took, however, a bit of toast,and crumbling it up in his hand as he put a

morsel into his mouth, went away to the sideboard and filled for himself a glass of cherry brandy.

"If you don't eat any breakfast the less of that you take the better," said Sir Cosmo.

"I'm all right now," said he, and coming back to the table, went through some form of making a meal with a

They who were then present used afterwards to say that they should never forget that breakfast. There had

been something, they declared, in the tone of Burgo's voice when he uttered his curse against Mr Palliser,

which had struck them all with dread. There had, too, they said, been a blackness in his face, so terrible to be

seen, that it had taken from them all the power of conversation. Sir Cosmo, when he had broken the ominous

silence, had done so with a manifest struggle. The loud clatter of glasses with which Burgo had swallowed

his dram, as though resolved to show that he was regardless who might know that he was drinking, added to

the feeling. It may easily be understood that there was no further word spoken at that breakfasttable about

On that day Burgo Fitzgerald startled all those who saw him by the mad way in which he rode. Early in the

day there was no excuse for any such rashness. The hounds went from wood to wood, and men went in troops

along the forest sides as they do on such occasions. But Burgo was seen to cram his horse at impracticable

places, and to ride at gates and rails as though resolved to do himself and his uncle's steed a mischief. This

was so apparent that some friend spoke to Sir Cosmo Monk about it. "I can do nothing," said Sir Cosmo. He

is a man whom no one's words will control. Something has ruffled him this morning, and he must run his

chance till he becomes quiet." In the afternoon there was a good run, and Burgo again rode as hard as he

could make his horse carry him but then there was the usual excuse for hard riding; and such riding in a

straight run is not dangerous, as it is when the circumstances of the occasion do not warrant it. But, be that as

it may, Burgo went on to the end of the day without accident, and as he went home, assured Sir Cosmo, in a

voice which was almost cheery, that his mare Spinster was by far the best thing in the Monkshade stables.

Indeed Spinster made quite a character that day, and was sold at the end of the season for three hundred

guineas on the strength of it. I am, however, inclined to believe that there was nothing particular about the

mare. Horses always catch the temperament of their riders, and when a man wishesto break his neck, he will

generally find a horse willing to assist him in appearance, but able to save him in the performance. Burgo, at

any rate, did not break his neck, and appeared at the dinnertable in a better humour than that which he had

On the day appointed, Mr Palliser reached Monkshade. He was, in a manner, canvassing for the support of

the Liberal party, and it would not have suited him to show any indifference to the invitation of so influential

a man as Sir Cosmo. Sir Cosmo had a little party of his own in the House, consisting of four or five other

respectable country gentlemen, who troubled themselves little with thinking, and who mostly had bald heads.

Sir Cosmo was a man with whom it was quite necessary that such an aspirant as Mr Palliser should stand

well, and therefore Mr Palliser came to Monkshade, although Lady Glencora was unable to accompany him.

"We are so sorry," said Lady Monk. We have been looking forward to having Lady Glencora with us beyond

Mr Palliser declared that Lady Glencora herself was overwhelmed with grief in that she should have been

debarred from making this special visit. She had, however, been so unwell at Gatherum, the anxious husband

"I hope it is nothing serious," said Lady Monk, with a look of grief so well arranged that any stranger would

have thought that all the Pallisers must have been very dear to her heart. Then Mr Palliser went on to explain

that Lady Glencora had unfortunately been foolish. During one of those nights of hard frost she had gone out

among the ruins at Matching to show them by moonlight to a friend. The friend had thoughtlessly, foolishly,

and in a manner which Mr Palliser declared to be very reprehensible, allowed Lady Glencora to remain

"It was very wrong," said Mr Palliser, speaking of poor Alice almost maliciously. "However, she caught a

cold which, unfortunately, has become worse at my uncle's, and so I was obliged to take her home."

Lady Monk perceived that Mr Palliser had in truth left his wife behind because he believed her to be ill, and

not because he was afraid of Burgo Fitzgerald. So accomplished a woman as Lady Monk felt no doubt that

the wife's absence was caused by fear of the lover, and not by any cold caught in viewing ruins by moonlight.

She was not to be deceived in such a matter. But she became aware that MrPalliser had been deceived. As she

was right in this we must go back for a moment, and say a word of things as they went on at Matching after

Alice had told Miss Palliser that steps ought to be taken, whatever might be their cost, to save Lady Glencora

from the peril of a visit to Monkshade. To this Miss Palliser had assented and, when she left Alice, was

determined to tell Mr Palliser the whole story. But when the time for doing so had come, her courage failed

her. She could not find words in which to warn the husband that his wife would not be safe in the company of

her old lover. The task with Lady Glencora herself, bad as that would be, might be easier, and this task she at

"Glencora," she said, when she found a fitting opportunity, "you won't be angry, I hope, if I say a word to

"That depends very much upon what the word is," said Lady Glencora. And here it must be acknowledged

that Mr Palliser's wife had not done much to ingratiate herself with Mr Palliser's cousins not perhaps so

much as she should have done, seeing that she found them in her husband's house. She had taught herself to

think that they were hard, stiff, and too proud of bearing the name of Palliser. Perhaps some little attempt

may have been made by one or both of them to teach her something, and it need hardly be said that such an

attempt on the part of a husband's unmarried female relations would not be forgiven by a young bride. She

"Well the word shall be as little unpleasant as I can make it," said Miss Palliser, already appreciating fully

"But why say anything that is unpleasant? However, if it is to be said, let us have it over at once."

"Who has been talking to you?" said Lady Glencora, turning upon her very sharply.

"Not a word," said Miss Palliser. You may be sure that he would not utter a word on such a subject to anyone

unless it were toyourself. But, dear Glencora, you should not go there I mean it in all kindness and love

I do indeed." Saying this she offered her hand to Glencora, and Glencora took it.

"It is not my fault. I do not want to go to Monkshade. Lady Monk was my fiend once, but I do not care if I

never see her again. I did not arrange this visit. It was Plantagenet who did it."

"I have said so, and he told me that I must go. You will hardly believe me but I condescended even to tell

him why I thought it better to remain away. He told me, in answer, that it was a silly folly which I must live

"I am afraid. That is just the truth. I am afraid but what can I do more than I have done?"

This was very terrible to Miss Palliser. She had not thought that Lady Glencora would say so much, and she

felt a true regret in having been made to hear words which so nearly amounted to a confession. But for this

there was no help now. There were not many more words between them, and we already know the result of

the conversation. Lady Glencora became so ill from the effects of her imprudent lingering among the ruins

Mr Palliser remained three days at Monkshade, and cemented his political alliance with Sir Cosmo much in

the same way as he had before done with the Duke of St Bungay. There was little or nothing said about

politics, and certainly not a word that could be taken as any definite party understanding between the men;

but they sat at dinner together at the same table, drank a glass of wine or two out of the same decanters, and

dropped a chance word now and again about the next session of Parliament. I do not know that anything more

had been expected either by Mr Palliser or by Sir Cosmo; but it seemed to be understood when Mr Palliser

went away that Sir Cosmo was of opinion that that young scion of a ducal house ought to become the future

"I can't see that there's so much in him," said one young member of Parliament to Sir Cosmo. "I rather think

that there is, all the same," said the baronet. "There's a good deal in him, I believe! I dare say he's not very

bright, but I don't know that we want brightness. A bright financier is the most dangerous man in the world.

We've had enough of that already. Give me sound common sense, with just enough of the gab in a man to

enable him to say what he's got to say! We don't want more than that nowadays." From which it became

evident that Sir Cosmo was satisfied with the new political candidate for high place.

Lady Monk took an occasion to introduce Mr Palliser to Burgo Fitzgerald; with what object it is difficult to

say, unless she was anxious to make mischief between the men. Burgo scowled at him; but Mr Palliser did

not notice the scowl, and put out his hand to his late rival most affably. Burgo was forced to take it, and as he

did so made a little speech. "I'm sorry that we have not the pleasure of seeing Lady Glencora with you," said

"I am sorry for it," said Burgo very sorry indeed." Then he turned his back and walked away. The few

words he had spoken, and the manner in which he had carried himself, had been such as to make all those

around them notice it. Each of them knew that Lady Glencora's name should not have been in Burgo's mouth,

and all felt a fear not easily to be defined that something terrible would come of it. But Mr Palliser himself

did not seem to notice anything, or to fear anything; and nothing terrible did come of it during that visit of his

Alice Vavasor returned to London with her father, leaving Kate at Vavasor Hall with her grandfather. The

journey was not a pleasant one, Mr Vavasor knew that it was his duty to do something to take some steps

with the view of preventing the marriage which his daughter meditated; but he did not know what that

something should be, and he did know that, whatever it might be, the doing of it would be thoroughly

disagreeable. When they started from Vavasor he had as yet hardly spoken to her a word upon the subject. "I

cannot congratulate you," he had simply said. I hope the time may come, papa, when you will," Alice had

The Squire had promised that he would consent to a reconciliation with his grandson, if Alice's father would

express himself satisfied with the proposed marriage. John Vavasor had certainly expressed nothing of the

kind. "I think so badly of him," he had said, speaking to the old man of George, "that I would rather know

that almost any other calamity was to befall her, than that she should be united to him." Then the Squire, with

his usual obstinacy, had taken up the cudgels on behalf of his grandson; and had tried to prove that the match

after all would not be so bad in its results as his son seemed to expect. "It would do very well for the

property," he said. "I would settle the estate on their eldest son, so that he could not touch it; and I don't see

why he shouldn't reform as well as another." John Vavasor had then declared that George was thoroughly

bad, that he was an adventurer; that he believed him to be a ruined man, and that he would never reform. The

Squire upon this had waxed angry, and in this way George obtained aid and assistance down at the old house,

which he certainly had no right to expect. When Alice wished her grandfather goodbye the old man gave her

a message to his grandson. "You may tell him," said he, that I will never see him again unless he begs my

pardon for his personal bad conduct to me, but that if he marries you, I will take care that the property is

properly settled upon his child and yours. I shall always be glad to see you, my dear; and for your sake, I will

see him if he will humble himself to me." There was no word spoken then about her father's consent; and

Alice, when she left Vavasor, felt that the Squire was rather her friend than her enemy in regard to this thing

which she contemplated. That her father was and would be an uncompromising enemy to her

uncompromising though probably not energetic she was well aware; and, therefore, the journey up to

Alice had resolved, with great pain to herself, that in this matter she owed her father no obedience. "There

cannot be obedience on one side," she said to herself, "without protection and support on the other." Now it

was quite true that John Vavasor had done little in the way of supporting or protecting his daughter. Early in

life, before she had resided under the same roof with him in London, he had, as it were, washed his hands of

all solicitude regarding her; and having no other ties of family, had fallen into habits of life which made it

almost impossible for him to live with her as any other father would live with his child. Then, when there first

sprang up between them that manner of sharing the same house without any joining together of their habits of

life, he had excused himself to himself by saying that Alice was unlike other girls, and that she required no

protection. Her fortune was her own, and at her own disposal. Her character was such that she showed no

inclination to throw the burden of such disposal on her father's shoulders. She was steady, too, and given to

no pursuits which made it necessary that he should watch closely over her. She was a girl, he thought, who

could do as well without surveillance as with it as well, or perhaps better. So it had come to pass that

Alice had been the free mistress of her own actions, and had been left to make the most she could of her own

hours. It cannot be supposed that she had eaten her lonely dinners in Queen Anne Street night after night,

week after week, month after month, without telling herself that her father was neglecting her. She could not

perceive that he spent every evening in society, but never an evening in her society, without feeling that the

tie between her and him was not the strong bond which usually binds a father to his child. She was well

aware that she had been illused in being thus left desolate in her home. She had uttered no word of

complaint; but she had learned, without being aware that she was doing so, to entertain a firm resolve that her

father should not guide her in her path through life. In that affair of John Grey they had both for a time

thought alike, and Mr Vavasor had believed that his theory with reference to Alice had been quite correct.

She had been left to herself, and was going to dispose of herself in a way than which nothing could be more

eligible. But evil days were now coming, and Mr Vavasor, as he travelled up to London, with his daughter

seated opposite to him in the railway carriage, felt that now, at last, he must interfere. In part of the journey

they had the carriage to themselves, and Mr Vavasor thought that he would begin what he had to say; but he

put it off till others joined them, and then there was no further opportunity for such conversation as that

which would be necessary between them. They reached home about eight in the evening, having dined on the

road. "She will be tired tonight," he said to himself, as he went off to his club, "and I will speak to her

tomorrow." Alice specially felt his going on this evening. When two persons have had together the tedium of

such a journey as that from Westmoreland up to London, there should be some feeling between them to bind

them together while enjoying the comfort of the evening. Had he stayed and sat with her at her teatable,

Alice would at any rate have endeavoured to be soft with him in any discussion that might have been raised;

but he went away from her at once, leaving her to think alone over the perils of the life before her. "I want to

speak to you after breakfast tomorrow," he said as he went out. Alice answered that she should be there as

a matter of course. She scorned to tell him that she was always there always alone at home. She had never

The discussion after breakfast the next day was commenced with formal and almost ceremonial preparation.

The father and daughter breakfasted together, with the knowledge that the discussion was coming. It did not

"Will you come upstairs?" said Alice, when she perceived that her father had finished his tea.

"Perhaps that will be best," said he. Then he followed her into the drawingroom in which the fire had just

"Won't you sit down, papa? It does look so dreadful, your standing up over one in that way." He had placed

himself on the rug with his back to the incipient fire, but now, at her request, he sat himself down opposite to

"I was grieved. I must confess that I never could understand why you treated Mr Grey as you have done."

"Then I beg of you, as a great favour, to postpone your letter to him." To this Alice made no answer. "I have

not troubled you with many such requests, Alice. Will you tell me that this one shall be granted?"

"But you may change your mind again." Alice found that this was hard to bear and hard to answer; but there

was a certain amount of truth in the grievous reproach conveyed in her father's words, which made her bow

her neck to it. "I have no right to say that it is impossible," she replied, in words that were barely audible,

"No exactly so," said her father. And therefore it will be better that you should postpone any such

"No, papa; I will not consent to that. I consider myself bound to let him know the truth without delay. I have

"You have done him an injury certainly, my dear a very great injury," said Mr Vavasor, going away from

his object about the proposed letter; "and I believe he will feel it as such to the last day of his life, if this goes

"I hope not. I believe that it will not be so. I feel sure that it will not be so."

"But of course what I am thinking of now is your welfare, not his. When you simply told me that you

intended to ." Alice winced, for she feared to hear from her father that odious word which her grandfather

had used to her; and indeed the word had been on her father's lips, but he had refrained and spared her

"that you intended to break your engagement with Mr Grey," he continued, "I said little or nothing to you. I

would not ask you to marry any man, even though you had yourself promised to marry him. But when you

tell me that you are engaged to your cousin George, thematter is very different. I do not think well of your

cousin. Indeed I think anything but well of him. It is my duty to tell you that the world speaks very ill of

him." He paused, but Alice remained silent. "When you were about to travel with him," he continued, "I

ought perhaps to have told you the same. But I did not wish to pain you or his sister; and, moreover, I have

"No, my dear; I cannot allow you to sacrifice yourself without telling you that you are doing so. If it were not

"Certainly I will. It seems to me, papa, that there is a great deal of false feeling about this matter of money in

marriage or rather, perhaps, a great deal of pretended feeling. Why should I be angry with a man for

wishing to get that for which every man is struggling? At this point of George's career the use of money is

"You had better then give him your money without yourself," said her father, speaking in irony.

"What!" said Mr Vavasor, jumping up from his seat. You mean to give him your money before you marry

"Certainly I do if he should want it or, I should rather say, as much as he may want of it."

"To part with my money to my friend?" said she. It is a kind of madness of which I need not at any rate be

"Not a shilling. Papa, pray do not look at me like that. If I had no thought of marrying him you would not call

"I should only say that so much of your fortune was thrown away, and if it were not much that would be an

end of it. I would sooner see you surrender to him the half of all you have, without any engagement to marry

him, than know that he had received a shilling from you under such a promise." "You are prejudiced against

"Was it prejudice that made you reject him once before? Did you condemn him then through prejudice? Had

"We were both younger, then," said Alice, speaking very softly, but very seriously. "We were both much

younger then, and looked at life with other eyes than those which we now use. For myself I expected much

then, which I now seem hardly to regard at all; and as for him, he was then attached to pleasures to which I

"I can only speak as I believe," continued Alice. And I think I may perhaps know more of his manner of life

than you do, papa. But I am prepared to run risks now which I feared before. Even though he were all that

you think him to be, I would still endeavour to do my duty to him, and to bring him to other things."

"A husband whose mode of thinking is congenial to my own," answered Alice. "A husband who proposes to

himself a career in life with which I can sympathise. I think that I may perhaps help my cousin in the career

which he has chosen, and that alone is a great reason why I should attempt to do so."

"Partly with my money," said Alice, disdaining to answer the sneer. "Though it were only with my money,

"Well, Alice, as your father, I can only implore you to pause before you commit yourself to his hands. If he

demands money from you, and you are minded to give it to him, let him have it in moderation. Anything will

be better than marrying him. I know that I cannot hinder you; you are as much your own mistress as I am my

own master or rather a great deal more, as my income depends on my going to that horrid place in

Chancery Lane. But yet I suppose you must think something of your father's wishes and your father's opinion.

It will not be pleasant for you to stand at the altar without my being there near you."

To this Alice made no answer; but she told herself that it had not been pleasant to her to have stood at so

many places during the last four years and to have found herself so often alone,without her father being

near to her. That had been hisfault, and it was not now in her power to remedy the illeffects of it.

"Yes; something has been said. I have told him that it cannot be for a year yet. It is because I told him that,

"I don't suppose he will need it all. He intends to stand again for Chelsea, and it is the great expense of the

election which makes him want money. You are not to suppose that he has asked me for it. When I made him

understand that I did not wish to marry quite yet, I offered him the use of that which would be ultimately his

"He answered me just as I had intended that when the need came he would take me at my word."

"Then, Alice, I will tell you what is my belief. He will drain you of every shilling of your money, and when

that is gone, there will be no more heard of the marriage. We must take a small house in some cheap part of

the town and live on my income as best we may. I shall go and insure my life, so that you may not absolutely

starve when I die." Having said this, Mr Vavasor went away, not immediately to the insurance office, as his

words seemed to imply, but to his club where he sat alone, reading the newspaper, very gloomily, till the time

came for his afternoon rubber of whist, and the club dinner bill for the day was brought under his eye.

Alice had no such consolations in her solitude. She had fought her battle with her father tolerably well, but

she was now called upon to fight a battle with herself, which was one much more difficult to win. Was her

cousin, her betrothed as she now must regard him, the worthless, heartless, mercenary rascal which her father

painted him? There had certainly been a time, and that not very long distant, in which Alice herself had been

almost constrained so to regard him. Since that any change for the better in her opinion of him had been

grounded on evidence given either by himself or by his sister Kate. He had done nothing to inspire her with

any confidence, unless his reckless daring in coming forward to contest a seat in Parliament could be

regarded as a doing of something. And he had owned himself to be a man almost penniless; he had spoken of

himself as being utterly reckless as being one whose standing in the worldwas and must continue to be a

perch on the edge of a precipice, from which any accident might knock him headlong. Alice believed in her

heart that this last profession or trade to which he had applied himself, was becoming as nothing to him

that he received from it no certain income;no income that a man could make to appear respectable to fathers

or guardians when seeking a girl in marriage. Her father declared that all men spoke badly of him. Alice

knew her father to be an idle man, a man given to pleasure, to be one who thought by far too much of the

good things of the world; but she had never found him to be either false or malicious. His unwonted energy in

this matter was in itself evidence that he believed himself to be right in what he said.

To tell the truth, Alice was frightened at what she had done, and almost repented of it already. Her acceptance

of her cousin's offer had not come of love nor had it, in truth, come chiefly of ambition. She had not so

much asked herself why she should do this thing, as why she should not do it seeing that it was required

of her by her friend. What after all did it matter? That was her argument with herself. It cannot be supposed

that she looked back on the past events of her life with any selfsatisfaction. There was no selfsatisfaction,

but in truth there was more selfreproach than she deserved. As a girl she had loved her cousin George

passionately, and that love had failed her. She did not tell herself that she had been wrong when she gave him

up, but she thought herself to have been most unfortunate in the one necessity. After such an experience as

that, would it not have been better for her to have remained without further thought of marriage?

Then came that terrible episode in her life for which she never could forgive herself. She had accepted Mr

Grey because she liked him and honoured him. "And I did love him," she said to herself, now on this

morning. Poor, wretched, heartwrung woman! As she sat there thinking of it all in her solitude she was to be

pitied at any rate, if not to be forgiven. Now, as she thought of Nethercoats, with its quiet life, its gardens, its

books, and the peaceful affectionate ascendancy of him who would have been her lord and master, her

feelings were very different from those which had induced her to resolve that she would not stoop to put her

neck beneath that yoke. Would it not have been well for her to have a master who by his wisdom and strength

could save her from such wretched doubtings as these? But she had refused to bend, and then she had found

herself desolate and alone in the world. "If I can do him good why should I not marry him?" In that feeling

had been the chief argument which had induced her to return such an answer as she had sent to her cousin,

"For myself, what does it matter? As to this life of mine and all that belongs to it, why should I regard it

otherwise than to make it of some service to someone who is dear to me?" He had been ever dear to her from

her earliest years. She believed in his intellect, even if she could not believe in his conduct. Kate, her friend,

longed for this thing. As for that dream of love, it meant nothing; and as for those arguments of prudence

that cold calculation about her money, which all people seemed to expect from her she would throw it to

the winds. What if she were ruined! There was always the other chance. She might save him from ruin, and

But then, when the word was once past her lips, there returned to her that true woman's feeling which made

her plead for a long day which made her feel that that long day would be all too short which made her

already dread the coming of the end of the year. She had said that she would become George Vavasor's wife,

but she wished that the saying so might be the end of it. When he came to her to embrace her how should she

receive him? The memory of John Grey's last kiss still lingered on her lips. She had told herself that she

scorned the delights of love; if it were so, was she not bound to keep herself far from them; if it were so

"It may be as my father says," she thought. It may be that he wants my money only; if so, let him have it.

Surely when the year is over I shall know." Then a plan formed itself in her head, which she did not make

willingly, with any voluntary action of her mind but which came upon her as plans do come and

recommended itself to her in despite of herself. He should have her money as he might call for it all of it

excepting some small portion of her income, which might suffice to keep her from burdening her father.

Then, if he were contented, he should go free, without reproach, and there should be an end of all question of

As she thought of this, and matured it in her mind, the door opened, and the servant announced her cousin

It had not occurred to Alice that her accepted lover would come to her so soon. She had not told him

expressly of the day on which she would return, and had not reflected that Kate would certainly inform him.

She had been thinking so much of the distant perils of this engagement, that this peril, so sure to come upon

her before many days or hours could pass by, had been forgotten. When the name struck her ear, and

George's step was heard outside on the landing, she felt the blood rush violently to her heart, and she jumped

up from her seat panicstricken and in utter dismay. How should she receive him? And then again, with what

form of affection would she be accosted by him? But he was there in the room with her before she had had a

She hardly ventured to look up at him; but, nevertheless, she became aware that there was something in his

appearance and dress brighter, more loverlike, perhaps newer, than was usual with him. This in itself was an

affliction to her. He ought to have understood that such an engagement as theirs not only did not require, but

absolutely forbade, any such symptom of young love as this. Even when their marriage came, if it must come,

it should come without any customary sign of smartness, without any outward mark of exaltation. It would

have been very good in him to have remained away from her for weeks and months; but to come upon her

thus, on the first morning of her return, was a cruelty not to be forgiven. These were the feelings with which

She gave him her hand, and muttered some word which was inaudible even to him; she gave him her hand,

and immediately endeavoured to resume it, but he held it clenched within his own, and she felt that she was

his prisoner. He was standing close to hernow, and she could not escape from him. She was trembling with

fear lest worse might betide her even than this. She had promised to marry him, and now she was covered

with dismay as she felt rather than thought how very far she was from loving the man to whom she had given

"Alice," he said, I am a man once again, It is only now that I can tell you what I have suffered during these

last few years." He still held her hand, but he had not as yet attempted any closer embrace. She knew that she

was standing away from him awkwardly, almost showing a repugnance to him; but it was altogether beyond

her power to assume an attitude of ordinary ease. "Alice," he continued, I feel that I am a strong man again,

armed to meet the world at all points. Will you not let me thank you for what you have done for me?"

She must speak to him! Though the doing so should be ever so painful to her, she must say some word to him

which should have in it a sound of kindness. After all, it was his undoubted right to come to her, and the

footing on which he assumed to stand was simply that which she herself had given to him. It was not his fault

"I have done nothing for you, George," she said, "nothing at all." Then she got her hand away from him, and

retreated back to a sofa where she seated herself, leaving him still standing in the space before the fire. "That

you may do much for yourself is my greatest hope. If I can help you, I will do so most heartily." Then she

became thoroughly ashamed of her words, feeling that she was at once offering to him the use of her purse.

"Of course you will help me," he said. I am full of plans, all of which you must share with me. But now, at

this moment, my one great plan is that in which you have already consented to be my partner. Alice, you are

Not for worlds could she have said so at this moment. It was illjudged in him to press her thus. He should

already have seen, with half an eye, that no such triumph as that which he now demanded could be his on this

occasion. He had had his triumph when, in the solitude of his own room, with quiet sarcasm he had thrown

on one side of him the letter in which she had accepted him, as though the matter had been one almost

indifferent to him. He had no right to expect the double triumph. Then he had frankly told himself that her

money would be useful to him. He should have been contentedwith that conviction, and not have required her

"And it has been my fault that you have suffered; I know that. These years of misery have been my doing." It

"I do not say that," she replied, nor have I ever thought it. I have myself and myself only to blame." Here he

altogether misunderstood her, believing her to mean that the fault for which she blamed herself had been

"Bygones will not be bygones. It may be well for people to say so, but it is never true. One might as well say

so to one's body as to one's heart. But the hairs will grow grey, and the heart will grow cold."

"I do not see that one follows upon the other," said George. "My hair is growing very grey;' and to show

that it was so, he lifted the dark lock from the side of his forehead, and displayed the incipient grizzling of the

hair from behind. "If grey hairs make an old man, Alice, you will marry an old husband; but even you shall

not be allowed to say that my heart is old." That word "husband", which her cousin had twice used, was

painful to Alice's ear. She shrunk from it with palpable bodily suffering. Marry an old husband! His age was

nothing to the purpose, though he had been as old as Enoch. But she was again obliged to answer him. "I

"You have come to me too quickly, George, and do not reflect how much there is that I must remember. You

have said that bygones should be bygones. Let them be so, at any rate as far as words are concerned. Give me

a few months in which I may learn not to forget them, for that will be impossible but to abstain from

There was something in her look as she spoke, and in the tone of her voice, that was very sad. It struck him

forcibly, but it struck him with anger rather than with sadness. Doubtless her money had been his chief object

when he offered to renew his engagement with her. Doubtless he would have made no such offer had she

been penniless, or even had his own need been less pressing. But, nevertheless, he desired something more

than money. The triumph of being preferred to John Grey of having John Grey sent altogether adrift, in

order that his old love might be recovered, would have been too costly a luxury for him to seek, had he not in

seeking it been able to combine prudence with the luxury. But though his prudence had been undoubted, he

desired the luxury also. It was on a calculation of the combined advantage that he had made his second offer

to his cousin. As he would by no means have consented to proceed with the arrangement without the benefit

of his cousin's money, so also did he feel unwilling to dispense with some expression of her love for him,

which would be to him triumphant. Hitherto in their present interview there had certainly been no expression

"Is it not?" said she. Indeed, George, I am sorry that you should be disappointed; but what can I say? You

"If you wish," said he, very slowly if you wish to retract your letter to me, you now have my leave to do

What an opportunity was this of escape! But she had not the courage to accept it. What girl, under such

circumstances, would have had such courage? How often are offers made to us which we would almost give

our eyes to accept, but dare not accept because we fear the countenance of the offerer? "I do not wish to

retract my letter," said she, speaking as slowly as he had spoken; "but I wish to be left awhile, that I may

recover my strength of mind. Have you not heard doctors say, that muscles which have been strained, should

be allowed rest, or they will never entirely renew their tension? It is so with me now; if I could be quiet for a

"I would fain hear one word of love from you; is that unreasonable? I would wish to know from your own

lips that you have satisfaction in the renewed prospect of our union; is that too ambitious? It might have been

that I was overbold in pressing my suit upon you again; but as you accepted it, have I not a right to expect

But she had not been happy in accepting it. She was not happy now that she had accepted it. She could not

show to him any sign of such joy as that which he desired to see. And now, at this moment, she feared with

an excessive fear that there would come some demand for an outward demonstration of love, such as he in his

position might have a right to make. She seemed to be aware that this might be prevented only by such

demeanour on her part as that which she had practised, and she could not, therefore, be stirred to the

expression of any word of affection. She listened to his appeal, and when it was finished she made no reply.

If he chose to take her in dudgeon, he must do so. She would make for him any sacrifice that was possible to

"And you have not a word to say to me?" he asked. She looked up at him, and saw that the cicatrice on his

face was becoming ominous; his eyes were bent upon her with all their forbidding brilliance, and he was

assuming that look of angry audacity which was so peculiar to him, and which had so often cowed those with

"No other word, at present, George; I have told you that I am not at ease. Why do you press me now?"

He had her letter to him in the breast pocket of his coat, and his hand was on it, that he might fling it back to

her, and tell her that he would not hold her to be his promised wife under such circumstances as these. The

anger which would have induced him to do so was the better part of his nature. Three or four years since, this

better part would have prevailed, and he would have given way to his rage. But now, as his fingers played

upon the paper, he remembered that her money was absolutely essential to him that some of it was needed

by him almost instantly that on this very morning he was bound to go where money would be demanded

from him, and that his hopes with regard to Chelsea could not be maintained unless he was able to make

some substantial promise of providing funds. His sister Kate's fortune was just two thousand pounds. That,

and no more, was now the capital at his command, if he should abandon this other source of aid. Even that

must go, if all other sources should fail him; but he would fain have that untouched, if it were possible. Oh,

that that old man in Westmoreland would die and be gathered to his fathers, now that he was full of years and

ripe for the sickle! But there was no sign of death about the old man. So his fingers released their hold on the

"Angry! I have no right to be angry. But, by heaven, I am wrong there. I have the right, and I am angry. I

think you owed it me to give me some warmer welcome. Is it to be thus with us always for the next accursed

"To me it will be accursed. But is it to be thus between us always? Alice, I have loved you above all women.

I may say that I have never loved any woman but you; and yet I am sometimes driven to doubt whether you

have a heart in you capable of love. After all that has passed, all your old protestations, all my repentance,

and your proffer of forgiveness, you should have received me with open arms. I suppose I may go now, and

"I want no answer. I wanted you to put your hand in mine, to kiss me, and to tell me that you are once more

my own. Alice, think better of it; kiss me, and let me feel my arm once more round your waist."

She shuddered as she sat, still silent, on her seat, and he saw that she shuddered. With all his desire for her

money his instant need of it this was too much for him; and he turned upon his heel, and left the room

without another word. She heard his quick step as he hurried down the stairs, but she did not rise to arrest

him. She heard the door slam as he left the house, but still she did not move from her seat. Her immediate

desire had been that he should go and now he was gone. There was in that a relief which almost comforted

her. And this was the man from whom, within the last few days, she had accepted an offer of marriage.

George, when he left the house, walked hurriedly into Cavendish Square, and down along the east side, till he

made his way out along Princes Street, into the Circus in Oxford Street. Close to him there, in Great

Marlborough Street, was the house of his parliamentary attorney, Mr Scruby, on whom he was bound to call

on that morning. As he had walked away from Queen Anne Street, he had thought of nothing but that too

visible shudder which his cousin Alice had been unable to repress. He had been feeding on his anger, and

indulging it, telling himself at one moment that he would let her and her money go from him whither they list

and making inward threats in the next that the time should come in which he would punish her for this

illusage. But there was the necessity of resolving what he would say to Mr Scruby. To Mr Scruby was still

due some trifle on the cost of the last election; but even if this were paid, Mr Scruby would make no heavy

advance towards the expense of the next election. Whoever might come out at the end of such affairs without

a satisfactory settlement of his little bill, as had for a while been the case with Mr Grimes, from the

Handsome Man and as, indeed, still was the case with him, as that note of hand at three months' date was

not yet paid Mr Scruby seldom allowed himself to suffer. It was true that the election would not take place

till the summer; but there were preliminary expenses which needed ready money. Metropolitan voters, as Mr

Scruby often declared, required to be kept in good humour so that Mr Scruby wanted the present payment

of some five hundred pounds, and a wellgrounded assurance that he would be put in full funds by the

beginning of next June. Even Mr Scruby might not be true as perfect steel, if he thought that his candidate at

the last moment would not come forth properly prepared. Other candidates, with money in their pockets,

might find their way into Mr Scruby's offices. As George Vavasor crossed Regent Street, he gulped down his

anger, and applied his mind to business. Should he prepare himself to give orders that Kate's little property

should be sold out, or would he resolve to use his cousin's money? That his cousin's money would still be at

his disposal, in spite of the stormy mood in which he had retreated from her presence, he felt sure; but the

asking for it on his part would be unpleasant. That duty he must entrust to Kate. But as he reached Mr

Scruby's door, he had decided that for such purposes as those now in hand, it was preferable that he should

use his wife's fortune! It was thus that in his own mind he worded the phrase, and made for himself an

excuse. Yes he would use his wife's fortune, and explain to Mr Scruby that he would be justified in doing

so by the fact that his own heritage would be settled on her at her marriage. I do not suppose that he

altogether liked it. He was not, at any rate as yet, an altogether heartless swindler. He could not take his

cousin's money without meaning, without thinking that he meant, to repay her in full all that he took. Her

behaviour to him this very morning had no doubt made the affair more difficult to his mind, and more

unpleasant than it would have been had she smiled on him; but even as it was, he managed to assure himself

that he was doing her no wrong, and with this selfassurance he entered Mr Scruby's office.

The clerks in the outer office were very civil to him, and undertook to promise him that he should not be kept

waitingan instant. There were four gentlemen in the little parlour, they said, waiting to see Mr Scruby, but

there they should remain till Mr Vavasor's interview was over. One gentleman, as it seemed, was even turned

out to make way for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, a little man, looking very meek,

"You can wait, Smithers," said Mr Scruby, speaking from within. "I shan't be very long." Vavasor apologized

to his agent for the injury he was doing Smithers; but Mr Scruby explained that he was only a poor devil of a

printer, looking for payment of his little account. He had printed and posted 30,000 placards for one of the

late Marylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting his money. "You see, when they're in a

small way of business, it ruins them," said Scruby. "Now that poor devil he hasn't had a shilling of his

money yet, and the greater part has been paid out of his pocket to the posters. It is hard."

It comforted Vavasor when he thus heard that there were others who were more backward in their payments,

even than himself, and made him reflect that a longer credit than had yet been achieved by him, might

perhaps be within his reach. "It is astonishing how much a man may get done for him," said he, "without

"Yes; that's true. So he may, if he knows how to go about it. But when he does pay, Mr Vavasor, he does it

"Yes, Mr Vavasor that's true, too. But see what a life they lead. It isn't a pleasant thing to be afraid of

coming into your agent's office; not what you would like, Mr Vavasor; not if I know you."

"I never was afraid of meeting anyone yet," said Vavasor; "but I don't know what I may come to."

"Nor never will, I'll go bail. But, Lord love you, I could tell you such tales! I've had Members of Parliament,

past, present, and future, almost down on their knees to me in this little room. It's about a month or six weeks

before the elections come on when they're at their worst. There is so much you see, Mr Vavasor, for which a

gentleman must pay ready money. It isn't like a business in which a lawyer is supposed to find the capital. If I

had money enough to pay out of my own pocket all the cost of all the metropolitan gentlemen for whom I act,

why, I could live on the interest without any trouble, and go into Parliament myself like a man."

George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr Scruby wasexplaining to him, with what best attempt at

delicacy he could make, that funds for the expense of the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming from

"Never, Mr Vavasor," said Mr Scruby, very solemnly. As a rule, never. I may advance the money, on interest,

of course, when I receive a guarantee from the candidate's father, or from six or seven among the committee,

who must all be very substantial very substantial indeed. But in a general way I don't do it. It isn't my

"I'm quite sure you don't," said Mr Scruby, with a brighter tone of voice than that he had just been using. "I

never thought you did, Mr Vavasor. Lord bless you, Mr Vavasor, I know the difference between gentlemen as

Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that it would be thought convenient that he should

lodge with Mr Scruby, to his own account, a sum not less than six hundred pounds within the next week, and

it would be also necessary that he should provide for taking up that bill, amounting to ninetytwo pounds,

which he had given to the landlord of the Handsome Man. In short, it would be well that he should borrow a

thousand pounds from Alice, and as he did not wish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be

employed to raise it, he communicated to Mr Scruby as much of his plans as was necessary feeling more

hesitation in doing it than might have been expected from him. When he had done so, he was very intent on

explaining also that the money taken from his cousin, and future bride, would be repaid to her out of the

property in Westmoreland, which was did he say settled on himself? I am afraid he did.

"Yes, yes a family arrangement," said Mr Scruby, as he congratulated him on his proposed marriage. Mr

Scruby did not care a straw from what source the necessary funds might be drawn,

Early in that conversation which Mr Vavasor had with his daughter, and which was recorded a few pages

back, he implored her to pause a while before she informed Mr Grey of her engagement with her cousin.

Nothing, however, on that point had been settled between them. Mr Vavasor had wished her to say that she

would not write till he should have assented to her doing so. She had declined to bind herself in this way, and

then they had gone off to other things to George Vavasor's character and the disposition of her money.

Alice, however, had felt herself bound not to write to Mr Grey quite at once. Indeed, when her cousin left her

she had no appetite for writing such a letter as hers was to be. A day or two passed by her in this way, and

nothing more was said by her or her father. It was now the middle of January, and the reader may remember

that Mr Grey had promised that he would come to her in London in that month, as soon as he should know

that she had returned from Westmoreland. She must at any rate do something to prevent that visit. Mr Grey

would not come without giving her notice. She knew enough of the habits of the man to be sure of that. But

she desired that her letter to him should be in time to prevent his to her; so when those few days were gone,

It was a terrible job perhaps the most difficult of all the difficult tasks which her adverse fate had imposed

upon her. She found when she did attempt it, that she could have done it better if she had done it at the

moment when she was writing the other letter to her cousin George. Then Kate had been near her, and she

had been comforted by Kate's affectionate happiness. She had been strengthened at that moment by a feeling

that she was doing the best in her power, if not for herself, at any rate for others. All that comfort and all that

strength had left her now. The atmosphere of the fells had buoyed her up, and now the thick air of London

depressed her. She sat for hours with the pen in her hand, and could not write the letter. She let a day go by

and a night, and still it was not written. She hardly knew herself in her unnatural weakness. As the mental

photographs of the two men forced themselves upon her, she could not force herself to forget those words

"Look here, upon this picture and on this." How was it that she now knew how great was the difference

between the two men, how immense the preeminence of him whom she had rejected and that she had not

before been able to see this on any of those many previous occasions on which she had compared the two

together? As she thought of her cousin George's face when he left her room a few days since, and

remembered Mr Grey's countenance when last he held her hand at Cheltenham, the quiet dignity of his beauty

which would submit to show no consciousness of injury, she could not but tell herself that when Paradise had

been opened to her, she had declared herself to be fit only for Pandemonium. In that was her chief misery;

But the letter must be written, and on the second day she declared to herself that she would not rise from her

chair till it was done. The letter was written on that day and was posted. I will now ask the reader to go down

with me to Nethercoats that we may be present with John Grey when he received it. He was sitting at

breakfast in his study there, and opposite to him, lounging in an armchair, with a Quarterly in his hand, was

the most intimate of his friends, Frank Seward, a fellow of the college to which they had both belonged. Mr

Seward was a clergyman, and the tutor of his college, and a man who worked very hard at Cambridge. In the

days of his leisure he spent much of his time at Nethercoats, and he was the only man to whom Grey had told

anything of his love for Alice and of his disappointment. Even to Seward he had not told the whole story. He

had at first informed his friend that he was engaged to be married, and as he had told this as no secret,having

even said that he hated secrets on such matters the engagement had been mentioned in the common room

of their college, and men at Cambridge knew that Mr Grey was going to take to himself a wife. Then Mr

Seward had been told that trouble had come, and that it was not improbable that there would be no such

marriage. Even when saying this Mr Grey told none of the particulars, though he owned to his friend that a

heavy blow had struck him. His intimacy with Seward was ofthat thorough kind which is engendered only

out of such young and lasting friendship as had existed between them; but even to such a friend as this Mr

Grey could not open his whole heart. It was only to a friend who should also be his wife that he could do that

as he himself thoroughly understood. He had felt that such a friend was wanting to him, and he had made

"Don't speak of this as yet," he had said to Mr Seward. "Of course when the matter is settled, those few

people who know me must know it. But perhaps there may be a doubt as yet, and as long as there is a doubt,

He had said no more than this had imputed no blame to Alice had told none of the circumstances; but

Seward had known that the girl had jilted his friend, and had made up his mind that she must be heartless and

false. He had known also that his friend would never look for any other such companion for his home.

Letters were brought to each of them on this morning, and Seward's attention was of course occupied by

those which he received. Grey, as soon as the envelopes had touched his hand, became aware that one of

them was from Alice, and this he at once opened. He did it very calmly, but without any of that bravado of

indifference with which George Vavasor had received Alice's letter from Westmoreland. "It is right that I

should tell you at once," said Alice, rushing into the middle of her subject without even the formality of the

customary address "It is right that I should tell you at once that ." Oh, the difficulty which she had

encountered when her words had carried her as far as this! "that my cousin, George Vavasor, has repeated

to me his offer of marriage, and that I have accepted it. I tell you, chiefly in order that I may save you from

the trouble which you purposed to take when I last saw you at Cheltenham. I will not tell you any of the

circumstances of this engagement, because I have no right to presume that you will care to hear them. I

hardly dare to ask you to believe of me that in all that I have done, I have endeavoured to act with truth and

honesty. That I have been very ignorant, foolish what you will that is bad, I know well; otherwise there

could not have been so much in the last few years of my life on which I am utterly ashamed to look back. For

the injury that I have done you, I can only express deep contrition. I do not dare to ask you to forgive me.

ALICE VAVASOR." She had tormented herself in writing this had so nearly driven herself distracted

with attempts which she had destroyed, that she would not even read over to herself these last words. "He'll

know it, and that is all that is necessary," she said to herself as she sent the letter away from her.

Mr Grey read it twice over, leaving the other letters unnoticed on the table by his teacup. He read it twice

over, and the work of reading it was one to him of intense agony. Hitherto he had fed himself with hope. That

Alice should have been brought to think of her engagement with him in a spirit of doubt, and with a mind so

troubled that she had been inclined to attempt an escape from it, had been very grievous to him; but it had

been in his mind a fantasy, a morbid fear of himself, which might be cured by time. He, at any rate, would

give all his energies towards achieving such a cure. There had been one thing, however, which he most feared

which he had chiefly feared, though he had forbidden himself to think that it could be probable, and this

He had ever disliked and feared George Vavasor not from any effect which the man had upon himself, for

as we know his acquaintance with Vavasor was of the slightest but he had feared and disliked his

influence upon Alice. He had also feared the influence of her cousin Kate. To have cautioned Alice against

her cousins would have been to him impossible. It was not his nature to express suspicion to one he loved. Is

the tone of that letter remembered in which he had answered Alice when she informed him that her cousin

George was to go with Kate and her to Switzerland? He had written, with a pleasant joke, words which Alice

had been able to read with some little feeling of triumph to her two friends. He had not so written because he

liked what he knew of the man. He disliked all that he knew of him. But it had not been possible for him to

show that he distrusted the prudence of her, whom, as his future wife, he was prepared to trust in all things.

I have said that he read Alice's letter with an agony of sorrow; as he sat with it in his hand he suffered as,

probably, he had never suffered before. But there was nothing in his countenance to show that he was in pain.

Seward had received some long epistle, crossed from end to end indicative, I should say, of a not far

distant termination to that college tutorship and was reading it with placid contentment. It did not occur to

him to look across at Grey, but had he done so, I doubt whether he would have seen anything to attract his

attention. But Grey, though he was wounded, would not allow himself to be dismayed. There was less hope

now than before, but there might still be hope hope for her, even though there might be none for him.

Tidings had reached his ears also as toGeorge Vavasor, which had taught him to believe that the man was

needy, reckless, and on the brink of ruin. Such a marriage to Alice Vavasor would be altogether ruinous.

Whatever might be his own ultimate fate he would still seek to save her from that. Her cousin, doubtless,

wanted her money. Might it not be possible that he would be satisfied with her money, and that thus the

"Seward," he said at last, addressing his friend, who had not yet come to the end of the last crossed page.

"Well yes; there is something a little wrong. I fear I must leave you, and go up to town today."

"No nobody is ill. But I must go up to London. Mrs Bole will take care of you, and you must not be angry

Seward assured him that he would not be in the least angry, and that he was thoroughly conversant with the

capabilities and good intentions of Mrs Bole the housekeeper; but added, that as he was so near his own

college, he would of course go back to Cambridge. He longed to say some word as to the purpose of Grey's

threatened journey; to make some inquiry as to this new trouble; but he knew that Grey was a man who did

"Why not stay here?" said Grey, after a minute's pause. "I wish you would, old fellow; I do, indeed." There

was a tone of special affection in his voice which struck Seward at once. "If I can be of the slightest service

"No it does not bring good news to me. I do not know that I can tell it you all. I would if I could, but the

whole story is one not to be told in a hurry. I should leave false impressions. There are things which a man

"I wish with all my heart that you knew it all as I know it; but that is impossible. There are things which

happen in a day which it would take a lifetime to explain." Then there was another pause."I have heard bad

news this morning, and I must go up to London at once. I shall go into Ely so as to be there by twelve; and if

you will, you shall drive me over. I may be back in a day; certainly in less than a week; but it will be a

The matter was so arranged, and at eleven they started. During the first two miles not a word was spoken

between them. "Seward," Grey said at last, "if I fail in what I am going to attempt, it is probable that you will

never hear Alice Vavasor's name mentioned by me again; but I want you always to bear this in mind that

at no moment has my opinion of her ever been changed, nor must you in such case imagine from my silence

"To my thinking she is the finest of God's creatures that I have known. It may be that in her future life she

will be severed from me altogether; but I shall not, therefore, think the less well of her; and I wish that you, as

my friend, should know that I so esteem her, even though her name should never be mentioned between us."

Seward, in some few words, assured him that it should be so, and then they finished their journey in silence.

From the station at Ely, Grey sent a message by the wires up to John Vavasor, saying that he would call on

him that afternoon at his office in Chancery Lane. The chances were always much against finding Mr

Vavasor at his office; but on this occasion the telegram did reach him there, and he remained till the

unaccustomed hour of half past four to meet the man who was to have been his soninlaw.

"Have you heard from her?" he asked as soon as Grey entered the dingy little room, not in Chancery Lane,

"And told you about her cousin George, I tried to hinder her from writing, but she is very wilful."

"Why should you have hindered her? If the thing was to be told, it is better that it should be done at once."

"But I hoped that there might be an escape. I don't know what you think of all this, Grey, but to me it is the

bitterest misfortune that I have known. And I've had some bitter things, too," he added thinking of that

period of his life, when the work of which he was ashamed was first ordained as his future task.

"What is the escape that you hoped?" asked Grey, "I hardly know. The whole thing seems to me to be so

mad, that I partly trusted that she would see the madness of it. I am not sure whether you know anything of

"I believe him to be utterly an adventurer a man without means and without principle upon the whole

about as bad a man as you may meet. I give you my word, Grey, that I don't think I know a worse man. He's

going to marry her for her money; then he will beggar her, after that he'll illtreat her, and yet what can I

"But how, my dear fellow? Prevent it! It's all very well to say that, and it's the very thing I want to do. But

how am I to prevent it? She's as much her own master as you are yours. She can give him every shilling of

"Then then then then let her come to me," said John Grey; and as he spoke there was the fragment

Even the worldly, wornout, unsympathetic nature of John Vavasor was struck, and, as it were, warmed by

"God bless you; God bless you, my dear fellow. I heartily wish for her sake that I could look forward to any

"And why not look forward to it? You say that he merely wants her money. As he wants it let him have it!"

"But Grey, you do not know Alice; you do not understand my girl. When she had lost her fortune nothing

"Leave that to follow as it may," said John Grey. Our first object must be to sever her from a man, who is, as

you say, himself on the verge of ruin; and who would certainly make her wretched. I am here now, not

because I wish her to be my own wife, but because I wish that she should not become the wife of such a one

"If you were I, you would have nothing more to do with it than the man that is as yet unborn. I know that she

will give him her money because she has said so; but I have no power as to her giving it or as to her

withholding it. That's the hardship of my position but it is of no use to think of that now."

John Grey certainly did not think about it. He knew well that Alice was independent, and that she was not

inclined to give up that independence to anyone. He had not expected that her father would be able to do

much towards hindering his daughter from becoming the wife of George Vavasor, but he had wished that he

himself and her father should be in accord in their views, and he found that this was so. When he left Mr

Vavasor's room nothing had been said about the period of the marriage. Grey thought it improbable that Alice

would find herself able to give herself in marriage to her cousin immediately so soon after her breach with

him; but as to this he had no assurance, and he determined to have the facts from her own lips, if she would

see him. So he wrote to her, naming a day on which he would call upon her early in the morning; and having

received from her no prohibition, he was in Queen Anne Street at the hour appointed.

He had conceived a scheme which he had not made known to Mr Vavasor, and as to the practicability of

which he had much doubt; but which, nevertheless, he was resolved to try if he should find the attempt

possible. He himself would buy off George Vavasor. He had ever been a prudent man, and he had money at

command. If Vavasor was such a man as they who knew him best represented him, such a purchase might be

possible. But then, before this was attempted, he must be quite sure that he knew his man, and he must satisfy

himself also that in doing so he would not, in truth, add to Alice's misery. He could hardly bring himself to

think it possible that she did, in truth, love her cousin with passionate love. It seemed to him, as he

remembered what Alice had been to himself, that this must be impossible. But if it were so, that of course

must put an end to his interference. He thought that if he saw her he might learn all this, and therefore he

"Of course he must come if he will," she said to herself when she received his note. "It can make no matter.

He will say nothing half so hard to me as what I say to myself all day long." But when the morning came, and

the hour came, and the knock at the door for which her ears were on the alert, her heart misgave her, and she

felt that the present moment of her punishment, though not the heaviest, would still be hard to bear.

He came slowly upstairs his step was ever slow and gently opened the door for himself. Then, before

heeven looked at her, he closed it again. I do not know how to explain that it was so; but it was this perfect

command of himself at all seasons which had in part made Alice afraid of him, and drove her to believe that

they were not fitted for each other. She, when he thus turned for a moment from her, and then walked slowly

towards her, stood with both her hands leaning on the centre table of the room, and with her eyes fixed upon

Her whole frame shuddered as she heard the sweetness of his voice. Had I not better tell the truth of her at

once? Oh, if she could only have been his again! What madness during these last six months had driven her to

such a plight as this! The old love came back upon her. Nay; it had never gone. But that trust in his love

returned to her that trust which told her that such love and such worth would have sufficed to make her

happy. But this confidence in him was worthless now! Even though he should desire it, she could not change

"Alice," he said again. And then, as slowly she looked up at him, he asked her for her hand. "You may give it

me," he said, "as to an old friend." She put her hand in his hand, and then, withdrawing it, felt that she must

"Alice," he continued, I do not expect you to say much to me; but there is a question or two which I think you

"Oh, no not for a year," she replied hurriedly and he knew at once by her voice that she already

dreaded this new wedlock. Whatever of anger he might before have felt for her was banished. She had

brought herself by her illjudgment, by her ignorance, as she had confessed to a sad pass; but he believed

"And now one other question, Alice but if you are silent, I will not ask it again. Can you tell me why you

"Because " she said very quickly, looking up as though she were about to speak with all her old courage.

"But you would never understand me," she said "and there can be no reason why I should dare to hope

He knew that there was no love no love for that man to whom she had pledged her hand. He did not know,

on the other hand, how strong, how unchanged, how true was her love for himself. Indeed, of himself he was

thinking not at all. He desired to learn whether she would suffer, if by any scheme he might succeed in

breaking off this marriage. When he had asked her whether she were to be married at once, she had

shuddered at the thought. When he asked her why she had accepted her cousin, she had faltered, and hinted at

some excuse which he might fail to understand. Had she loved George Vavasor, he could have understood

"Alice," he said, speaking still very slowly, nothing has ever yet been done which need to a certainty separate

you and me. I am a persistent man, and I do not even yet give up all hope. A year is a long time. As you say

yourself, I do not as yet quite understand you. But, Alice and I think that the position in which we stood a

few months since justifies me in saying so without offence I love you now as well as ever, and should

things change with you, I cannot tell you with how much joy and eagerness I should take you back to my

Then he again just touched her hand, and left her before she had been able to answer a word.

Alice sat alone for an hour without moving when John Grey had left her, and the last words which he had

uttered were sounding in her ears all the time, "My heart is still yours, as it has been since I knew you." There

had been something in his words which had soothed her spirits, and had, for the moment, almost comforted

her. At any rate, he did not despise her. He could not have spoken such words as these to her had he not still

held her high in his esteem. Nay had he not even declared that he would yet take her as his own if she

would come to him? "I cannot tell you with how much joy I would take you back to my bosom!" Ah! That

might never be. But yet the assurance had been sweet to her dangerously sweet, as she soon told herself.

She knew that she had lost her Eden, but it was something to her that the master of the garden had not himself

driven her forth. She sat there, thinking of her fate, as though it belonged to some other one not to herself;

as though it were a tale that she had read. Herself she had shipwrecked altogether; but though she might sink,

But would it not have been better that he should have scorned her and reviled her? Had he been able to do so,

he at least would have escaped the grief of disappointed love. Had he learned to despise her, he would have

ceased to regret her. She had no right to feel consolation in the fact that his sufferings were equal to her own.

But when she thought of this, she told herself that it could not be that it was so. He was a man, she said, not

passionate by nature. Alas! It was the mistake she had ever made when summing up the items of his

character! He might be persistent, she thought, in still striving to do that upon which he had once resolved.

He had said so, and that which he said was always true to the letter. But, nevertheless, when this thing which

he still chose to pursue should have been put absolutely beyond his reach, he would not allow his calmbosom

to be harassed by a vain regret. He was a man too whole at every point so Alice told herself to allow

But must the accident occur? Was there no chance that he might be saved, even from such trouble as might

follow upon such a loss? Could it not be possible that he might be gratified since it would gratify him

and that she might be saved! Over and over again she considered this but always as though it were another

But she knew that her own fate was fixed. She had been mad when she had done the thing, but the thing was

not on that account the less done. She had been mad when she had trusted herself abroad with two persons,

both of whom, as she had well known, were intent on wrenching her happiness from out of her grasp. She had

been mad when she had told herself, whilst walking over the Westmoreland fells, that after all she might as

well marry her cousin, since that other marriage was then beyond her reach! Her two cousins had succeeded

in blighting all the hopes of her life but what could she now think of herself in that she had been so weak

as to submit to such usage from their hands? Alas! she told herself, admitting in her misery all her

weakness alas, she had had no mother. She had gloried in her independence, and this had come of it! She

had scorned the prudence of Lady Macleod, and her scorn had brought her to this pass!

Was she to give herself bodily body and soul, as she said aloud in her solitary agony to a man whom

she did not love? Must she submit to his caresses lie on his bosom turn herself warmly to his kisses?

"No," she said, no,' speaking audibly, as she walked about the room; "no it was not in my bargain; I

never meant it." But if so what had she meant; what had been her dream? Of what marriage had she thought,

when she was writing that letter back to George Vavasor? How am I to analyse her mind, and make her

thoughts and feelings intelligible to those who may care to trouble themselves with the study? Any sacrifice

she would make for her cousin which one friend could make for another. She would fight his battles with her

money, with her words, with her sympathy. She would sit with him if he needed it, and speak comfort to him

by the hour. His disgrace should be her disgrace his glory her glory his pursuits her pursuits. Was not

that the marriage to which she had consented? But he had come to her and asked her for a kiss, and she had

shuddered before him, when he made the demand.Then that other one had come and had touched her hand,

and the fibres of her body had seemed to melt within her at the touch, so that she could have fallen at his feet.

She had done very wrong. She knew that she had done wrong. She knew that she had sinned with that sin

which specially disgraces a woman. She had said that she would become the wife of a man to whom she

could not cleave with a wife's love; and, mad with a vile ambition, she had given up the man for whose

modest love her heart was longing. She had thrown off from her that wondrous aroma of precious delicacy,

which is the greatest treasure of womanhood. She had sinned against her sex; and, in an agony of despair, as

she crouched down upon the floor with her head against her chair, she told herself that there was no pardon

But can you forgive her, delicate reader? Or am I asking the question too early in my story? For myself, I

have forgiven her. The story of the struggle has been present to my mind for many years and I have

learned to think that even this offence against womanhood may, with deep repentance, be forgiven. And you

also must forgive her before we close the book, or else my story will have been told amiss.

But let us own that she had sinned almost damnably, almost past forgiveness. What think that she

knew what love meant, and not know which of two she loved! What doubt, of two men for whose arms

she longed; of which the kisses would be sweet to bear; on which side lay the modesty of her maiden love!

Faugh! She had submitted to pollution of head and feeling before she had brought herself to such a pass as

this. Come let us see if it be possible that she may be cleansed by the fire of her sorrow.

"What am I to do?" She passed that whole day in asking herself that question. She was herself astounded at

the rapidity with which the conviction had forced itself upon her that a marriage with her cousin would be to

her almost impossible; and could she permit it to be said of her that she had thrice in her career jilted a

promised suitor that three times she would go back from her word because her fancy had changed? Where

could she find the courage to tell her father, to tell Kate, to tell even George himself, that her purpose was

again altered? But she had a year at her disposal. If only during that year he would take her money and

squander it, and then require nothing further of her hands, might she not thus escape the doom before her?

Might it not be possible that the refusal should this time come from him? But she succeeded in making one

resolve. She thought at least that she succeeded. Come what come might, she would never stand with him at

the altar. While there was a cliff from which she might fall, water that would cover her, a deathdealing grain

that might be mixed in her cup, she could not submit herself to be George Vavasor's wife. To no ear could

she tell of this resolve. To no friend could she hint her purpose. She owed her money to the man after what

had passed between them. It was his right to count upon such assistance as that would give him, and he

should have it. Only as his betrothed she could give it him, for she understood well that if there were any

breach between them, his accepting of such aid would be impossible. He should have her money, and then,

In the afternoon her father came to her, and it may be as well to explain that Mr Grey had seen him again that

day, Mr Grey, when he left Queen Anne Street, had gone to his lawyer, and from thence had made his way to

Mr Vavasor. It was between five and six when Mr Vavasor came back to his house, and he then found his

daughter sitting over the drawingroom fire, without lights, in the gloom of the evening, Mr Vavasor had

returned with Grey to the lawyer's chambers, and had from thence come direct to his own house. He had been

startled at the precision with which all the circumstances of his daughter's position had been explained to a

mildeyed old gentleman, with a bald head, who carried on his business in a narrow, dark, clean street,

behind Doctors' Commons. Mr Tombe was his name. "No;" Mr Grey had said, when Mr Vavasor had asked

as to the peculiar nature of Mr Tombe's business; "he is not specially an ecclesiastical lawyer. He had a

partner at Ely, and was always employed by my father, and by most of the clergy there." Mr Tombe had

evinced no surprise, no dismay, and certainly no mock delicacy, when the whole affair was under discussion.

George Vavasor was to get present moneys, but if it could be so arranged from John Grey's stores

rather than from those belonging to Alice. Mr Tombe could probably arrange that with Mr Vavasor's lawyer,

who would no doubt be able to make difficulty as to raising ready money. Mr Tombe would be able to raise

ready money without difficulty. And then, at last, George Vavasor was to be made to surrender his bride,

taking or having taken the price of his bargain. John Vavasor sat by in silence as the arrangement was being

made, not knowing how to speak. He had no money with which to give assistance. "I wish you to understand

from the lady's father," Grey said to the lawyer, "thatthe marriage would be regarded by him with as much

"And you see, Mr Tombe," Mr Grey went on, we only wish to try the man. If he be not such as we believe

him to be, he can prove it by his conduct. If he is worthy of her, he can then take her."

"You merely wish to open her eyes, Mr Grey," said the mildeyed lawyer. "I wish that he should have what

"Yes; we shall know our man," said the lawyer. He shall have the money, Mr Grey," and so the interview had

been ended. Mr Vavasor, when he entered the drawingroom, addressed his daughter in a cheery voice.

"Yes, papa. Why should I have candles when I am doing nothing? I did not expect you."

"No; I suppose not. I came here because I want to say a few words to you about business."

"What business, papa?" Alice well understood the tone of her father's voice. He was desirous of propitiating

her; but was at the same time desirous of carrying some point in which he thought it probable that she would

"Well; my love, if I understood you rightly, your cousin George wants some money."

"I did not say that he wants it now; but I think he will want it before the time for the election comes."

"I think there is no doubt that he wants it. Indeed, I believe that he is almost entirely without present means of

"I can hardly think so; but I have no knowledge about it. I can only say that he has not asked me yet, and that

"I don't know what I have. I get about four hundred a year, but I do not know what it is worth, or how far it

can all be turned into money. I should wish to keep a hundred a year, and let him have the rest."

"What; eight thousand pounds!" said the father, who in spite ofhis wish not to oppose her, could not but

"I do not imagine that he will want so much; but if he should, I wish that he should have it."

"Heaven and earth!" said John Vavasor. Of course we should have to give up the house." He could not

suppress his trouble, or refrain from bursting out in agony at the prospect of such a loss.

"No, exactly; and perhaps he may not; but I wish to know what to do when the demand is made. I am not

going to oppose you now; your money is your own, and you have a right to do with it as you please but

"Come to me; I mean, so that I may see the lawyer, and have the arrangements made." Then he explained to

her that in dealing with large sums of money, it could not be right that she should do so without his

knowledge, even though the property was her own. "I will promise you that I will not oppose your wishes,"

he said. Then Alice undertook that when such case should arise the money should be raised through his

The day but one following this she received a letter from Lady Glencora, who was still at Matching Priory. It

was a lightspirited, chatty, amusing letter, intended to be happy in its tone intended to have a flavour of

happiness, but just failing through the too apparent meaning of a word here and there. "You will see that I am

at Matching," the letter said, "whereas you will remember that I was to have been at Monkshade. I escaped at

last by a violent effort, and am now passing my time innocently I fear not so profitably as she would

induce me to do with Iphy Palliser. You remember Iphy. She is a good creature, and would fain turn even

me to profit, if it were possible. I own that I am thinking of them all at Monkshade, and am in truth delighted

that I am not there. My absence is entirely laid upon your shoulders. That wicked evening amidst the ruins!

Poor ruins. I go there alone sometimes and fancy that I hear such voices from the walls, and see such faces

through the broken windows! All the old Pallisers come and frown at me, and tell me that I am not good

enough to belong to them. There is a particular window to which Sir Guy comes and makes faces at me. I told

Iphy the other day, and she answered me very gravely, that I might, if I chose, make myselfgood enough for

Then Lady Glencora went on to say, that her husband intended to come up to London early in the session,

and that she would accompany him. "That is," added Lady Glencora, if I am still good enough for the

When George Vavasor left Mr Scruby's office the attentive reader will remember that he did call upon Mr

Scruby, the Parliamentary lawyer, and there recognised the necessity of putting himself in possession of a

small sum of money with as little delay as possible when he left the attorney's office, he was well aware

that the work to be done was still before him. And he knew also that the job to be undertaken was a very

disagreeable job. He did not like the task of borrowing his cousin Alice's money.

We all of us know that swindlers and rogues do very dirty tricks, and we are apt to picture to ourselves a

certain amount of gusto and delight on the part of the swindlers in the doing of them. In this, I think we are

wrong. The poor, broken, semigenteel beggar, who borrows halfsovereigns apiece from all his old

acquaintances, knowing that they know that he will never repay them, suffers a separate little agony with

each petition that he makes. He does not enjoy pleasant sailing in this journey which he is making. To be

refused is painful to him. To get his halfsovereign with scorn is painful. To get it with apparent confidence

in his honour is almost more painful. "D it," he says to himself on such rare occasions, "I will pay that

fellow;" and yet, as he says it, he knows that he never will pay even that fellow. It is a comfortless

How was George Vavasor to make his first step towards getting his hand into his cousin's purse? He had gone

to her asking for her love, and she had shuddered when he asked her. That had been the commencement of

their life under their new engagement. He knew very well that the money would be forthcoming when he

demanded it but under their present joint circumstances, how was he to make the demand? If he wrote to

her, should he simply ask for money, and make no allusion to his love? If he went to her in person,should he

He resolved at last that Kate should do the work for him. Indeed, he had felt all along that it would be well

that Kate should act as ambassador between him and Alice in money matters, as she had long done in other

things. He could talk to Kate as he could not talk to Alice and then, between the women, those hard

money necessities would be softened down by a romantic phraseology which he would not himself know

how to use with any effect. He made up his mind to see Kate, and with this view he went down to

Westmoreland; and took himself to a small wayside inn at Shap among the fells, which had been known to

him of old. He gave his sister notice that he would be there, and begged her to come over to him as early as

she might find it possible on the morning after his arrival. He himself reached the place late in the evening by

train from London. There is a station at Shap, by which the railway company no doubt conceives that it has

conferred on that somewhat rough and remote locality all the advantages of a refined civilization; but I doubt

whether the Shappites have been thankful for the favour. The landlord at the inn, for one, is not thankful.

Shap had been a place owing all such life as it had possessed to coaching and posting. It had been a stage on

the high road from Lancaster to Carlisle, and though it lay high and bleak among the fells, and was a cold,

windy, thinlypopulated place filling all travellers with thankfulness that they had not been made

Shappites, nevertheless, it had had its glory in its coaching and posting. I have no doubt that there are men

Vavasor reached the little Inn about nine in the evening on a night that was pitchy dark, and in a wind which

made it necessary for him to hold his hat on to his head. "What a beastly country to live in," he said to

himself, resolving that he would certainly sell Vavasor Hall in spite of all family associations, if ever the

power to do so should be his. "What trash it is," he said, hanging on to such a place as that without the means

of living like a gentleman, simply because one's ancestors have done so." And then he expressed a doubt to

himself whether all the world contained a more ignorant, opinionated, useless old man than his grandfather

"Well, Mr George," said the landlord as soon as he saw him, "a sight of you's guid for sair een. It's o'er lang

since you've beendoon amang the fells." But George did not want to converse with the innkeeper, or to

explain how it was that he did not visit Vavasor Hall. The innkeeper, no doubt, knew all about it knew

that the grandfather had quarrelled with his grandson, and knew the reason why; but George, if he suspected

such knowledge, did not choose to refer to it. So he simply grunted something in reply, and getting himself in

before a spark of fire which hardly was burning in a public room with a sandy floor, begged that the little

sittingroom upstairs might be got ready for him. There he passed the evening in solitude, giving no

encouragement to the landlord, who, nevertheless, looked him up three or four times till at last George

said that his head ached, and that he would wish to be alone. "He was always one of them cankery chiels as

never have a kindly word for man nor beast," said the landlord. "Seems as though that raw slash in his face

had gone right through into his heart." After that George was left alone, and sat thinking whether it would not

be better to ask Alice for two thousand pounds at once so as to save him from the disagreeable necessity

of a second borrowing before their marriage. He was very uneasy in his mind. He had flattered himself

through it all that his cousin had loved him. He had felt sure that such was the case while they were together

in Switzerland. When she had determined to give up John Grey, of course he had told himself the same thing.

When she had at once answered his first subsequent overture with an assent, he had of course been certain

that it was so. Dark, selfish, and even dishonest as he was, he had, nevertheless, enjoyed something of a

lover's true pleasure in believing that Alice had still loved him through all their mischances. But his joy had

in a moment been turned into gall during that interview in Queen Anne Street. He had read the truth at a

glance. A man must be very vain, or else very little used to such matters, who at George Vavasor's age cannot

understand the feelings with which a woman receives him. When Alice contrived as she had done to escape

the embrace he was so well justified in asking, he knew the whole truth. He was sore at heart, and very angry

withal. He could have readily spurned her from him, and rejected her who had once rejected him. He would

have done so had not his need for her money restrained him. He was not a man who could deceive himself in

such matters. He knew that this was so, and he told himself that he was a rascal.

Vavasor Hall was, by the road, about five miles from Shap, and it was not altogether an easy task for Kate to

get over to the village without informing her grandfather that the visit was to be made,and what was its

purport. She could, indeed, walk, and the walk would not be so long as that she had taken with Alice to

Swindale fell but walking to an inn on a high road, is not the same thing as walking to a point on a hill

side over a lake. Had she been dirty, draggled, and wet through on Swindale fell, it would have simply been

matter for mirth; but her brother, she knew, would not have liked to see her enter the Lowther Arms at Shap

in such a condition. It, therefore, became necessary that she should ask her grandfather to lend her the

"Where do you want to go?" he asked sharply. In such establishments as that at Vavasor Hall the family horse

is generally used for double duties. Though he draws the lady of the house one day, he is not too proud to

draw manure on the next. And it will always be found that the master of the house gives a great preference to

the manure over the lady. The Squire at Vavasor had come to do so to such an extent that he regarded any

"Whom can you want to see at Shap?" Then it occurred to Kate on the spur of the moment that she might as

well tell her grandfather the fact. "My brother has come down," she said; "and is at the inn there. I had not

intended to tell you, as I did not wish to mention his name till you had consented to receive him here."

"Oh, no, sir. I think he has no expectation of the kind. He has come down simply to see me about business

"I think it is with reference to his marriage. I think he wants me to use my influence with Alice that it may not

"Look here, Kate; if ever you lend him your money, or any of it that is, of the principal I mean I will

never speak to him again under any circumstance. And more than that! Look here, Kate. In spite of all that

has passed and gone, the property will become his for his life when I die unless I change my will. If he

gets your money from you, I will change it, and he shall not be a shilling richer at my death than he is now.

You can have the horse to go to Shap." What unlucky chance had it been which had put this idea into the old

Squire's head on this especial morning? Kate had resolved that she would entreat her brother to make use of

her little fortune. She feared that he was now coming with some reference to his cousin's money that

something was to be done to enable him to avail himself of his cousin's offer; and Kate, almost blushing in

the solitude of her chamber at the thought, was determined that her brother must be saved from such

temptation. She knew that money was necessary to him. She knew that he could not stand a second contest

without assistance. With all their confidences, he had never told her much of his pecuniary circumstances in

the world, but she was almost sure that he was a poor man. He had said as much as that to her, and in his

letter desiring her to come to him at Shap, he had inserted a word or two purposely intended to prepare her

As she was jogged along over the rough road to Shap, she made up her mind that Aunt Greenow would be the

proper person to defray the expense of the coming election. To give Kate her due, she would have given up

every shilling of her own money without a moment's hesitation, or any feeling that her brother would be

wrong to accept it. Nor would she, perhaps, have been unalterably opposed to his taking Alice's money, had

Alice simply been his cousin. She felt that as Vavasors they were bound to stand by the future head of the

family in an attempt which was to be made, as she felt, for the general Vavasor interest. But she could not

endure to think that her brother should take the money of the girl whom he was engaged to marry. Aunt

Greenow's money she thought was fair game. Aunt Greenow herself had made various liberal offers to

herself which Kate had declined, not caring to be under pecuniary obligations even to Aunt Greenow without

necessity; but she felt that for such a purpose as her brother's contest, she need not hesitate to ask for

"Grandpapa knows that you are here, George," said Kate, when their first greeting was over.

"What nonsense! as if you couldn't have made any excuse! I was particularly anxious that he should not guess

"I don't see that it can make any difference, George." "But I see that it can a very great difference. It may

prevent my ever being able to get near him again before he dies. What did he say about my coming?"

"I should not have gone if he had. I don't know now that I ever shall go. To be there to do any good so as

to make him alter his will, and leave me in the position which I have a right to expect, would take more time

than the whole property is worth. And he would endeavour to tie me down in some way

"He might ask you, but he would not make it ground for another quarrel, if you refused."

"He is so unreasonable and ignorant that I am better away from him. But, Kate, you have not congratulated

"Did you? well; I had forgotten. I don't know that any very strong congratulatory tone is necessary. As things

go, perhaps it may be as well for all of us, and that's about the best that can be said for it."

"You see I'm not romantic, Kate, as you are. Half a dozen children with a small income do not generally

present themselves as being desirable to men who wish to push their way in the world."

"I don't know anything of the kind. You have always been under a matchmaking hallucination on that point.

But in this case you have been so far successful, and are entitled to your triumph."

"But I'll tell you what I do want, Kate. I want some money." Then he paused, but as she did not answer

immediately, he was obliged to go on speaking. "I'm not at all sure that I have not been wrong in making this

attempt to get into Parliament that I'm not struggling to pick fruit which is above my reach."

"Ah, but I can't help feeling it. I need hardly tell you that I am ready to risk anything of my own. If I know

myself I would toss up tomorrow, or for the matter of that today, between the gallows and a seat in the

House. But I cannot go on with this contest by risking what is merely my own. Money, for immediate use, I

have none left, and my neck, though I were ever so willing to risk it, is of no service."

"Whatever I have can be yours tomorrow," said Kate in a hesitating voice, which too plainly pronounced her

misery as she made the offer. She could not refrain herself from making it. Though her grandfather's threat

was ringing in her ears though she knew that she might be ruining her brother by proposing such a loan,

she had no alternative. When her brother told her of his want of money, she could not abstain from tendering

"At any rate, I shall not take it. I should not think it right. All that you have would only just suffice for my

present wants, and I should not choose to make you a beggar. There would, moreover, be a difficulty about

"I should not think it right, and therefore let there be an end of it," said George in a tone of voice which had

"I will explain to you. When Alice and I are married, of course there will be a settlement made on her, and as

we are both the grandchildren of the old Squire I shall propose that the Vavasor property shall be hers for life

"And if this be done, there can be no harm in my forestalling some of her property, which, under the

circumstances of such a settlement, would of course become mine when we are married."

"We know very well that he won't, at any rate, leave it out of the family. In fact, he would only be too glad to

consent to such an agreement as that I have proposed, because he would thereby rob me of all power in the

"Look here, Kate don't you make difficulties." And now, as he looked at her, the cicature on his face

seemed to open and yawn ather. "If you mean to say that you won't help me, do say so, and I will go back to

"Yes; anybody could say as much as that. That is not much of an offer if you are to keep to yourself the

power of deciding what is wrong. Will you write to Alice or better still, go to her, and explain that I want

"You can do it very well, if you choose. But if that be too much, then write to her. It will come much better

from you than from me; write to her, and explain that I must pay in advance the expenses of this contest, and

that I cannot look for success unless I do so. I did not think that the demand would come so quick on me; but

they know that I am not a man of capital, and therefore I cannot expect them to carry on the fight for me,

unless they know that the money is sure. Scruby has been bitten two or three times by these metropolitan

fellows, and he is determined that he will not be bitten again." Then he paused for Kate to speak.

"There is no other scheme! That's so like a woman to quarrel with the only plan that is practicable."

"My dear Kate, you must allow me to be the best judge of what I ought to do, and what I ought not to do.

Alice herself understands the matter perfectly. She knows that I cannot obtain this position, which is as

"Very well. Alice, I say, knows that I cannot do this without money, and has offered the assistance which I

want. I would rather that you should tell her how much I want, and that I want it now, than that I should do

so. That is all. If you are half the woman that I take you to be, you will understand this well enough."

Kate did understand it well enough. She was quite awake to the fact that her brother was ashamed of the thing

he was about to do so much ashamed of it that he was desirous of using her voice instead of his own. "I

want you to write to her quite at once," he continued; "since you seem to think that it is not worth while to

take the trouble of a journey to London." "There is no question about the trouble," said Kate. I would walk to

"Do you think that Alice will refuse to lend it me?" said he, looking into her face.

"I am sure that she would not, but I think that you ought not to take it from her. There seems to me to be

something sacred about property that belongs to the girl you are going to marry."

"If there is anything on earth I hate," said George, walking about the room, "it is romance. If you keep it for

reading in your bedroom, it's all very well for those who like it, but when it comes to be mixed up with one's

business it plays the devil. If you would only sift what you have said, you would see what nonsense it is.

Alice and I are to be man and wife. All our interests, and all our money, and our station in life, whatever it

may be, are to be joint property. And yet she is the last person in the world to whom I ought to go for money

to improve her prospects as well as my own. That's what you call delicacy. I call it infernal nonsense."

"I'll tell you what I'll do, George. I'll ask Aunt Greenow to lend you the money or to lend it to me."

"I don't believe she'd give me a shilling. Moreover, I want it quite immediately, and the time taken up in

letterwriting and negotiations would be fatal to me. If you won't apply to Alice, I must. I want you to tell me

Kate was still hesitating as to her answer, when there came a knock at the door, and a little crumpled note was

brought up to her. A boy had just come with it across the fell from Vavasor Hall, and Kate, as soon as she

saw her name on the outside, knew that it was from her grandfather. It was as follows:"If George wishes to

come to the Hall, let him come. If he chooses to tell me that he regrets his conduct to me, I will see him."

"I'll do nothing of the kind," he said. What good should I get by going to the old man's house?"

"If you show him that you are determined to be at variance with him, it never will be your own unless,

indeed, it should some day come to you as part of Alice's fortune. Think of it, George; you would not like to

receive everything from her." He walked about the room, muttering maledictions between his teeth, and

balancing, as best he was able at such a moment, his pride against his profit. "You haven't answered my

"Then, Kate, you and my grandfather may work together for the future. You may get him to leave you the

"That is as undeserved a reproach as any woman ever encountered," said Kate, standing her ground boldly

before him. "If you have either heart or conscience, you will feel that it is so."

"I'm not much troubled with either one or the other, I fancy. Things are being brought to such a pass with me,

"To beg that old fool's pardon? No; I won't. In the mood I am in at present, I couldn't do it. I should only

anger him worse than ever. Tell him that I've business which calls me back to London at once."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said George. I'll go to Vavasor and put up with the old Squire's insolence, if you'll

make this application for me to Alice." I wonder whether it occurred to him that his sister desired his

presence at the Hall solely on his own behalf. The same idea certainly did not occur to Kate. She hesitated,

feeling that she would almost do anything to achieve a reconciliation between her grandfather and her

"But you'll let me write to Aunt Greenow first?" said she. "It will take only two days or at the most three."

To this George consented as though he were yielding a great deal; and Kate, with a sore conscience, with a

full knowledge thatshe was undertaking to do wrong, promised that she would apply to Alice for her money,

if sufficient funds should not be forthcoming from Mrs Greenow. Thereupon, George graciously consented to

proceed to his bedroom, and put together his clothes with a view to his visit to the Hall.

"I thank Providence, Kate, that circumstances make it impossible for me to stay above two days. I have not

"Indeed you won't do anything of the kind. And look, Kate, when I make that excuse don't you offer to do so.

I will stay there over tomorrow night, and shall go into Kendal early, so as to catch the express train up on

Then they started together in the car, and very few words were said till they reached the old lodge, which

stood at the entrance to the place. "Eh, Mr George; be that you?" said the old woman, who came out to swing

back for them the broken gate. "A sight of you is good for sair een." It was the same welcome that the

innkeeper had given him, and equally sincere. George had never made himself popular about the place, but he

"I suppose you had better go into the drawingroom," said Kate; "while I go to my grandfather. You won't

"Manage it how you please; but don't keep me in the cold very long. Heavens, what a country house! The

"And remember, George, when you see him you must say that you regret that you ever displeased him. Now

"I think it very probable that there will be," said George. "I only hope he'll let me have the old horse to take

me back to Shap if there is. There he is at the front door, so I shan't have to go into the room without a fire."

The old man was standing at the Hall steps when the car drove up, as though to welcome his grandson. He

put out his hand to help Kate down the steps, keeping his eye all the time on George's face.

"Pretty well for that, sir. I'm sorry there has been any quarrel, and all that, you know." "Go in," said the

Squire, very angrily. Go in. To expect anything gracious from you would be to expect pearls from swine. Go

George went in, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes met his sister's. It was in this fashion that the

As the winter wore itself away, Mr Cheesacre, happy as he was amidst the sports of Norfolk, and prosperous

as he might be with the augean spoils of Oileymead, fretted himself with an intense anxiety to bring to a close

that affair which he had on his hands with the widow Greenow. There were two special dangers which

disturbed him. She would give herself and all her money to that adventurer, Bellfield; or else she would

spend her own money so fast before he got hold upon it, that the prize would be greatly damaged. "I'm if

she hasn't been and set up a carriage!" he said to himself one day, as, standing on the pavement of Tombland,

in Norwich, he saw Mrs Greenow issue forth from the Close in a private brougham, accompanied by one of

the Fairstairs girls. "She's been and set up her carriage as sure as my name's Cheesacre!"

Whatever reason he might have to fear the former danger, we may declare that he had none whatever as to the

latter. Mrs Greenow knew what she was doing with her money as well as any lady in England. The private

carriage was only a hired brougham taken by the month, and as to that boy in buttons whom she had lately

established, why should she not keep a young servant, and call him a page, if it gave her any comfort to do

so? If Mr Cheesacre had also known that she had lent the Fairstairs family fifty pounds to help them through

with some difficulty which Joe had encountered with the Norwich tradespeople, he would have been beside

himself with dismay. He desired to obtain the prize unmutilated in all its fair proportions. Any such

But he feared Bellfield more than he feared the brougham. That all is fair in love and war was no doubt, at

this period, Captain Bellfield's maxim, and we can only trust that he found in it some consolation, or ease to

his conscience, in regard to the monstrous lies which he told his friend. In war, no doubt, all stratagems are

fair. The one general is quite justified in making the other believe that he is far to the right, when in truth he is

turning his enemy's left flank. If successful, he will be put upon a pedestal for his clever deceit, and crowned

with laurels because of his lie. If Bellfield could only be successful, and achieve for himself the mastery over

those forty thousand pounds, the world would forgive him and place, on his brow also, some not

uncomfortable crown. In the mean time, his stratagems were as deep and his lies as profound as those of any

It must not be supposed that Cheesacre ever believed him. In the first place, he knew that Bellfield was not a

man to be believed in any way. Had he not been living on lies for the last ten years? But then a man may lie

in such a way as to deceive, though no one believe him. Mr Cheesacre was kept in an agony of doubt while

Captain Bellfield occupied his lodgings in Norwich. He fee'd Jeannette liberally. He even fee'd Charlie

Fairstairs Miss Fairstairs I mean with gloves, and chickens from Oileymead, so that he might know

whether that kite fluttered about his dovecote, and of what nature were the flutterings. He went even further

than this, and fee'd the Captain himself binding him down not to flutter as value given in return for such

fees. He attempted even to fee the widow, cautioning her against the fluttering, as he tendered to her on

his knees, a brooch as big as a breastplate. She waved aside the breastplate, declaring that the mourning

ring which contained poor Greenow's final grey lock of hair, was the last article from a jeweller's shop which

should ever find a place about her person. At the same time she declared that Captain Bellfield was nothing to

her; Mr Cheesacre need have no fears in that quarter. But then, she added, neither was he to have any hope.

Her affections were all buried under the cold sod. This was harassing. Nevertheless, though no absolute

satisfaction was to be attained in the wooing of Mrs Greenow, there was a pleasantness in the occupation

which ought to have reconciled her suitors to their destiny. With most ladies, when a gentleman has been on

his knees before one of them in the morning, with outspoken protestations of love, with clearly defined

proffers of marriage, with a minute inventory of the offerer's worldly wealth down even to the

"mahoganyfurnitured" bedchambers, as was the case with Mr Cheesacre, and when all these overtures

have been peremptorily declined a gentleman in such a case, I say, would generally feel some

awkwardness in sitting down to tea with the lady at the close of such a performance. But with Mrs Greenow

there was no such awkwardness. After an hour's work of the nature above described she would play the

hostess with a genial hospitality, that eased off all the annoyance of disappointment; and then at the end of

the evening, she would accept a squeeze of the hand, a good, palpable, longprotracted squeeze, with that

sort of "don't have done now," by which Irish young ladies allure their lovers. Mr Cheesacre, on such

occasions, would leave the Close, swearing that she should be his on the next market day or at any rate, on

the next Saturday. Then, on the Monday, tidings would reach him that Bellfield had passed all Sunday

afternoon with his ladylove Bellfield, to whom he had lent five pound on purpose that he might be

enabled to spend that very Sunday with some officers of the Suffolk volunteers at Ipswich. And hearing this,

he would walk out among those rich heaps, at the back of his farmyard, uttering deep curses against the

Driven to despair, he at last resolved to ask Bellfield to come to Oileymead for a month. That drilling at

Norwich, or the part of it which was supposed to be profitable, was wearing itself out. Funds were low with

the Captain as he did not scruple to tell his friend Cheesacre, and he accepted the invitation. "I'll mount

you with the harriers, old fellow," Cheesacre had said; "and give you a little shooting. Only I won't have you

go out when I'm not with you." Bellfield agreed. Each of them understood the nature of the bargain; though

Bellfield, I think, had somewhat the clearer understanding in the matter. He would not be so near the widow

as he had been at Norwich, but he would not be less near than his kind host. And his host would no doubt

watch him closely but then he also could watch his host. There was a railway station not two miles from

Oileymead, and the journey thence into Norwich was one of half an hour. Mr Cheesacre would doubtless be

very jealous of such journeys, but with all his jealousy he could not prevent them. And then, in regard to this

arrangement, Mr Cheesacre paid the piper, whereas Captain Bellfield paid nothing. Would it not be sweet to

him if he could carry off his friend's prize from under the very eaves of his friend's house?

And Mrs Greenow also understood the arrangement. "Going to Oileymead; are you?" she said when Captain

Bellfield came to tell her of his departure. Charlie Fairstairs was with her, so that the Captain could not utilize

the moment in any special way. "It's quite delightful," continued the widow, "to see how fond you two

gentlemen are of each other." "I think gentlemen always like to go best to gentlemen's houses where there are

no ladies," said Charlie Fairstairs, whose career in life had not as yet been satisfactory to her.

"As for that," said Bellfield, I wish with all my heart that dear old Cheesy would get a wife. He wants a wife

badly, if ever a man did, with all that house full of blankets and crockery. Why don't you set your cap at him,

"What at a farmer!" said Charlie who was particularly anxious that her dear friend, Mrs Greenow, should

"Give him my kind love," said Mrs Greenow, thereby resenting the impotent interference. "And look here,

Captain Bellfield, suppose you both dine with me next Saturday. He always comes in on Saturday, and you

"And Charlie shall come to set her cap at Mr Cheesacre," said the widow, turning a soft and gracious eye on

"I shall be happy to come,' said Charlie, quite delighted; "but not with that object. Mr Cheesacre is very

respectable, I'm sure." Charlie's mother had been the daughter of a small squire who had let his land to

tenants, and she was, therefore, justified by circumstances in looking down upon a farmer.

The matter was so settled pending the consent of Mr Cheesacre; and Bellfield went out to Oileymead. He

knew the ways of the house, and was not surprised to find himself left alone till after dusk; nor was he much

surprised when he learned that he was not put into one of the mahoganyfurnitured chambers, but into a back

room looking over the farmyard in which there was no fireplace. The Captain had already endured some of

the evils of poverty, and could have put up with this easily had nothing been said about it. As it was,

Cheesacre brought the matter forward, and apologized, and made the thing difficult.

"You see, old fellow," he said, there are the rooms, and of course they're empty. But it's such a bore hauling

out all the things and putting up the curtains. You'll be very snug where you are."

"Of course you'll do very well. It's the warmest room in the house in one way." He did not say in what way.

Bellfield did not like it; but what is a poor man to do under such circumstances? So he went upstairs and

washed his hands beforedinner in the room without a fireplace, flattering himself that he would yet be even

They dined together not in the best humour, and after dinner they sat down to enjoy themselves with pipes

and brandy and water. Bellfield, having a taste for everything that was expensive, would have preferred

cigars; but his friend put none upon the table. Mr Cheesacre, though he could spend his money liberally when

occasion required such spending, knew well the value of domestic economy. He wasn't going to put himself

out, as he called it, for Bellfield! What was good enough for himself was good enough for Bellfield. "A

beggar, you know; just a regular beggar!" as he was betrayed into saying to Mrs Greenow on some occasion

just at this period. "Poor fellow! He only wants money to make him almost perfect," Mrs Greenow had

Both the men became talkative, if not good humoured, under the effects of the brandy and water, and the

Captain then communicated Mrs Greenow's invitation to Mr Cheesacre. He had had his doubts as to the

propriety of doing so thinking that perhaps it might be to his advantage to forget the message. But he

reflected that he was at any rate a match for Cheesacre when they were present together, and finally came to

the conclusion that the message should be delivered. "I had to go and just wish her goodbye, you know," he

"Why, my dear fellow, how foolishly jealous you are. If I were to be downright uncivil to her, as you would

"I'm not a bit jealous. A man who sits upon his own ground as I do hasn't any occasion to be jealous."

"I think it has a great deal to do with it. If a man does intend to marry he ought to have things comfortable

about him; unless he wants to live on his wife, which I look upon as about the meanest thing a man can do.

This was hard for any captain to bear even for Captain Bellfield; but he did bear it looking forward to

"There's no pleasing you, I know," said he. But there's the fact. I went to say goodbye to her, and she asked

me to give you that message. Shall we go or not?" Cheesacre sat for some time silent, blowing out huge

clouds of smoke while he meditated a little plan. "I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said at last. "She's

nothing to you, and if you won't mind it, I'll go. Mrs Jones shall get you anything you like for dinner and

But Captain Bellfield was not going to put up with this. He had not sold himself altogether to work Mr

Cheesacre's will. "No, old fellow," said he; "that cock won't fight. She has asked me to dine with her on

Saturday, and I mean to go. I don't intend that she shall think that I'm afraid of her or of you either."

Cheesacre longed to turn him out of the house. Words to bid him go, were, so to say, upon his tongue. But the

man would only have taken himself to Norwich, and would have gone without any embargo upon his suit; all

their treaties would then be at an end. "She knows a trick worth two of that," said Cheesacre at last.

"I dare say she does; and if so, why shouldn't I go and dine with her next Saturday?"

"I'll tell you why because you're in my way. The deuce is in it if I haven't made the whole thing clear

enough. I've told you all my plans because I thought you were my friend, and I've paid you well to help me,

too; and yet it seems to me you'd do anything in your power to throw me over only you can't."

"What an ass you are," said the Captain after a pause; "just you listen to me. That scraggy young woman,

"I tell you that I do know. She was present when the whole thing was arranged, and I heard her asked, and

heard her say that she would come and for the matter of that I heard her declare that she wouldn't set her

"Upon my word she's kind. Upon my word she is," said Cheesacre, getting very angry and very red. "Charlie

Fairstairs, indeed! I wouldn't pick her out of a gutter with a pair of tongs. She ain't good enough for my

"But somebody must take her in hand on Saturday, if you're to do any good," said the crafty Bellfield. "What

the deuce does she have that nasty creature there for?" said Cheesacre, who thought it very hard that

"She wants a companion, of course. You can get rid of Charlie, you know, when you make her Mrs

"Get rid of her! You don't suppose she'll ever put her foot in this house. Not if I know it. I've detested that

woman for the last ten years." Cheesacre could forgive no word of slight respecting his social position, and

the idea of Miss Fairstairs having pretended to look down upon him, galled him to the quick.

"You'll have to dine with her at any rate," said Bellfield, "and I always think that four are better company

Mr Cheesacre grunted an unwilling assent, and after this it was looked upon as an arranged thing that they

two should go into Norwich on the Saturday together, and that they should both dine with the widow. Indeed,

Mrs Greenow got two notes, one from each of them, accepting the invitation. Cheesacre wrote in the singular

number, altogether ignoring Captain Bellfield, as he might have ignored his footman had he intended to take

one. The Captain condescended to use the plural pronoun. "We shall be so happy to come," said he. "Dear old

Cheesy is out of his little wits with delight," he added, "and has already begun to polish off the effects of the

"Effects of the farmyard," said Mrs Greenow aloud, in Jeannette's hearing, when she received the note. "It

"You can give him enough, ma'am," said Jeannette, to make him a better man than Mr Cheesacre any day.

And for a gentleman of course I say nothing, but if I was a lady, I know which should be the man for me."

How deep and cunning are the wiles of love! When that Saturday morning arrived not a word was said by

Cheesacre to his rival as to his plans for the day. "You'll take the dogcart in?" Captain Bellfield had asked

overnight. "I don't know what I shall do as yet," replied he who was master of the house, of the dogcart, and,

as he fondly thought, of the situation. But Bellfield knew that Cheesacre must take the dogcart, and was

contented. His friend would leave him behind, if it were possible, but Bellfield would take care that it should

Before breakfast Mr Cheesacre surreptitiously carried out into the yard a bag containing all his apparatus for

dressing his marrow oil for his hair, his shirt with the wondrous worked front upon an understratum of

pink to give it colour, his shiny boots, and all the rest of the paraphernalia. When dining in Norwich on

ordinary occasions, he simply washed his hands there, trusting to the chambermaid at the inn to find him a

comb; and now he came down with his bag surreptitiously, and hid it away in the back of the dogcart with

secret, but alas, not unobserved hands, hoping that Bellfield would forget his toilet. But when did such a

Captain ever forget his outward man? Cheesacre, as he returned through the kitchen from the yard into the

front hall, perceived another bag lying near the door, apparently filled almost as well as his own.

"What the deuce are you going to do with all this luggage?" said he, giving the bag a kick.

"Put it where I saw you putting yours when I opened my window just now," said Bellfield.

"D the window," exclaimed Cheesacre, and then they sat down to breakfast. "How you do hack that ham

about," he said. "If you ever cured hams yourself you'd be more particular in cutting them." This was very

bad. Even Bellfield could not bear it with equanimity, and feeling unable to eat the ham under such

circumstances, made his breakfast with a couple of fresh eggs. "If you didn't mean to eat the meat, why the

"Upon my word, Cheesacre, you're too bad upon my word you are," said Bellfield, almost sobbing.

"No, I don't nor anything else either that you've got. It isn't fair to ask a fellow into your house, and then

say such things to him as that. And it isn't what I've been accustomed to either; I can tell you that, Mr

"It's all very well to say bother, but I choose to be treated like a gentleman wherever I go. You and I have

known each other a long time, and I'd put up with more from you than from anyone else; but ."

"Can you pay me the money that you owe me, Bellfield?" said Cheesacre, looking hard at him.

After that Captain Bellfield did eat his breakfast leaving the ham however untouched, and did hold his

tongue, vowing vengeance in his head. But the two men went into Norwich more amicably together than they

would have done had there been no words between them. Cheesacre felt that he had trespassed a little, and

therefore offered the Captain a cigar as he seated himself in the cart. Bellfield accepted the offering, and

"Now," said Cheesacre, as he drove into the Swan yard, "what do you mean to do with yourself all day?"

"All right. But mind this, Bellfield it's an understood thing, that you're not to be in the Close before four?"

"Very well. That's understood. If you deceive me, I'll not drive you back to Oileymead tonight."

In this instance Captain Bellfield had no intention to deceive. He did not think it probable that he could do

himself any good by philandering about the widow early in the day. She would be engaged with her dinner

and with an early toilet. Captain Bellfield,moreover, had learned from experience that the first comer has not

always an advantage in ladies' society. The mind of a woman is greedy after novelty, and it is upon the

stranger, or upon the most strange of her slaves around her, that she often smiles the sweetest. The cathedral

clock, therefore, had struck four before Captain Bellfield rang Mrs Greenow's bell, and then, when he was

shown into the drawingroom, he found Cheesacre there alone, redolent with the marrow oil, and beautiful

But at this moment he was compelled to swallow his anger, as Mrs Greenow, accompanied by her lady guest,

came into the room. "Whoever would have expected two gentlemen to be so punctual," said she, "especially

"Market day makes no difference when I come to see you," said Cheesacre, putting his best foot forward,

while Captain Bellfield contented himself with saying something civil to Charlie. He would bide his time and

The widow was almost gorgeous in her weeds. I believe that she had not sinned in her dress against any of

those canons which the semiecclesiastical authorities on widowhood have laid down as to the outward

garments fitted for gentlemen's relicts. The materials were those which are devoted to the deepest conjugal

grief. As regarded every item of the written law her suttee worship was carried out to the letter. There was the

widow's cap, generally so hideous, so well known to the eyes of all men, so odious to womanhood. Let us

hope that such headgear may have some assuaging effect on the departed spirits of husbands. There was the

dress of deep, clinging, melancholy crape of crape which becomes so brown and so rusty, and which

makes the six months' widow seem so much more afflicted a creature than she whose husband is just gone,

and whose crape is therefore new. There were the trailing weepers, and the widow's kerchief pinned close

round her neck and somewhat tightly over her bosom. But there was that of genius about Mrs Greenow, that

she had turned every seeming disadvantage to some special profit, and had so dressed herself that though she

had obeyed the law to the letter, she had thrown the spirit of it to the winds. Her cap sat jauntily on her head,

and showed just so much of her rich brown hair as to give her the appearance of youth which she desired.

Cheesacre had blamed her in his heart for her private carriage, but she spent more money, I think, on new

crape than she did on her brougham. It never became brown and rusty with her, or formed itself into old

lumpy folds, or shaped itself round her like a grave cloth. The written law had not interdicted crinoline, and

she loomed as large with weeds, which with her were not sombre, as she would do with her silks when the

period of her probation should be over. Her weepers were bright with newness, and she would waft them

aside from her shoulder with an air which turned even them into auxiliaries. Her kerchief was fastened close

round her neck and close over her bosom; but Jeannette well knew what she was doing as she fastened it

Mrs Greenow would still talk much about her husband, declaring that her loss was as fresh to her wounded

heart, as though he, on whom all her happiness had rested, had left her only yesterday; but yet she mistook

her dates, frequently referring to the melancholy circumstance, as having taken place fifteen months ago. In

truth, however, Mr Greenow had been alive within the last nine months as everybody around her knew.

But if she chose to forget the exact day, why should her friends or dependents remind her of it? No friend or

dependent did remind her of it, and Charlie Fairstairs spoke of the fifteen months with bold confidence

"Looking well?" said the widow, in answer to some outspoken compliment from Mr Cheesacre. "Yes, I'm

well enough in health, and I suppose I ought to be thankful that it is so. But if you had buried a wife whom

you had loved within the last eighteen months, you would have become as indifferent as I am to all that kind

"And therefore you know nothing about it. Everything in the world is gay and fresh to you. If I were you, Mr

Cheesacre, I would not run the risk. It is hardly worth a woman's while, and I suppose not a man's. The

"But I mean to try all the same," said Cheesacre, looking the lover all over as he gazed into the fair one's face.

"I hope that you may be successful, Mr Cheesacre, and that she may not be torn away from you early in life.

Is dinner ready, Jeannette? That's well. Mr Cheesacre, will you give your arm to Miss Fairstairs?" There was

no doubt as to Mrs Greenow's correctness. As Captain Bellfield held, or had held, her Majesty's commission,

he was clearly entitled to take the mistress of the festival down to dinner. But Cheesacre would not look at it

in this light. He would only remember that he had paid for the Captain's food for some time past, that the

Captain had been brought into Norwich in his gig, that the Captain owed him money, and ought, so to say, to

be regarded as his property on the occasion. "I pay my way, and that ought to give a man higher station than

being a beggarly captain which I don't believe he is, if all the truth was known." It was thus that he took

an occasion to express himself to Miss Fairstairs on that very evening. "Military rank is always recognized,"

Miss Fairstairs had replied, taking Mr Cheesacre's remarks as a direct slight upon herself. He had taken her

down to dinner, and had then come to her complaining that he had been injured in being called upon to do so!

"If you were a magistrate, Mr Cheesacre, you would have rank; but I believe you are not." Charlie Fairstairs

knew well what she was about. Mr Cheesacre had striven much to get his name put upon the commission of

the peace, but had failed. "Nasty, scraggy old cat," Cheesacre said to himself, as he turned away from her.

But Bellfield gained little by taking the widow down. He and Cheesacre were placed at the top and bottom of

the table, so that they might do the work of carving; and the ladies sat at the sides. Mrs Greenow's hospitality

was very good. The dinner was exactly what a dinner ought to be for four persons. There was soup, fish, a

cutlet, a roast fowl, and some game, Jeannette waited at table nimbly, and the thing could not have been done

better. Mrs Greenow's appetite was not injured by her grief, and she so far repressed for the time all

remembrance of her sorrow as to enable her to play the kind hostess to perfection. Under her immediate eye

Cheesacre was forced into apparent cordiality with his friend Bellfield, and the Captain himself took the good

Nothing, however, was done at the dinnertable. No work got itself accomplished. The widow was so

accurately fair in the adjustment of her favours, that even Jeannette could not perceive to which of the two

she turned with the amplest smile. She talked herself and made others talk, till Cheesacre became almost

comfortable, in spite of his jealousy. "And now," she said, as she got up to leave the room, when she had

taken her own glass of wine, "We will allow these twogentlemen just half an hour, eh, Charlie? and then we

"Ten minutes will be enough for us here," said Cheesacre, who was in a hurry to utilize his time.

"Half an hour," said Mrs Greenow, not without some little tone of command in her voice. Ten minutes might

Bellfield had opened the door, and it was upon him that the widow's eye glanced as she left the room.

Cheesacre saw it, and resolved to resent the injury. "I'll tell you what it is, Bellfield," he said, as he sat down

moodily over the fire, "I won't have you coming here at all, till this matter is settled."

"No, I don't. I take as little time as anybody could. That other fellow has only been dead about nine months,

"You disturb me, and you disturb her. You do it on purpose. Do you suppose I can't see? I'll tell you what,

now; if you'll go clean out of Norwich for a month, I'll lend you two hundred pounds on the day she becomes

"You may stay at Oileymead if you like that is, on condition that you do stay there."

"And be told that I hack the ham because it's not my own. Shall I tell you a piece of my mind, Cheesacre?"

"That woman has no more idea of marrying you than she has of marrying the Bishop. Won't you fill your

glass, old fellow? I know where the tap is if you want another bottle. You may as well give it up, and spend

no more money in pink fronts and polished boots on her account. You're a podgy man, you see, and Mrs

Cheesacre sat looking at him with his mouth open, dumb with surprise, and almost paralysed with impotent

anger. What had happened during the last few hours to change so entirely the tone of his dependent Captain?

Could it be that Bellfield had been there during the morning, and that she had accepted him?

"You are very podgy, Cheesacre," Bellfield continued, "and thenyou so often smell of the farmyard; and you

talk too much of your money and your property. You'd have had a better chance if you had openly talked to

Bellfield, as he thus spoke to the man opposite to him, went on drinking his wine comfortably, and seemed to

be chuckling with glee. Cheesacre was so astounded, so lost in amazement that the creature whom he had fed

whom he had bribed with money out of his own pocket, should thus turn against him, that for a while he

could not collect his thoughts or find voice wherewith to make any answer. It occurred to him immediately

that Bellfield was even now, at this very time, staying at his house that he, Cheesacre, was expected to

drive him, Bellfield, back to Oileymead, to his own Oileymead, on this very evening; and as he thought of

this he almost fancied that he must be in a dream. He shook himself, and looked again, and there sat Bellfield,

"Now I've told you a bit of my mind, Cheesy, my boy," continued Bellfield, "and you'll save yourself a deal

of trouble and annoyance if you'll believe what I say. She don't mean to marry you. It's most probable that

"Do you mean to pay me my money, sir?" said Cheesacre, at last, finding his readiest means of attack in that

"When I've married Mrs Greenow and, therefore, I expect your assistance in that little scheme. Let us

drink her health. We shall always be delighted to see you at our house, Cheesy, my boy, and you shall be

"You shall be made to pay for this," said Cheesacre, gasping with anger gasping almost more with dismay

"All right, old fellow; I'll pay for it with the widow's money. Come; our halfhour is nearly over; shall we

"If I sleep at Oileymead it will only be on condition that I have one of the mahoganyfurnitured bedrooms."

"Come, come, Cheesy, it won't do for us to quarrel in a lady's house. It wouldn't be the thing at all. You're not

drinking your wine. You might as well take another glass, and then we'll go upstairs."

"You've left your traps at Oileymead, and not one of them you shall have till you've paid me every shilling

you owe me. I don't believe you've a shirt in the world beyond what you've got there."

"It's lucky I brought one in to change; wasn't it, Cheesy? I shouldn't have thought of it only for the hint you

gave me. I might as well ring the bell for Jeannette to put away the wine, if you won't take any more." Then

he rang the bell, and when Jeannette came he skipped lightly upstairs into the drawingroom.

"Was he here before today?" said Cheesacre, nodding his head at the doorway through which Bellfield had

"Who? The Captain? Oh dear no. The Captain don't come here much now not to say often, by no means."

"I don't know nothing of his ways, Mr Cheesacre; but I've been as true to you, sir so I have as true as

He moved to the door, and then a thought occurred to him. He put his hand to his trousers pocket, and turning

back towards the girl, gave her halfacrown. She curtsied as she took it, and then repeated her last words.

"Yes, Mr Cheesacre as true as true." Mr Cheesacre said nothing further, but followed his enemy up to the

drawingroom. "What game is up now, I wonder," said Jeannette to herself, when she was left alone. "They

two'll be cutting each other's throatses before they've done, and then my missus will take the surwiver." But

she made up her mind that Cheesacre should be the one to have his throat cut fatally, and that Bellfield should

Cheesacre, when he reached the drawingroom, found Bellfield sitting on the same sofa with Mrs Greenow

looking at a book of photographs which they both of them were handling together.The outside rim of her

widow's frill on one occasion touched the Captain's whisker, and as it did so the Captain looked up with a

gratified expression of triumph. If any gentleman has ever seen the same thing under similar circumstances,

"Yes," said Mrs Greenow, waving her handkerchief, of which little but a twoinchdeep border seemed to be

visible. Bellfield knew at once that it was not the same handkerchief which she had waved before they went

down to dinner. "Yes there he is. It's so like him." And then she apostrophized the carte de visite of the

departed one. "Dear Greenow; dear husband! When my spirit is false to thee, let thine forget to visit me softly

in my dreams. Thou wast unmatched among husbands. Whose tender kindness was ever equal to thine?

whose sweet temper was ever so constant? whose manly care so allsufficient?" While the words fell from

her lips her little finger was touching Bellfield"s little finger, as they held the book between them. Charlie

Fairstairs and Mr Cheesacre were watching her narrowly, and she knew that they were watching her. She was

Bellfield, moved by the eloquence of her words, looked with some interest at the photograph. There was

represented there before him, a small, greylooking, insignificant old man, with pig's eyes and a toothless

mouth one who should never have been compelled to submit himself to the cruelty of the sun's

portraiture! Another widow, even if she had kept in her book the photograph of such a husband, would have

scrambled it over silently would have been ashamed to show it. "Have you ever seen it, Mr Cheesacre?"

"That you did not," said the lady with some dignity, and not a little of rebuke in her tone; "simply because it

never was at Yarmouth. A larger one you may have seen, which I always keep, and always shall keep, close

"Not if I know it," said Captain Bellfield to himself. Then the widow punished Mr Cheesacre for his

sullenness by whispering a few words to the Captain; and Cheesacre in his wrath turned to Charlie Fairstairs.

Then it was that he spake out his mind about the Captain's rank, and was snubbed by Charlie as was told a

After that, coffee was brought to them, and here again Cheesacre in his illhumour allowed the Captain to

outmanoeuvre him. It wasthe Captain who put the sugar into the cups, and handed them round. He even

handed a cup to his enemy. "None for me, Captain Bellfield; many thanks for your politeness all the same,"

said Mr Cheesacre; and Mrs Greenow knew from the tone of his voice that there had been a quarrel.

Cheesacre sitting then in his gloom, had resolved upon one thing or, I may perhaps say, upon two things.

He had resolved that he would not leave the room that evening till Bellfield had left it; and that he would get

a final answer from the widow, if not that night for he thought it very possible that they might both be sent

away together then early after breakfast on the following morning. For the present, he had given up any

idea of turning his time to good account. He was not perhaps a coward, but he had not that special courage

which enables a man to fight well under adverse circumstances. He had been cowed by the unexpected

impertinence of his rival by the insolence of a man to whom he thought that he had obtained the power of

being always himself as insolent as he pleased. He could not recover his ground quickly, or carry himself

before his lady's eye as though he was unconscious of the wound he had received. So he sat silent, while

Bellfield was discoursing fluently. He sat in silence, comforting himself with reflections on his own wealth,

and on the poverty of the other, and promising himself a rich harvest of revenge when the moment should

come in which he might tell Mrs Greenow how absolutely that man was a beggar, a swindler, and a rascal.

And he was astonished when an opportunity for doing so came very quickly. Before the neighbouring clock

had done striking seven, Bellfield rose from his chair to go. He first of all spoke a word of farewell to Miss

Fairstairs; then he turned to his late host; "Goodnight, Cheesacre," he said, in the easiest tone in the world;

"I promised mamma that I would be home by seven," said Charlie Fairstairs, rising from her chair. It cannot

be supposed that she had any wish to oblige Mr Cheesacre, and therefore this movement on her part must be

regarded simply as done in kindness to Mrs Greenow. She might be mistaken in supposing that Mrs

Greenowwould desire to be left alone with Mr Cheesacre; but it was clear to her that in this way she could

give no offence, whereas it was quite possible that she might offend by remaining. A little after seven Mr

"Mrs Greenow," said he, jumping up, and becoming on a sudden full of life, "that man is a downright

"He is. He'll tell you that he was at Inkermann, but I believe he was in prison all the time." The Captain had

been arrested, I think twice, and thus Mr Cheesacre justified to himself this assertion. "I doubt whether he

"But he tells such lies; and then he has not a penny in the world. How much do you suppose he owes me,

"Well yes, I am," said he, trying to recover himself. "But when I asked him how he intended to pay me,

"But he did, Mrs Greenow; I give you my word and honour. "I'll pay you when I get the widow's money," he

"I never said a disrespectful word about you in my life, Mrs Greenow or thought one. He does he says

"Oh, I can't tell you but he does. What can you expect from such a man as that, who, to my knowledge,

won't have a change of clothes tomorrow, except what he brought in on his back this morning? Where he's to

get a bed tonight, I don't know, for I doubt whether he's got halfacrown in the world."

"I should call it very disgraceful, Mrs Greenow." To this she made no reply, and then he thought that he

"Mr Cheesacre!" "But mayn't I? Come, Mrs Greenow. You know well enough by this time what it is I mean.

"Shillyshallying, Mr Cheesacre! I never heard such language. If I bid you goodnight, now, and tell you that

He had made a mistake in his word and repented it. "I beg your pardon, Mrs Greenow; I do indeed. I didn't

The poor man was dreadfully crestfallen, so much so that the widow's heart relented, and she pardoned him.

It was not in her nature to quarrel with people at any rate, not with her lovers. "I beg your pardon, Mrs

Greenow," said the culprit, humbly. "It is granted," said the widow; "but never tell a lady again that she is

shillyshallying. And look here, Mr Cheesacre, if it should ever come to pass that you are making love to a

"That you are making love to a lady in earnest, talk to her a little more about your passion and a little less

Cheesacre, as he drove himself home in the dark, tried to console himself by thinking of the miserable plight

in which Bellfield would find himself in at Norwich, with no possessions but what he had brought into the

town that day in a small bag. But as he turned in at his own gate he met two figures emerging; one of them

"It's only me, Cheesy, my boy," said Bellfield. I've just come down by the rail to fetch my things, and I'm

"If you've stolen anything of mine I'll have you prosecuted," roared Cheesacre, as he drove his gig up to his

George Vavasor remained about four days beneath his grandfather's roof; but he was not happy there himself,

nor did he contribute to the happiness of any one else. He remained there in great discomfort so long, being

unwilling to leave till an answer had been received to the request made to Aunt Greenow, in order that he

might insist on Kate's performance of her promise with reference to Alice, if that answer should be

unfavourable. During these five days Kate did all in her power to induce her brother to be, at any rate, kind in

his manner towards his grandfather, but it was in vain. The Squire would not be the first to be gracious; and

George, quite as obstinate as the old man, would take no steps in that direction till encouraged to do so by

graciousness from the other side. Poor Kate entreated each of them to begin, but her entreaties were of no

avail. "He is an illmannered cub", the old main said, "and I was a fool to let him into the house. Don't

mention his name to me again." George argued the matter more at length. Kate spoke to him of his own

interest in the matter, urging upon him that he might, by such conduct, drive the Squire to exclude him

"Alice would be the last to expect me to submit to unreasonable illusage for the sake of money. As regards

myself, I confess that I'm very fond of money and am not particularly squeamish. I would do anything that a

man can do to secure it. But this I can't do. I never injured him, and I never asked him to injure himself. I

never attempted to borrow money from him. I have never cost him a shilling. When I was in the wine

business he might have enabled me to make a large fortune simply by settling on me then the reversion of

property which, when he dies, ought to be my own. He was so perversely ignorant that he would make no

inquiry, but chose to think that I was ruining myself, at the only time of my life when I was really doing

"Certainly he had. But he had no right to resent my asking such a favour at his hands. He was an ignorant old

fool not to do it; but I should never have quarrelled with him on that account. Nature made him a fool, and it

wasn't his fault. But I can't bring myself to kneel in the dirt before him simply because I asked for what was

The two men said very little to each other. They were never alone together except during that halfhour after

dinner in which they were supposed to drink their wine. The old Squire always took three glasses of port

during this period, and expected that his grandson would take three with him. But George would drink none

at all. "I have given up drinking wine after dinner," said he, when his grandfather pushed the bottle over to

him. "I suppose you mean that you drink nothing but claret," said the Squire, in a tone of voice that was

certainly not conciliatory. "I mean simply what I say," said George "that I have given up drinking wine

after dinner." The old man could not openly quarrel with his heir on such a point as that. Even Mr Vavasor

could not tell his grandson that he was going to the dogs because he had become temperate. But, nevertheless,

there was offence in it; and when George sat perfectly silent, looking at the fire, evidently determined to

make no attempt at conversation, the offence grew, and became strong. "What the devil's the use of your

sitting there if you neither drink nor talk?" said the old man, "No use in the world, that I can see," said

"I don't care how soon you leave me," said the Squire. From all which it may be seen that George Vavasor's

On the fourth day, about noon, came Aunt Greenow's reply. "Dearest Kate," she said, I am not going to do

what you ask me,' thus rushing instantly into the middle of her subject. "You see, I don't know my

nephew, and have no reason for being specially anxious that he should be in Parliament. I don't care two

straws about the glory of the Vavasor family. If I had never done anything for myself, the Vavasors would

have done very little for me. I don't care much about what you call "blood." I like those who like me, and

whom I know, I am very fond of you, and because you have been good to me I would give you a thousand

pounds if you wanted it for yourself; but I don't see why I am to give my money to those I don't know. If it is

"Your friend C. is still waiting waiting waiting, patiently; but his patience may be exhausted.

"Of course she won't," said George, as he threw back the letter to his sister. "Why should she?"

"Why should she? What did I ever do for her? She is a sensible woman. Who is your friend C., and why is he

"He is a man who would be glad to marry her for her money, if she would take him."

"It is her folly. She chooses to pretend to think that the man is a lover of mine."

"If he wants to marry you, and has plenty of money, why shouldn't you take him?"

"Good heavens, George! In the first place he does not want to marry me. In the next place all his heart is in

"And, now, about the money," said George. You must write to Alice at once.' "Oh, George!"

"Of course you must; you have promised. Indeed, it would have been much wiser if you had taken me at my

Then the scar on his face opened itself, and his sister stood before him in fear and trembling. "Do you mean

to tell me," said he, "that you will go back from your word, and deceive me that after having kept me here

"Take my money now, and pay me out of hers as soon as you are married. I will be the first to claim it from

"Why should it be nonsense? Surely you need have no scruple with me. I should have none with you if I

"Look here, Kate; I won't have it, and there's an end of it. All that you have in the world would not pull me

"You are to ask her simply for one thousand. That is what I want, and must have, at present. And she knows

that I want it, and that she is to supply it; only she does not know that my need is so immediate. That you

"But burning your hand, unfortunately, won't do any good. Look here, Kate; I insist upon your doing this for

me. If you do not, I shall do it, of course, myself; but I shall regard your refusal as an unjustifiable falsehood

on your part, and shall certainly not see you afterwards. I do not wish, for reasons which you may well

understand, to write to Alice myself on any subject at present. I now claim your promise to do so; and if you

Of course she did not persist in her refusal. With a sorrowful heart, and with fingers that could hardly form

the needful letters, she did write a letter to her cousin, which explained the fact that George Vavasor

immediately wanted a thousand pounds for his electioneering purposes. It was a stiff, uncomfortable letter,

unnatural in its phraseology, telling its own tale of grief and shame. Alice understood very plainly all the

circumstances under which it was written, but she sent back word to Kate at once, undertaking that the money

should be forthcoming; and she wrote again before the end of January, saying that the sum named had been

Kate had taken immense pride in the renewal of the match between her brother and her cousin, and had

rejoiced in it greatly as being her own work. But all that pride and joy were now over. She could no longer

write triumphant notes to Alice, speaking always of George as one who was to be their joint hero, foretelling

great things of his career in Parliament, and saying little soft things ofhis enduring love. It was no longer

possible to her now to write of George at all, and it was equally impossible to Alice. Indeed, no letters passed

between them, when that monetary correspondence was over, up to the end of the winter. Kate remained

down in Westmoreland, wretched and ill at ease, listening to hard words spoken by her grandfather against

her brother, and feeling herself unable to take her brother's part as she had been wont to do in other times.

George returned to town at the end of those four days, and found that the thousand pounds was duly placed to

his credit before the end of the month. It is hardly necessary to tell the reader that this money had come from

the stores of Mr Tombe, and that Mr Tombe duly debited Mr Grey with the amount. Alice, in accordance

with her promise, had told her father that the money was needed, and her father, in accordance with his

promise, had procured it without a word of remonstrance. "Surely I must sign some paper," Alice had said.

But she had been contented when her father told her that the lawyers would manage all that.

It was nearly the end of February when George Vavasor made his first payment to Mr Scruby on behalf of the

coming election; and when he called at Mr Scruby's office with this object, he received some intelligence

which surprised him not a little. "You haven't heard the news," said Scruby. "What news? said George.

"The Marquis is as nearly off the hooks as a man can be." Mr Scruby, as he communicated the tidings,

showed clearly by his face and voice that they were supposed to be of very great importance; but Vavasor did

not at first seem to be as much interested in the fate of "the Marquis" as Scruby had intended.

"I'm very sorry for him," said George. Who is the Marquis? There'll be sure to come another, so it don't much

"There will come another, and that's just it. It's the Marquis of Bunratty; and if he drops, our young Member

"What, immediately; before the end of the Session?" George, of course, knew well enough that such would

be the case, but the effect which this event would have upon himself now struck him suddenly.

"To be sure," said Scruby. The writ would be out immediately. I should be glad enough of it, only that I know

that Travers's people have heard of it before us, and that they are ready to be up with their posters directly the

breath is out of the Marquis's body. We must go to work immediately; that's all." "It will only be for part of a

"That's true," said Mr Scruby; but in such cases we do manage to make it come a little cheaper. If you lick

"Yes, I have; the blackguard! He is going to open his house on Travers's side. He came to me as bold as

brass, and told me so, saying that he never liked gentlemen who kept him waiting for his odd money. What

"We have not managed it very well, certainly," said Vavasor, looking nastily at the attorney.

"We can't help those little accidents, Mr Vavasor. There are worse accidents than that turn up almost daily in

my business. You may think yourself almost lucky that I haven't gone over to Travers myself. He is a Liberal,

Vavasor was inclined to doubt the extent of his luck in this respect, and was almost disposed to repent of his

Parliamentary ambition. He would now be called upon to spend certainly not less than three thousand pounds

of his cousin's money on the chance of being able to sit in Parliament for a few months. And then, after what

a fashion would he be compelled to negotiate that loan! He might, to be sure, allow the remainder of this

Session to run, and stand, as he had intended, at the general election; but he knew that if he now allowed a

Liberal to win the seat, the holder of the seat would be almost sure of subsequent success. He must either

fight now, or give up the fight altogether; and he was a man who did not love to abandon any contest in

"Well, Squire," said Scruby, how is it to be? And Vavasor felt that he detected in the man's voice some

diminution of that respect with which he had hitherto been treated as a paying candidate for a metropolitan

"No; he's not dead yet, that we have heard; but it won't do for us to wait. We want every minute of time that

we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told. It's gout in the stomach, or dropsy at the heart, or some of

"If you ask me, I should say certainly not. Indeed, I shouldn't wish to have to conduct it under such

circumstances. I hate a fight when there's no chance of success. I grudge spending a man's money in such a

"The blackguard! He'll take a hundred and fifty votes, I suppose; perhaps more. But that is not much in such a

constituency as the Chelsea districts. You see, Travers played mean at the last election, and that will be

"There's no knowing; but I don't think they will. They'll try one at the general, no doubt; but if the two sitting

Members can pull together, they won't have much of a chance." Vavasor found himself compelled to say that

he would stand; and Scruby undertook to give the initiatory orders at once, not waiting even till the Marquis

should be dead. "We should have our houses open as soon as theirs," said he. "There's a deal in that." So

George Vavasor gave his orders. "If the worst comes to the worst," he said to himself, "I can always cut my

As he walked from the attorney's office to his club he bethought himself that that might not unprobably be the

necessary termination of his career. Everything was going wrong with him. His grandfather, who was eighty

years of age, would not die appeared to have no symptoms of dying whereas this Marquis, who was

not yet much over fifty, was rushing headlong out of the world, simply because he was the one man whose

continued life at the present moment would be serviceable to George Vavasor. As he thought of his

grandfather he almost broke his umbrella by the vehemence with which he struck it against the pavement.

What right could an ignorant old fool like that have to live for ever, keeping possession of a property which

he could not use, and ruining those who were to come after him? If now, at this moment, that wretched place

down in Westmoreland could become his, he might yet ride triumphantly over his difficulties, and refrain

from sullying his hands with more of his cousin's money till she should become his wife.

Even that thousand pounds had not passed through his hands without giving him much bitter suffering. As is

always the case in such matters, the thing done was worse than the doing of it. He had taught himself to look

at it lightly whilst it was yet unaccomplished; but he could not think of it lightly now. Kate had been right. It

would have been better for him to take her money. Any money would have been better than that upon which

he had laid his sacrilegious hands.If he could have cut a purse, after the old fashion, the stain of the deed

would hardly have been so deep. In these days for more than a month, indeed, after his return from

Westmorelard he did not go near Queen Anne Street, trying to persuade himself that he stayed away

because of her coldness to him. But, in truth, he was afraid of seeing her without speaking of her money, and

"Bunratty died in Ireland this morning. I suppose you'll be up for the Chelsea districts?"

Parliament opened that year on the twelfth of February and Mr Palliser was one of the first Members of the

Lower House to take his seat. It had been generally asserted through the country, during the last week, that

the existing Chancellor of the Exchequer had, so to say, ceased to exist as such; that though he still existed to

the outer world, drawing his salary, and doing routine work if a man so big can have any routine work to

do he existed no longer in the inner world of the Cabinet. He had differed, men said, with his friend and

chief, the Prime Minister, as to the expediency of repealing what were left of the direct taxes of the country,

and was prepared to launch himself into opposition with his small bodyguard of followers, with all his energy

There is something very pleasant in the close, bosom friendship, and bitter, uncompromising animosity, of

these human gods of these human beings who would be gods were they not shorn so short of their divinity

in that matter of immortality. If it were so arranged that the same persons were always friends, and the same

persons were always enemies, as used to be the case among the dear old heathen gods and goddesses if

Parliament were an Olympus in which Juno and Venus never kissed, the thing would not be nearly so

interesting. But in this Olympus partners are changed, the divine bosom, now rabid with hatred against some

opposing deity, suddenly becomes replete with love towards its late enemy, and exciting changes occur which

give to the whole thing all the keen interest of a sensational novel. No doubt this is greatly lessened for those

who come too near the scene of action. Members of Parliament, and the friends of Members of Parliament,

are apt to teach themselves that it means nothing; that Lord This does not hate Mr That, or think him a traitor

to his country, or wish to crucify him; and that Sir John of the Treasury is not much in earnest when he

speaks of his noble friend at the "Foreign Office" as a godto whom no other god was ever comparable in

honesty, discretion, patriotism, and genius. But the outside Briton who takes a delight in politics and this

description should include ninetynine educated Englishmen out of every hundred should not be desirous

of peeping behind the scenes. No beholder at any theatre should do so. It is good to believe in these

friendships and these enmities, and very pleasant to watch their changes. It is delightful when Oxford

embraces Manchester, finding that it cannot live without support in that quarter; and very delightful when the

uncompromising assailant of all men in power receives the legitimate reward of his energy by being taken in

But although the outer world was so sure that the existing Chancellor of the Exchequer had ceased to exist,

when the House of Commons met that gentleman took his seat on the Treasury Bench. Mr Palliser, who had

by no means given a general support to the Ministry in the last Session, took his seat on the same side of the

House indeed, but low down, and near to the cross benches. Mr Bott sat close behind him, and men knew that

Mr Bott was a distinguished member of Mr Palliser's party, whatever that party might be. Lord Cinquebars

moved the Address, and I must confess that he did it very lamely. He was once accused by Mr Maxwell, the

brewer, of making a great noise in the hunting field. The accusation could not be repeated as to his

performance on this occasion, as no one could hear a word that he said. The Address was seconded by Mr

Loftus Fitzhoward, a nephew of the Duke of St Bungay, who spoke as though he were resolved to trump poor

Lord Cinquebars in every sentence which he pronounced as we so often hear the second clergyman from

the Communion Table trumping his weary predecessor, who has just finished the Litany not in the clearest or

most audible voice. Every word fell from Mr Fitzhoward with the elaborate accuracy of a separate

pistolshot; and as he became pleased with himself in his progress, and warm with his work, he accented his

words sharply, made rhetorical pauses, even moved his hands about in action, and quite disgusted his own

party, who had been very well satisfied with Lord Cinquebars. There are many rocks which a young speaker

in Parliament should avoid, but no rock which requires such careful avoiding as the rock of eloquence.

Whatever may be his faults, let him at least avoid eloquence. He should not be inaccurate, which, however, is

not much; he should not be longwinded, which is a good deal; he should not be illtempered, which is

more; but none of these faults are so damnable as eloquence. All Mr Fitzhoward's friends and all his enemies

In the Queen's Speech there had been some very lukewarm allusion to remission of direct taxation. This

remission, which had already been carried so far, should be carried further if such further carrying were found

practicable. So had said the Queen. Those words, it was known, could not have been approved of by the

energetic and still existing Chancellor of the Exchequer. On this subject the mover of the Address said never

a word, and the seconder only a word or two. What they had said had, of course, been laid down for them;

though, unfortunately, the manner of saying could not be so easily prescribed. Then there arose a great

enemy, a man fluent of diction, apparently with deep malice at his heart, though at home as we used to say

at school one of the most goodnatured fellows in the world; one ambitious of that godship which a seat

on the other side of the House bestowed, and greedy to grasp at the chances which this disagreement in the

councils of the gods might give him. He was quite content, he said, to vote for the Address, as, he believed,

would be all the gentlemen on his side of the House. No one could suspect them or him of giving a factious

opposition to Government. Had they not borne and forborne beyond all precedent known in that House? Then

he touched lightly, and almost with grace to his opponents, on many subjects, promising support, and barely

hinting that they were totally and manifestly wrong in all things. But . Then the tone of his voice changed,

and the wellknown look of fury was assumed upon his countenance. Then great Jove on the other side

pulled his hat over his eyes, and smiled blandly. Then members put away the papers they had been reading

for a moment, and men in the gallery began to listen. But . The long and the short of it was this; that the

existing Government had come into power on the cry of a reduction of taxation, and now they were going to

shirk the responsibility of their own measures. They were going to shirk the responsibility of their own

election cry, although it was known that their own Chancellor of the Exchequer was prepared to carry it out

to the full. He was willing to carry it out to the full were he not restrained by the timidity, falsehood, and

treachery of his colleagues, of whom, of course, the most timid, the most false, and the most treacherous was

No one should ever go near the House of Commons who wishes to enjoy all this. It was so manifestly evident

that neither Jove nor any of his satellites cared tuppence for what the irate gentleman was saying; nay, it

became so evident that, in spite of his assumed fury, the gentleman was not irate. He intended to

communicate his look of anger to the newspaper reports of his speech; and he knew from experience that he

could succeed in that. And men walked about the House in the most telling moments enemies shaking

hands with enemies in a way that showed an entire absence of all good, honest hatred among them. But

the gentleman went on and finished his speech, demanding at last, in direct terms, that the Treasury Jove

should state plainly to the House who was to be, and who was not to be, the bearer of the purse among the

Then Treasury Jove got up smiling, and thanked his enemy for the cordiality of his support. "He had always,"

he said, done the gentleman's party justice for their clemency, and had feared no opposition from them; and

he was glad to find that he was correct in his anticipations as to the course they would pursue on the present

occasion." He went on saying a good deal about home matters, and foreign matters, proving that everything

was right, just as easily as his enemy had proved that everything was wrong. On all these points he was very

full, and very courteous; but when he came to the subject of taxation, he simply repeated the passage from the

Queen's Speech, expressing a hope that his right honourable friend, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, would

be able to satisfy the judgment of the House, and the wishes of the people. That specially personal question

But the House was still all agog, as was the crowded gallery. The energetic and still existing Chancellor of

the Exchequer was then present, divided only by one little thin Secretary of State from Jove himself. Would

he get up and declare his purposes? He was a man who almost always did get up when an opportunity offered

itself or when it did not. Some second little gun was fired off from the Opposition benches, and then there

was a pause. Would the pursebearer of Olympus rise upon his wings and speak his mind, or would he sit in

silence upon his cloud? There was a general call for the pursebearer, but he floated in silence, and was

inexplicable. The pursebearer was not to be bullied into any sudden reading of the riddle. Then there came

on a general debate about money matters, in which the pursebearer did say a few words, but he said nothing

as to the great question at issue. At last up got Mr Palliser, towards the close of the evening, and occupied a

full hour in explaining what taxes the Government might remit with safety, andwhat they might not Mr

Bott, meanwhile, prompting him with figures from behind with an assiduity that was almost too persistent.

According to Mr Palliser, the words used in the Queen's Speech were not at all too cautious. The Members

went out gradually, and the House became very thin during this oration; but the newspapers declared, next

morning, that his speech had been the speech of the night, and that the perspicuity of Mr Palliser pointed him

He returned home to his house in Park Lane quite triumphant after his success, and found Lady Glencora, at

about twelve o'clock, sitting alone. She had arrived in town on that day, having come up at her own request,

instead of remaining at Matching Priory till after Easter, as he had proposed. He had wished her to stay, in

order, as he had said, that there might be a home for his cousins. But she had expressed herself unwilling to

remain without him, explaining that the cousins might have the home in her absence, as well as they could in

her presence; and he had given way. But, in truth, she had learned to hate her cousin Iphy Palliser with a

hatred that was unreasonable seeing that she did not also hate Alice Vavasor, who had done as much to

merit her hatred as had her cousin. Lady Glencora knew by what means her absence from Monkshade had

been brought about. Miss Palliser had told her all that had passed in Alice's bedroom on the last night of

Alice's stay at Matching, and had, by so doing, contrived to prevent the visit. Lady Glencora understood well

all that Alice had said; and yet, though she hated Miss Palliser for what had been done, she entertained no

anger against Alice. Of course Alice would have prevented that visit to Monkshade if it were in her power to

do so. Of course she would save her friend. It is hardly too much to say that Lady Glencora looked to Alice to

save her. Nevertheless she hated Iphy Palliser for engaging herself in the same business. Lady Glencora

looked to Alice to save her, and yet it may be doubted whether she did, in truth, wish to be saved.

While she was at Matching, and before Mr Palliser had returned from Monkshade, a letter reached her, by

what means she had never learned. "A letter has been placed within my writingcase," she said to her maid,

quite openly. "Who put it there?" The maid had declared her ignorance in a manner that had satisfied Lady

Glencora of her truth. "If such a thing happens again," said Lady Glencora, "I shall be obliged to have the

matter investigated. I cannot allow that anything should be put into my room surreptitiously." There, then,

had been an end of that, as regarded any steps taken by Lady Glencora. The letter had been from Burgo

Fitzgerald, and had contained a direct proposal that she should go off with him. "I am at Matching," the letter

said, at the Inn; but I do not dare to show myself, lest I should do you an injury. I walked round the house

yesterday, at night, and I know that I saw your room. If I am wrong in thinking that you love me, I would not

for worlds insult you by my presence; but if you love me still, I ask you to throw aside from you that

fictitious marriage, and give yourself to the man whom, if you love him, you should regard as your husband."

There had been more of it, but it had been to the same effect. To Lady Glencora it had seemed to convey an

assurance of devoted love of that love which, in former days, her friends had told her was not within the

compass of Burgo's nature. He had not asked her to meet him then, but saying that he would return to

Matching after Parliament was met, begged her to let him have some means of knowing whether her heart

She told no one of the letter, but she kept it, and read it over and over again in the silence and solitude of her

room. She felt that she was guilty in thus reading it even in keeping it from her husband's knowledge; but

though conscious of this guilt, though resolute almost in its commission, still she determined not to remain at

Matching after her husband's departure not to undergo the danger of remaining there while Burgo

Fitzgerald should be in the vicinity. She could not analyse her own wishes. She often told herself, as she had

told Alice, that it would be better for them all that she should go away; that in throwing herself even to the

dogs, if such must be the result, she would do more of good than of harm. She declared to herself, in the most

passionate words she could use, that she loved this man with all her heart. She protested that the fault would

not be hers, but theirs, who had forced her to marry the man she did not love. She assured herself that her

husband had no affection for her, and that their marriage was in every respect prejudicial to him. She recurred

over and over again, in her thoughts, to her own childlessness, and to his extreme desire for an heir. "Though

I do sacrifice myself," she would say, "I shall do more of good than harm, and I cannot be more wretched

than I am now." But yet she fled to London because she feared to leave herself at Matching when Burgo

Fitzgerald should be there. She sent no answer to his letter. She made no preparation for going with him. She

longed to see Alice, to whom alone, since her marriage, had she ever spoken of her love,and intended to tell

her the whole tale of that letter. She was as one who, in madness, was resolute to throw herself from a

precipice, but to whom some remnant of sanity remained which forced her to seek those who would save her

Mr Palliser had not seen her since her arrival in London, and, of course, he took her by the hand and kissed

her. But it was the embrace of a brother rather than of a lover or a husband. Lady Glencora, with her full

woman's nature, understood this thoroughly, and appreciated by instinct the true hearing of every touch from

"Well, we have had a debate on the Address. Don't you want to know how it has gone?"

"No; they don't appoint people during debates, in the House of Commons. But I fear I shall never make you a

"I'm almost afraid you never will. But I'm not the less anxious for your success, since you wish it yourself. I

don't understand why you should work so very hard; but, as you like it, I'm as anxious as anybody can be that

"Yes; I do like it," he said. A man must like something, and I don't know what there is to like better. Some

people can eat and drink all day; and some people can care about a horse. I can do neither."

And there were others, Lady Glencora thought, who could love to lie in the sun, and could look up into the

eyes of women, and seek their happiness there. She was sure, at any rate, that she knew one such. But she

"I spoke for a moment to Lord Brock," said Mr Palliser. Lord Brock was the name by which the present Jove

"But I thought, Plantagenet, that he could appoint you if he pleased? Doesn't he do it all?"

"Well, in one sense, he does. But I don't suppose I shall ever make you understand." He endeavoured,

however, to do so on the present occasion, and gave her a somewhat longer lecture on the workingof the

British Constitution, and the manner in which British politics evolved themselves, than would have been

expected from most young husbands to their young wives under similar circumstances. Lady Glencora

yawned, and strove lustily, but ineffectually, to hide her yawn in her handkerchief.

"Don't be angry, Plantagenet. Indeed I do care about it, but I am so ignorant that I can't understand it all at

"No, not very; that is, I shall be rather late. I've a lot of letters I want to write tonight, as I must be at work all

tomorrow. By the by, Mr Bott is coming to dine here. There will be no one else." The next day was a

"Mr Bott!" said Lady Glencora, showing by her voice that she anticipated no pleasure from that gentleman's

"Why should I dine alone with him? Why shouldn't you eat your dinner with us? I hope you are not going to

become fastidious, and to turn up your nose at people. Mrs Marsham is in town, and I dare say she'll come to

But this was too much for Lady Glencora. She was disposed to be mild, but she could not endure to have her

two duennas thus brought upon her together on the first day of her arrival in London. And Mrs Marsham

would be worse than Mr Bott. Mr Bott would be engaged with Mr Palliser during the greater part of the

evening. "I thought," said she, "of asking my cousin, Alice Vavasor, to spend the evening with me."

"Miss Vavasor!" said the husband. I must say that I thought Miss Vavasor " He was going to make some

allusion to that unfortunate hour spent among the ruins, but he stopped himself.

"I hope you have nothing to say against my cousin?" said his wife. "She is my only near relative that I really

"No; I don't mean to say anything against her. She's very well as a young lady, I dare say. I would sooner that

Lady Glencora was standing, waiting to go away to her own room, but it was absolutely necessary that this

matter should be decided before she went. She felt that he was hard to her, and unreasonable, and that he was

treating her like a child who should not be allowed her own way in anything. She had endeavoured to please

"As there will be no other ladies here tomorrow evening, Plantagenet, and as I have not yet seen Alice since I

have been in town, I wish you would let me have my way in this. Of course I cannot have very much to say to

"Very well," said he. Of course, you will do as you please. I am sorry that you have refused the first favour I

But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's last words. It seemed to her to be so

intolerably cruel, this demand of his, that she should be made to pass the whole of her first evening in town

with an old woman for whom it was impossible that she should entertain the slightest regard, that she

resolved upon rebellion. Had he positively ordered Mrs Marsham, she would have sent for that lady, and have

contented herself with enduring her presence in disdainful silence; but Mr Palliser had not given any order.

He had made a request, and a request, from its very nature, admits of no obedience. The compliance with a

request must be voluntary, and she would not send for Mrs Marsham, except upon compulsion. Had not she

also made a request to him, and had not he refused it? It was his prerogative, undoubtedly, to command; but

in that matter of requests she had a right to expect that her voice should be as potent as his own. She wrote a

line, therefore, to Alice before she went to bed, begging her cousin to come to her early on the following day,

so that they might go out together, and then afterwards dine in company with Mr Bott.

"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said, "because your generous heart will feel of

what service you may be to me. Nobody else will be here unless, indeed, Mrs Marsham should be asked,

Then she sat herself down to think to think especially about the cruelty of husbands. She had been told

over and over again, in the days before her marriage, that Burgo would illuse her if he became her husband.

The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest that Burgo might probably beat her. But what hard

treatment, even what beating, could be so unendurable as this total want of sympathy, as this deadness in life,

which her present lot entailed upon her? As for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea in her very soul.

She sat smiling at the absurdity of thething as she thought of the beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his

touch, of the loving, almost worshipping, tones of his voice. Would it not even be better to be beaten by him

than to have politics explained to her at one o'clock at night by such a husband as Plantagenet Palliser? The

British Constitution, indeed! Had she married Burgo they would have been in sunny Italy, and he would have

told her some other tale than that as they sat together under the pale moonlight. She had a little

watercoloured drawing called Raphael and Fornarina, and she was infantine enough to tell herself that the

socalled Raphael was like her Burgo no, not her Burgo, but the Burgo that was not hers. At any rate, all

the romance of the picture she might have enjoyed had they allowed her to dispose as she had wished of her

own hand. She might have sat in marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her head, and he would

have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her, but making his presence felt by the halo of its divinity. He

would have called upon her for no hard replies. With him near her she would have enjoyed the soft air, and

would have sat happy, without trouble, lapped in the delight of loving. It was thus that Fornarina sat. And

why should not such a lot have been hers? Her Raphael would have loved her, let them say what they would

Poor, wretched, overburthened child, to whom the commonest lessons of life had not yet been taught, and

who had now fallen into the hands of one who was so illfitted to teach them! Who would not pity her? Who

could say that the fault was hers? The world had laden her with wealth till she had had no limb free for its

"Have you written to your cousin?" her husband asked her the next morning. His voice, as he spoke, clearly

"Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for dinner. I shall send the carriage for her if she

"Very well," said Mr Palliser, mildly. And then, after a short pause, he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you

"No; I think not," said Mr Palliser. And then he added, being ashamed of the tinge of falsehood of which he

"She expects to come, then?" said Lady Glencora. "I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora. Had I

done so, I should have said so. I told her that I did not know what your engagements were."

"I will write to her, if you please," said the wife, who felt that she could hardly refuse any longer.

"Do, my dear!" said the husband. So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs Marsham, who promised to come as

Lady Glencora would, at any rate, have Alice to herself for some hours before dinner. At first she took

comfort in that reflection; but after a while she bethought herself that she would not know what to tell Alice,

or what not to tell. Did she mean to show that letter to her cousin? If she did show it, then so she argued

with herself she must bring herself to endure the wretchedness of her present lot, and must give up for

ever all her dreams about Raphael and Formarina. If she did not show it or, at any rate, tell of it then it

would come to pass that she would leave her husband under the protection of another man, and she would

become what she did not dare to name even to herself. She declared that so it must be. She knew that she

would go with Burgo, should he ever come to her with the means of going at his and her instant command.

But should she bring herself to let Alice know that such a letter had been conveyed to her, Burgo would never

I remember the story of a case of abduction in which a man was tried for his life, and was acquitted, because

the lady had acquiesced in the carrying away while it was in progress. She had, as she herself declared, armed

herself with a sure and certain charm or talisman against such dangers, which she kept suspended round her

neck; but whilst she was in the postchaise she opened the window and threw the charm from her, no longer

desiring, as the learned counsel for the defence efficiently alleged, to be kept under the bonds of such

protection. Lady Glencora's state of mind was, in its nature, nearly the same as that of the lady in the

postchaise. Whether or no she would use her charm, she had not yet decided, but the power of doing so was

Alice came, and the greeting between the cousins was very affectionate. Lady Glencora received her as

though they had been playmates from early childhood; and Alice, though such impulsive love was not natural

to her as to the other, could not bring herself to be cold to one who was so warm to her. Indeed, had she not

promised her love in that meeting at Matching Priory in which hercousin had told her of all her

wretchedness? "I will love you!" Alice had said; and though there was much in Lady Glencora that she could

not approve much even that she could not bring herself to like still she would not allow her heart to

contradict her words. They sat so long over the fire in the drawingroom that at last they agreed that the

"What's the use of it?" said Lady Glencora. There's nothing to see, and the wind is as cold as charity. We are

much more comfortable here; are we not?" Alice quite acquiesced in this, having no great desire to be driven

"If I had Dandy and Flirt up here, there would be some fun in it; but Mr Palliser doesn't wish me to drive in

"Not in the least. I don't think it's that he minds; but he has an idea that it looks fast."

"So it does. If I were a man I'm sure I shouldn't like my wife to drive horses about London."

"And why not? Just because you'd be a tyrant like other husbands? What's the harm of looking fast, if one

doesn't do anything improper? Poor Dandy, and dear Flirt! I'm sure they'd like it."

"I can tell you something else he doesn't care for. He doesn't care whether Dandy's mistress likes it."

"Don't teach yourself to think it. That's what I mean. I believe he would consent to anything that he didn't

"Such as lectures about the British Constitution! But never mind about that, Alice. Of course the British

Constitution is everything to him, and I wish I knew more about it that's all. But I haven't told you whom

"But there's another guest, a Mrs Marsham. I thought I'd got rid of her for today, when I wrote to you; but I

"She will hurt me very much. She'll destroy the pleasure of our whole evening, I do believe that she hates

you, and that she thinks you instigate me to all manner of iniquity. What fools they all are!"

"Who are they all, Glencora?" "She and that man, and . Never mind. It makes me sick when I think that

they should be so blind. Alice, I hardly know how much I owe to you; I don't, indeed. Everything, I believe."

Lady Glencora, as she spoke, put her hand into her pocket, and grasped the letter which lay there.

"What to the house?" said Alice, feeling almost certain that Mr Fitzgerald was the person to whom Lady

"If it is the person of whom I am thinking," said Alice, solemnly, "let me implore you not to speak of him."

"And why should I not speak of him? Did I not speak of him before to you, and was it not for good? How are

"What nonsense you talk, Alice! Not think of him! How is one to help one's thoughts? Look here."

Her hand was on the letter, and it would have been out in a moment, and thrown upon Alice's lap, had not the

"Oh, how I do wish we had gone to drive!" said Lady Glencora, in a voice which the servant certainly heard,

and which Mrs Marsham would have heard had she not been a little hard of hearing in her bonnet.

"How do, my dear?" said Mrs Marsham. I thought I'd just come across from Norfolk Street and see you,

though I am coming to dinner in the evening. It's only just a step, you know. How d'ye do, Miss Vavasor?"

Mrs Marsham was a woman who had many good points. She was poor, and bore her poverty without

complaint. She was connected by blood and friendship with people rich and titled; but she paid to none of

them egregious respect on account of their wealth or titles. She was stanch in her friendships, and stanch in

her enmities. She was no fool, and knew well what was going on in the world. She could talk about the last

novel, or if need be about the Constitution. She had been a true wife, though sometimes too

strongminded, and a painstaking mother, whose children, however, had never loved her as most mothers

like to be loved. The catalogue of her faults must be quite as long as that of her virtues. She was one of those

women who are ambitious of power, and not very scrupulous as to the manner in which they obtain it. She

was hardhearted, and capable of pursuing an object without much regard to the injury she might do. She

would not flatter wealth or fawn before a title, but she was not above any artifice by which she might

ingratiate herself with those whom it suited her purpose to conciliate. She thought evil rather than good. She

was herself untrue in action, if not absolutely in word. I do not say that she would coin lies, but she would

willingly leave false impressions. She had been the bosom friend, and in many things the guide in life, of Mr

Palliser's mother; and she took a special interest in Mr Palliser's welfare. When he married, she heard the

story of the loves of Burgo and Lady Glencora; and though she thought well of the money, she was not

disposed to think very well of the bride. She made up her mind that the young lady would want watching, and

she was of opinion that no one would be so well able to watch Lady Glencora as herself. She had not plainly

opened her mind on this matter to Mr Palliser; she had not made any distinct suggestion to him that she

would act as Argus to his wife. Mr Palliser would have rejected any such suggestion, and Mrs Marsham knew

that he would do so; but she had let a word or two drop, hinting that Lady Glencora was very young

hinting that Lady Glencora's manners were charming in their childlike simplicity; but hinting also that

precaution was, for that reason, the more necessary. Mr Palliser, who suspected nothing as to Burgo or as to

any other special peril, whose whole disposition was void of suspicion, whose dry nature realized neither the

delights nor the dangers of love, acknowledged that Glencora was young. He especially wished that she

should be discreet and matronly; he feared no lovers, but he feared that she might do silly things that she

would catch cold and not know how to live a life becoming the wife of a Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Therefore he submitted Glencora and, to a certain extent, himself into the hands of Mrs Marsham.

Lady Glencora had not been twentyfour hours in the house with this lady before she recognised in her a

duenna. In all such matters no one could be quicker than Lady Glencora. She might be very ignorant about

the British Constitution, and, alas! very ignorant also as to the real elements of right and wrong in a woman's

conduct, but she was no fool. She had an eye that could see, and an ear that could understand, and an

abundance of that feminine instinct whichteaches a woman to know her friend or her enemy at a glance, at a

touch, at a word. In many things Lady Glencora was much quicker, much more clever, than her husband,

though he was to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and though she did know nothing of the Constitution. She

knew, too, that he was easily to be deceived that though his intelligence was keen, his instincts were dull

that he was gifted with no fineness of touch, with no subtle appreciation of the characters of men and

women; and, to a certain extent, she looked down upon him for this obtusity, He should have been aware that

Burgo was a danger to be avoided; and he should have been aware also that Mrs Marsham was a duenna not

to be employed. When a woman knows that she is guarded by a watchdog, she is bound to deceive her

Cerberus, if it be possible, and is usually not illdisposed to deceive also the owner of Cerberus. Lady

Glencora felt that Mrs Marsham was her Cerberus, and she was heartily resolved that if she was to be kept in

Alice rose and accepted Mrs Marsham's salutation quite as coldly as it had been given, and from that time

forward those two ladies were enemies. Mrs Marsham, groping quite in the dark, partly guessed that Alice

had in some way interfered to prevent Lady Glencora's visit to Monkshade, and, though such prevention was,

no doubt, good in that lady's eyes, she resented the interference. She had made up her mind that Alice was not

the sort of friend that Lady Glencora should have about her. Alice recognised and accepted the feud.

"I thought I might find you at home," said Mrs Marsham, "as I know you are lazy about going out in the cold

unless it be for a foolish midnight ramble," and Mrs Marsham shook her head. She was a little woman,

with sharp small eyes, with a permanent colour in her face, and two short, crisp, grey curls at each side of her

face; always well dressed, always in good health, and, as Lady Glencora believed, altogether incapable of

"The ramble you speak of was very wise, I think," said Lady Glencora; "but I never could see the use of

"I hate all those rules. Don't you, Alice?" Alice did not hate them, therefore she said nothing.

"My dear Glencora, one must live by rules in this life. You might as well say that you hated sitting down to

"You'll get over that feeling after another season in town," said Mrs Marsham, pretending to suppose that

"Upon my word I don't think I shall. It's a thing that seems always to be getting more grievous, instead of less

There was no mistaking the meaning of this. There was no pretending even to mistake it. Now, Mrs Marsham

had accepted the right hand of fellowship from Mr Bott not because she especially liked him, but in

compliance with the apparent necessities of Mr Palliser's position. Mr Bott had made good his ground about

Mr Palliser; and Mrs Marsham, as she was not strong enough to turn him off from it, had given him the right

"Mr Bott is a Member of Parliament, and a very serviceable friend of Mr Palliser's," said Mrs Marsham.

"All the same; we do not like Mr Bott do we, Alice? He is Dr Fell to us; only I think we could tell why."

"It can be but of small matter to you, Miss Vavasor," said Mrs Marsham, "as you will not probably have to

"Of the very smallest moment," said Alice. He did annoy me once, but will never, I dare say, have an

"But I shouldn't have thought it likely that a person so fully employed as Mr Bott, and employed, too, on

matters of such vast importance, would have gone out of his way to annoy a young lady whom he chanced to

"I don't think that Alice means that he attempted to flirt with her," said Lady Glencora, laughing. "Fancy Mr

"Perhaps he did not attempt," said Mrs Marsham; and the words, the tone, and the innuendo together were

"Glencora," said she, rising from her chair, I think I'll leave you alone with Mrs Marsham. I"m not disposed

to discuss Mr Bott's character, and certainly not to hear his name mentioned in disagreeable connection with

But Lady Glencora would not let her go. "Nonsense, Alice," she said. "If you and I can't fight our little battles

against Mr Bott andMrs Marsham without running away, it is odd. There is a warfare in which they who run

"I hope, Glencora, you do not count me as your enemy?" said Mrs Marsham; drawing herself up,

"But I shall certainly, if you attack Alice. Love me, love my dog. I beg your pardon, Alice; but what I

meant was this, Mrs Marsham; Love me, love the best friend I have in the world."

"I did not mean to offend Miss Vavasor," said Mrs Marsham, looking at her very grimly. Alice merely bowed

her head. She had been offended, and she would not deny it. After that, Mrs Marsham took herself off, saying

that she would be back to dinner. She was angry, but not unhappy. She thought that she could put down Miss

Vavasor, and she was prepared to bear a good deal from Lady Glencora for Mr Palliser's sake, as she said

"She's a nasty old cat," said Lady Glencora, as soon as the door was closed; and she said these words with so

droll a voice, with such a childlike shaking of her head, with so much comedy in her grimace, that Alice

could not but laugh. "She is," said Lady Glencora. "I know her, and you'll have to know her, too, before

you've done with her. It won't at all do for you to run away when she spits at you. You must hold your

ground, and show your claws and make her know that if she spits, you can scratch."

"She'll find I'm of the genus, but of the tiger kind, if she persecutes me. Alice, there's one thing I have made

up my mind about. I will not be persecuted. If my husband tells me to do anything, as long as he is my

"I do remember; and that may be a very good reason why she should come here occasionally, or go to

Matching, or to any place in which we may be living. It's a bore, of course; but it's a natural bore, and one

"I'm afraid not, my dear. It may be perhaps the end of it, but I fear it won't be the beginning. I won't be

persecuted. If she gives me advice, I shall tell her to her face that it's not wanted; and if she insults any friend

of mine, as she did you, I shall tell her that she had better stay away. She'll go and tell him, of course; but I

can't help that. I've made up my mind that I won't be persecuted." After that, Lady Glencora felt no further

inclination to show Burgo's letter to Alice on that occasion. They sat over the drawingroom fire, talking

chiefly of Alice's affairs, till it was time for them to dress. But Alice, though she spoke much of Mr Grey,

said no word as to her engagement with George Vavasor. How could she speak of it, inasmuch as she had

already resolved already almost resolved that that engagement also should be broken?

Alice, when she came down to the drawingroom, before dinner, found Mr Bott there alone. She had dressed

"I did not expect the pleasure of meeting Miss Vavasor today," he said, as he came up, offering his hand. She

"You left, if I remember, the morning after that late walk out among the ruins? That was unfortunate, was it

not? Poor Lady Glencora! It made her very ill; so much so, that she could not go to Monkshade, as she

particularly wished. It was very sad. Lady Glencora is very delicate very delicate, indeed. We, who have

"I believe she has very good health, which is the greatest blessing in the world. By delicate I suppose you

"Oh, dear, no not in the least not infirm certainly! I should be very sorry to be supposed to have said

that Lady Glencora is infirm. What I mean is, not robust, Miss Vavasor. Her general organisation, if you

understand me, is exquisitely delicate. One can see that, I think, in every glance of her eye."

Alice was going to protest that she had never seen it at all, when Mr Palliser entered the room along with Mrs

The two gentlemen shook hands, and then Mr Palliser turned to Alice. She perceived at once by his face that

she was unwelcome, and wished herself away from his house. It might be all very well for Lady Glencora to

fight with Mrs Marsham and with her husband, too, in regard to the Marsham persecution but there

could be no reason why she should do so. He just touched her hand, barely closing his thumb upon her

fingers, and asked her how she was. Then he turned away from her side of the fire, and begantalking to Mrs

Marsham on the other. There was that in his face and in his manner which was positively offensive to her. He

made no allusion to his former acquaintance with her spoke no word about Matching, no word about his

wife, as he would naturally have done to his wife's friend. Alice felt the blood mount into her face, and

regretted greatly that she had ever come among these people. Had she not long since made up her mind that

she would avoid her great relations, and did not all this prove that it would have been well for her to have

clung to that resolution? What was Lady Glencora to her that she should submit herself to be treated as

though she were a poor companion a dependent, who received a salary for her attendance an indigent

cousin, hanging on to the bounty of her rich connection? Alice was proud to a fault. She had nursed her pride

till it was very faulty. All her troubles and sorrows in life had come from an overfed craving for

independence. Why, then, should she submit to be treated with open want of courtesy by any man; but, of all

men, why should she submit to it from such a one as Mr Palliser the heir of a ducal house, rolling in

wealth, and magnificent with all the magnificence of British pomp and pride? No; she would make Lady

Glencora understand that the close intimacies of daily Life were not possible to them!

"I declare I'm very much ashamed," said Lady Glencora, as she entered the room. "I shan't apologise to you,

Mrs Marsham was all smiles and forgiveness, and hoped that Lady Glencora would not make a stranger of

her. Then dinner was announced, and Alice had to walk down stairs by herself. She did not care a do it for

that, but there had been a disagreeable little contest when the moment came. Lady Glencora had wished to

give up Mr Bott to her cousin, but Mr Bott had stuck manfully to Lady Glencora's side. He hoped to take

Lady Glencora down to dinner very often, and was not at all disposed to abate his privilege.

During dinnertime Alice said very little, nor was there given to her opportunity of saying much. She could

not but think of the day of her first arrival at Matching Priory, when she had sat between the Duke of St

Bungay and Jeffrey Palliser, and when everybody had been so civil to her! She now occupied one side of the

table by herself, away from the fire, where she felt cold and desolate in the gloom of the large halflighted

room. Mr Palliser occupied himself with Mrs Marsham, who talked politics to him; and Mr Bott never lost a

moment in his endeavours to say some civil word to Lady Glencora. Lady Glencora gave him no

encouragement; but she hardly dared to snub him openly in her husband's immediate presence. Twenty times

during dinner she said some little word to Alice, attempting at first to make the time pleasant, and then, when

the matter was too far gone for that, attempting to give some relief. But it was of no avail. There are moments

in which conversation seems to be impossible in which the very gods interfere to put a seal upon the lips

of the unfortunate one. It was such a moment now with Alice. She had never as yet been used to snubbing.

Whatever position she had hitherto held, in that she had always stood foremost much more so than had

been good for her. When she had gone to Matching, she had trembled for her position; but there all had gone

well with her; there Lady Glencora's kindness had at first been able to secure for her a reception that had been

flattering, and almost better than flattering. Jeffrey Palliser had been her friend, and would, had she so willed

it, have been more than her friend. But now she felt that the halls of the Pallisers were too cold for her, and

that the sooner she escaped from their gloom and hard discourtesy the better for her.

Mrs Marsham, when the three ladies had returned to the drawingroom together, was a little triumphant. She

felt that she had put Alice down; and with the energetic prudence of a good general who knows that he should

follow up a victory, let the cost of doing so be what it may, she determined to keep her down. Alice had

resolved that she would come as seldom as might be to Mr Palliser's house in Park Lane. That resolution on

"Walk home all along Oxford Street! Good gracious! no. Why should she walk? The carriage will take

"I don't think they are nice for young ladies after dark," said Mrs Marsham. "I was going to offer my servant

"I'm sure Alice is very much obliged," said Lady Glencora; "but she will have the carriage."

"You are very goodnatured," said Mrs Marsham; but gentlemen do so dislike having their horses out at

"No gentleman's horses will be out," said Lady Glencora, savagely; "and as for mine, it's what they are there

for." It was not often that Lady Glencora made any allusion to her own property,or allowed any one near her

to suppose that she remembered the fact that her husband's great wealth was, in truth, her wealth. As to many

matters her mind was wrong. In some things her taste was not delicate as should be that of a woman. But, as

regarded her money, no woman could have behaved with greater reticence, or a purer delicacy. But now,

when she was twitted by her husband's special friend with illusage to her husband's horses, because she

chose to send her own friend home in her own carriage, she did find it hard to bear.

"It is all right," said Lady Glencora. Mr Palliser has given me my horses for my own use, to do as I like with

them; and if he thinks I take them out when they ought to be left at home, he can tell me so. Nobody else has

a right to do it." Lady Glencora, by this time, was almost in a passion, and showed that she was so.

"My dear Lady Glencora, you have mistaken me," said Mrs Marsham; "I did not mean anything of that kind."

"I am so sorry," said Alice. And it is such a pity as I am quite used to going about in cabs."

"Of course you are," said Lady Glencora. Why shouldn't you? I'd go home in a wheelbarrow if I couldn't

walk, and had no other conveyance. That's not the question. Mrs Marsham understands that."

"I understand this," said Lady Glencora; that in all such matters as that, I intend to follow my own pleasure.

Come, Alice, let us have some coffee,' and she rang the bell. "What a fuss we have made about a stupid

The gentlemen did not return to the drawingroom that evening, having, no doubt, joint work to do in

arranging the great financial calculations of the nation; and, at an early hour, Alice was taken home in Lady

March came, and still the Chancellor of the Exchequer held his position. In the early days of March there was

given in the House a certain parliamentary explanation on the subject, which, however, did not explain very

much to any person. A statement was made which was declared by the persons making it to be altogether

satisfactory, but nobody else seemed to find any satisfaction in it. The big wigs of the Cabinet had made an

arrangement which, from the language used by them on this occasion, they must be supposed to have

regarded as hardly less permanent than the stars; but everybody else protested that the Government was going

to pieces; and Mr Bott was heard to declare in clubs and lobbies, and wherever he could get a semipublic,

political hearing, that this kind of thing wouldn't do. Lord Brock must either blow hot or cold. If he chose to

lean upon Mr Palliser, he might lean upon him, and Mr Palliser would not be found wanting. In such case no

opposition could touch Lord Brock or the Government. That was Mr Bott's opinion. But if Lord Brock did

not so choose, why, in that case, he must expect that Mr Palliser, and Mr Palliser's friends, would . Mr

Bott did not say what they would do; but he was supposed by those who understood the matter to hint at an

Opposition lobby, and adverse divisions, and to threaten Lord Brock with the open enmity of Mr Palliser

"This kind of thing won't do long, you know," repeated Mr Bott for the second or third time, as he stood upon

the rug before the fire at his club, with one or two of his young friends round him.

"I suppose not," said Calder Jones, the hunting Member of Parliament whom we once met at Roebury.

"What can he do?" asked another, an unfledged Member who was not as yet quite settled as to the leadership

"What can he do?" said Mr Bott, who on such an occasion as this could be very great who, for a moment,

could almost feel that he might become a leader of a party for himself, and some day institute a Bott Ministry.

"What can he do? You will very shortly see what he can do. He can make himself the master of the occasion.

If Lord Brock doesn't look about him, he'll find that Mr Palliser will be in the Cabinet without his help."

"You don't mean to say that the Queen will send for Planty Pall!" said the young Member.

"I mean to say that the Queen will send for any one that the House of Commons may direct her to call upon,"

said Mr Bott, who conceived himself to have gauged the very depths of our glorious Constitution. "How hard

it is to make any one understand that the Queen has really nothing to do with it!"

"Come, Bott, draw it mild," said Calder Jones, whose loyalty was shocked by the utter Manchesterialism of

"Not if I know it," said Mr Bott, with something of grandeur in his tone and countenance. "I never drew it

mild yet, and I shan't begin now. All our political offences against civilization have come from men drawing

it mild, as you call it. Why is it that Englishmen can't read and write as Americans do? Why can't they vote as

they do even in Imperial France? Why are they serfs, less free than those whose chains were broken the other

day in Russia? Why is the Spaniard more happy, and the Italian more contented? Because men in power have

been drawing it mild!" And Mr Bott made an action with his hand as though he were drawing up beer from a

"But you can't set aside Her Majesty like that, you know," said the young Member, who had been presented,

"I should be very sorry," said Mr Bott; I'm no republican." With all his constitutional lore, Mr Bott did not

know what the word republican meant. "I mean no disrespect to the throne. The throne in its place is very

well. But the power of governing this great nation does not rest with the throne. It is contained within the four

walls of the House of Commons. That is the great truth which all young Members should learn, and take to

"I haven't said that; but there are more unlikely things. Among young men I know no man more likely. But I

certainly think this that if Lord Brock doesn't take him into the Cabinet, Lord Brock won't long remain

In the meantime the election came on in the Chelsea districts, and the whole of the southwestern part of the

metropolis was covered with posters bearing George Vavasor's name. "Vote for Vavasor and the River

Bank." That was the cry with which he went to the electors; and though it must be presumed that it was

understood by some portion of the Chelsea electors, it was perfectly unintelligible to the majority of those

who read it. His special acquaintances and his general enemies called him Viscount Riverbank, and he was

pestered on all sides by questions as to Father Thames. It was Mr Scruby who invented the legend, and who

gave George Vavasor an infinity of trouble by the invention. There was a question in those days as to

embanking the river from the Houses of Parliament up to the remote desolations of further Pimlico, and Mr

Scruby recommended the coming Member to pledge himself that he would have the work carried on even to

Battersea Bridge. "You must have a subject," pleaded Mr Scruby. "No young Member can do anything

without a subject. And it should be local that is to say, if you have anything of a constituency. Such a

subject as that, if it's well worked, may save you thousands of pounds thousands of pounds at future

"But it may secure the seat, Mr Vavasor, and afterwards make you the most popular metropolitan Member in

the House; that is, with your own constituency. Only look at the money that would be spent in the districts if

"What matters that?" and Mr Scruby almost became eloquent as he explained the nature of a good

parliamentary subject. "You should work it up, so as to be able to discuss it at all points. Get the figures by

heart, and then, as nobody else will do so, nobody can put you down. Of course it won't be done. If it were

done, that would be an end of it, and your bread would be taken out of your mouth. But you can always

promise it at the hustings, and can always demand it in the House. I've known men who've walked into as

much as two thousand a year, permanent place, on the strength of a worse subject than that!"

Vavasor allowed Mr Scruby to manage the matter for him, and took up the subject of the River Bank.

Vavasor and the River Bank was carried about by an army of men with iron shoulderstraps, and huge

pasteboards placards six feet high on the top of them. You would think, as you saw the long rows, that the

men were being marshalled to their several routes; but they always kept together fourandtwenty at the

heels of each other. "One placard at a time would strike the eye," said Mr Vavasor, counting the expense up

to himself. "There's no doubt of it," said Mr Scruby in reply. "One placard will do that, if it's big enough; but

it takes fourandtwenty to touch the imagination." And then sides of houses were covered with that

shibboleth, "Vavasor and the River Bank': the same words repeated in columns down the whole sides of

houses. Vavasor himself declared that he was ashamed to walk among his future constituents, so conspicuous

had his name become. Grimes saw it, and was dismayed. At first, Grimes ridiculed the cry with all his

publican's wit. "Unless he mean to drown hisself in the Reach, it's hard to say what he do mean by all that

gammon about the River Bank," said Grimes, as he canvassed for the other Liberal candidate. But after a

while, Grimes was driven to confess that Mr Scruby knew what he was about. "He is a sharp un, that he is,"

said Grimes in the inside bar of the "Handsome Man'; and he almost regretted that he had left the leadership

of Mr Scruby, although he knew that on this occasion he would not have gotten his odd money.

George Vavasor, with much labour, actually did get up the subject of the River Bank. He got himself

introduced to men belonging to the Metropolitan Board, and went manfully into the matter of pounds,

shillings, and pence. He was able even to work himself into an apparent heat when he was told that the thing

was out of the question; and soon found that he had disciples who really believed in him. If he could have

brought himself to believe in the thing if he could have been induced himself to care whether Chelsea was

to be embanked or no, the work would not have been so difficult to him. In that case it would have done good

to him, if to no one else. But such belief was beyond him. He had gone too far in life to be capable of

believing in, or of caring for, such things. He was ambitious of having a hand in the government of his

But he worked. He worked hard, and spoke vehemently, and promised the men of Chelsea, Pimlico, and

Brompton that the path of London westwards had hardly commenced as yet. Sloane Street should be thenew

Cheapside. Squares should arise around the Chelsea barracks, with sides open to the water, for which

Belgravia would be deserted. There should be palaces there for the rich, because the rich spend their riches;

but no rich man's palace should interfere with the poor man's right to the River Bank. Three millions and a

half should be spent on the noble street to be constructed, the grandest pathway that the world should ever yet

have seen; three millions and a half to be drawn from to be drawn from anywhere except from Chelsea

from the bloated moneybags of the City Corporation, Vavasor once ventured to declare, amidst the

encouraging shouts of the men of Chelsea. Mr Scruby was forced to own that his pupil worked the subject

well."Upon my word, that was uncommon good," he said, almost patting Vavasor on the back, after a speech

in which he had vehemently asserted that his ambition to represent the Chelsea districts had all come of his

longfixed idea that the glory of future London would be brought about by the embankment of the river at

But armies of men carrying big boards, and public houses open at every corner, and placards in which the

letters are three feet long, cost money. Those few modest hundreds which Mr Scruby had already received

before the work began, had been paid on the supposition that the election would not take place till September.

Mr Scruby made an early request, a very early request, that a further sum of fifteen hundred pounds should be

placed in his hands; and he did this in a tone which clearly signified that not a man would be sent about

through the streets, or a poster put upon a wall, till this request had been conceded. Mr Scruby was in

possession of two very distinct manners of address. In his jovial moods, when he was instigating his clients to

fight their battles well, it might almost be thought that he was doing it really for the love of the thing; and

some clients, so thinking, had believed for a few hours that Scruby, in his jolly, passionate eagerness, would

pour out his own money like dust, trusting implicitly to future days for its return. But such clients had soon

encountered Mr Scruby's other manner, and had perceived that they were mistaken.

The thing had come so suddenly upon George Vavasor that there was not time for him to carry on his further

operations through his sister. Had he written to Kate let him have written in what language he would

she would have first rejoined by a negative, and there would have been a correspondence before he had

induced her to comply. He thought of sending for her by telegram, but even in that there would have been too

much delay. He resolved, therefore, to make his application to Alice himself, and he wrote to her, explaining

his condition. The election had come upon him quite suddenly, as she knew, he said. He wanted two thousand

pounds instantly, and felt little scruple in asking her for it, as he was aware that the old Squire would be only

too glad to saddle the property with a legacy to Alice for the repayment of this money, though he would not

have advanced a shilling himself for the purpose of the election. Then he said a word or two as to his

prolonged absence from Queen Anne Street. He had not been there because he had felt, from her manner

when they last met, that she would for a while prefer to be left free from the unavoidable excitement of such

interviews. But should he be triumphant in his present contest, he should go to her to share his triumph with

Within three days he heard from her, saying that the money would be at once placed to his credit. She sent

him also her cordial good wishes for success in his enterprise, but beyond this her letter said nothing. There

was no word of love no word of welcome no expression of a desire to see him. Vavasor, as he

perceived all this in the reading of her note, felt a triumph in the possession of her money. She was illusing

him by her coldness, and there was comfort in revenge. "It serves her right," he said to himself. She should

have married me at once when she said she would do so, and then it would have been my own."

When Mr Tombe had communicated with John Grey on the matter of this increased demand this demand

which Mr Tombe began to regard as carrying a love affair rather too far Grey had telegraphed back that

Vavasor's demand for money, if made through Mr John Vavasor, was to be honoured to the extent of five

thousand pounds. Mr Tombe raised his eyebrows, and reflected that some men were very foolish. But John

Grey's money matters were of such a nature as to make Mr Tombe know that he must do as he was bidden;

He told Kate nothing of this. Why should he trouble himself to do so? Indeed, at this time he wrote no letters

to his sister, though she twice sent to him, knowing what his exigencies would be, and made further tenders

of her own money. He could not reply to these offers without telling her that money had been forthcoming

In the meantime the battle went on gloriously. Mr Travers,the other Liberal candidate, spent his money freely

or else some other person did so on his behalf. When Mr Scruby mentioned this last alternative to George

Vavasor, George cursed his own luck in that he had never found such backers. "I don't call a man half a

Member when he's brought in like that," said Mr Scruby, comforting him. "He can't do what he likes with his

vote. He ain't independent. You never hear of those fellows getting anything good. Pay for the article

Mr Grimes went to work strenuously, almost fiercely, in the opposite interest, telling all that he knew, and

perhaps more than he knew, of Vavasor's circumstances, He was at work morning, noon, and night, not only

in his own neighbourhood, but among those men on the river bank of whom he had spoken so much in his

interview with Vavasor in Cecil Street. The entire Vavasorian army with its placards was entirely upset on

more than one occasion, and was once absolutely driven ignominiously into the river mud. And all this was

done under the direction of Mr Grimes. Vavasor himself was pelted with offal from the sinking tide, so that

the very name of the River Bank became odious to him. He was a man who did not like to have his person

touched, and when they hustled him he became angry. "Lord love you, Mr Vavasor," said Scruby, "that's

nothing! I've had a candidate so mauled it was in the Hamlets, I think that there wasn't a spot on him

that wasn't painted with rotten eggs. The smell was something quite awful. But I brought him in, through it

And Mr Scruby at last did as much for George Vavasor as he had done for the hero of the Hamlets. At the

close of the poll Vavasor's name stood at the head by a considerable majority, and Scruby comforted him by

saying that Travers certainly wouldn't stand the expense of a petition, as the seat was to be held only for a few

"And you've done it very cheap, Mr Vavasor," said Scruby, "considering that the seat is metropolitan. I do

say that you have done it cheap. Another thousand, or twelve hundred, will cover everything say thirteen,

perhaps, at the outside. And when you shall have fought the battle once again, you'll have paid your footing,

A further sum of thirteen hundred pounds was wanted at once, and then the whole thing was to be repeated

over again in sixmonths' time! This was not consolatory. But, nevertheless, there was a triumph in the thing

itself which George Vavasor was man enough to enjoy. It would be something to have sat in the House of

George Vavasor's feeling of triumph was not unjustifiable. It is something to have sat in the House of

Commons, though it has been but for one session! There is on the lefthand side of our great national hall

on the lefthand side as one enters it, and opposite to the doors leading to the Law Courts a pair of gilded

lamps, with a door between them, near to which a privileged old dame sells her apples and her oranges solely,

as I presume, for the accommodation of the Members of the House and of the great policeman who guards

the pass. Between those lamps is the entrance to the House of Commons, and none but Members may go that

way! It is the only gate before which I have ever stood filled with envy sorrowing to think that my steps

might never pass under it. There are many portals forbidden to me, as there are many forbidden to all men;

and forbidden fruit, they say, is sweet; but my lips have watered after no other fruit but that which grows so

Ah, my male friend and reader, who earnest thy bread, perhaps, as a country vicar; or sittest, maybe, at some

weary desk in Somerset House; or who, perhaps, rulest the yard behind the Cheapside counter, hast thou

never stood there and longed hast thou never confessed, when standing there, that Fate has been unkind to

thee in denying thee the one thing that thou hast wanted? I have done so; and as my slow steps have led me

up that more than royal staircase, to those passages and halls which require the hallowing breath of centuries

to give them the glory in British eyes which they shall one day possess, I have told myself, in anger and in

grief, that to die and not to have won that right of way, though but for a session not to have passed by the

narrow entrance through those lamps is to die and not to have done that which it most becomes an

There are, doubtless, some who came out by that road, the lossof whose society is not to be regretted.

England does not choose her six hundred and fiftyfour best men. One comfort's one's self, sometimes, with

remembering that. The George Vavasors, the Calder Joneses, and the Botts are admitted. Dishonesty,

ignorance, and vulgarity do not close the gate of that heaven against aspirants; and it is a consolation to the

ambition of the poor to know that the ambition of the rich can attain that glory by the strength of its riches

alone. But though England does not send thither none but her best men, the best of her Commoners do find

their way there. It is the highest and most legitimate pride of an Englishman to have the letters M.P. written

after his name. No selection from the alphabet, no doctorship, no fellowship, be it of ever so learned or royal

a society, no knightship not though it be of the Garter confers so fair an honour. Mr Bott was right

when he declared that this country is governed from between the walls of that House, though the truth was

almost defiled by the lips which uttered it. He might have added that from thence flow the waters of the

George Vavasor, as he went in by the lamps and the applestall, under the guardianship of Mr Bott, felt all

the pride of which I have been speaking. He was a man quite capable of feeling such pride as it should be felt

capable, in certain dreamy moments, of looking at the thing with pure and almost noble eyes; of

understanding the ambition of serving with truth so great a nation as that which fate had made his own.

Nature, I think, had so fashioned George Vavasor, that he might have been a good, and perhaps a great man;

whereas Mr Bott had been born small. Vavasor had educated himself to badness with his eyes open. He had

known what was wrong, and had done it, having taught himself to think that bad things were best. But poor

Mr Bott had meant to do well, and thought that he had done very well indeed. He was a tufthunter and a

toady, but he did not know that he was doing amiss in seeking to rise by tufthunting and toadying. He was

both mean and vain, both a bully and a coward, and in politics, I fear, quite unscrupulous in spite of his grand

dogmas; but he believed that he was progressing in public life by the proper and usual means, and was

Vavasor, in those dreamy moments of which I have spoken, would sometimes feel tempted to cut his throat

and put an end to himself, because he knew that he had taught himself amiss. Again he would sadly ask

himself whether it was yet too late; always, however, answering himself that it was too late. Even now, at this

moment,as he went in between the lamps, and felt much of the honest pride of which I have spoken, he told

himself that it was too late. What could he do now, hampered by such a debt as that which he owed to his

cousin, and with the knowledge that it must be almost indefinitely increased, unless he meant to give up this

seat in Parliament, which had cost him so dearly, almost before he had begun to enjoy it? But his courage was

good, and he was able to resolve that he could go on with the business that he had in hand, and play out his

game to the end. He had achieved his seat in the House of Commons, and was so far successful. Men who

had ever been gracious to him were now more gracious than ever, and they who had not hitherto treated him

with courtesy, now began to smile and to be very civil. It was, no doubt, a great thing to have the privilege of

Mr Bott had the new Member now in hand, not because there had been any old friendship between them, but

Mr Bott was on the lookout for followers and Vavasor was on the lookout for a party. A man gets no great

thanks for attaching himself to existing power. Our friend might have enrolled himself among the general

supporters of the Government without attracting much attention. He would in such case have been at the

bottom of a long list. But Mr Palliser was a rising man, round whom, almost without wish of his own, a party

was forming itself. If he came into power as come he must, according to Mr Bott and many others then

they who had acknowledged the new light before its brightness had been declared, might expect their reward.

Vavasor, as he passed through the lobby to the door of the House, leaning on Mr Bott's arm, was very silent.

He had spoken but little since they had left their cab in Palace Yard, and was not very well pleased by the

garrulity of his companion. He was going to sit among the first men of his nation, and to take his chance of

making himself one of them. He believed in his own ability; he believed thoroughly in his own courage; but

he did not believe in his own conduct. He feared that he had done feared still more strongly that he would

be driven to do that which would shut men's ears against his words, and would banish him from high

places. No man believes in himself who knows himself to be a rascal, however great may be his talent, or

"But you have heard debates from the gallery. Now you'll hear them from the body of the House, and you'll

find how very different it is. There's no man can know what Parliament is who has never had a seat. Indeed

no one can thoroughly understand the British Constitution without it. I felt, very early in life, that that should

be my line; and though it's hard work and no pay, I mean to stick to it. How do, Thompson? You know

Vavasor? He's just returned for the Chelsea Districts, and I'm taking him up. We shan't divide tonight; shall

we? Look! there's Farringcourt just coming out; he's listened to better than any man on the House now, but

he'll borrow halfacrown from you if you'll lend him one. How d'ye do, my lord? I hope I have the pleasure

of seeing you well?" and Bott bowed low to a lord who was hurrying through the lobby as fast as his

"Taking the peerage generally, I am not up to it," said Vavasor, with a curl on his lip.

"But you ought to have known him, That was Viscount Middlesex; he has got something on tonight about the

Irish Church. His father is past ninety, and he's over sixty. We'll go in now; but let me give you one bit of

advice, my dear fellow don't think of speaking this session. A Member can do no good at that work till he

has learned something of the forms of the House. The forms of the House are everything; upon my word they

Our friend was thus introduced to the doorkeeper, who smiled familiarly, and seemed to wink his eye. Then

Vavasor, as he walked up the House to the Clerk's table and took the oath and then walked down again, felt

himself to be almost taken aback by the little notice which was accorded to him. It was not that he had

expected to create a sensation, or that he had for a moment thought on the subject, but the thing which he was

doing was so great to him, that the total indifference of those around him was a surprise to him. After he had

taken his seat, a few men came up by degrees and shook hands with him; but it seemed, as they did so,

merely because they were passing that way. He was anxious not to sit next to Mr Bott, but he found himself

unable to avoid thiscontiguity. That gentleman stuck to him pertinaciously, giving him directions which, at

the spur of the moment, he hardly knew how not to obey. So he found himself sitting behind Mr Palliser, a

There was a debate in progress, but it seemed to Vavasor, as soon as he was able to become critical, to be but

a dull affair, and yet the Chancellor of the Exchequer was on his legs, and Mr Palliser was watching him as a

cat watches a mouse. The speaker was full of figures, as becomes a Chancellor of the Exchequer; and as

every new budget of them fell from him, Mr Bott, with audible whispers, poured into the ear of his chief

certain calculations of his own most of which went to prove that the financier in office was altogether wrong.

Vavasor thought that he could see that Mr Palliser was receiving more of this assistance than was palatable to

him. He would listen, if he did listen, without making any sign that he heard, and would occasionally shake

his head with symptoms of impatience. But Mr Bott was a man not to be repressed by a trifle. When Mr

Palliser shook his head he became more assiduous than ever, and when Mr Palliser slightly moved himself to

No general debate arose on the subject which the Minister had in hand, and when he sat down, Mr Palliser

would not get up, though Mr Bott counselled him to do so. The matter was over for the night, and the time

had arrived for Lord Middlesex. That nobleman got upon his feet, with a roll of papers in his hand, and was

proceeding to address the House on certain matters of church reform, with great energy; but, alas, for him and

his feelings! Before his energy had got itself into full swing, the Members were swarming away through the

doors like a flock of sheep. Mr Palliser got up and went, and was followed at once by Mr Bott, who

succeeded in getting hold of his arm in the lobby. Had not Mr Palliser been an eventempered, calculating

man, with a mind and spirit well under his command, he must have learned to hate Mr Bott before this time.

Away streamed the Members, but still the noble lord went on speaking, struggling hard to keep up his fire as

though no such exodus were in process. There was but little to console him. He knew that the papers would

not report one sentence in twenty of those he uttered. He knew that no one would listen to him willingly. He

knew that he had worked for weeks and months to get up his facts, and he was beginning to know that he had

worked in vain. As he summoned courage to look round, he began to fear that some enemy would count the

House, andthat all would be over. He had given heart and soul to this affair. His cry was not as Vavasor's cry

about the River Bank. He believed in his own subject with a great faith, thinking that he could make men

happier and better, and bring them nearer to their God. I said that he had worked for weeks and months. I

might have said that he had been all his life at this work. Though he shuffled with his feet when he walked,

and knocked his words together when he talked, he was an earnest man, meaning to do well, seeking no other

reward for his work than the appreciation of those whom he desired to serve. But this was never to be his. For

him there was in store nothing but disappointment. And yet he will work on to the end, either in this House or

in the other, labouring wearily, without visible wages of any kind, and, one may say, very sadly. But when he

has been taken to his long rest, men will acknowledge that he has done something, and there will be left on

the minds of those who shall remember him a conviction that he served a good cause diligently, and not

altogether inefficiently. Invisible are his wages, yet in some coin are they paid. Invisible is the thing he does,

and yet it is done. Let us hope that some sense of this tardy appreciation may soothe his spirit beyond the

grave. On the present occasion there was nothing to soothe his spirit. The Speaker sat, urbane and courteous,

with his eyes turned towards the unfortunate orator; but no other ears in the House seemed to listen to him.

The corps of reporters had dwindled down to two, and they used their pens very listlessly, taking down here a

sentence and there a sentence, knowing that their work was naught. Vavasor sat it out to the last, as it taught

him a lesson in those forms of the House which Mr Bott had truly told him it would be well that he should

learn. And at last he did learn the form of a "countout." Someone from a back seat muttered something,

which the Speaker understood; and that high officer, having had his attention called to a fact of which he

would never have taken cognisance without such calling, did count the House, and finding that it contained

but twentythree Members, he put an end to his own labours and to those of poor Lord Middlesex. With what

feelings that noble lord must have taken himself home, and sat himself down in his study, vainly opening a

book before his eyes, can we not all imagine? A man he was with ample means, with children who would do

honour to his name; one whose wife believed in him, if no one else would do so; a man, let us say, with a

clear conscience, to whom all good things had been given, But of whom now was he thinking with envy?

Early on that same day Farringcourt had spoken in the House a man to whom no one would lend a

shilling, whom the privilege of that House kept out of gaol, whose word no man believed; who was wifeless,

childless, and unloved. But three hundred men had hung listening upon his words. When he laughed in his

speech, they laughed; when he was indignant against the Minister, they sat breathless, as the Spaniard sits in

the critical moment of the bullkilling. Whichever way he turned himself, he carried them with him. Crowds

of Members flocked into the House from libraries and smoking rooms when it was known that this

ne'erdowell was on his legs. The Strangers' Gallery was filled to overflowing. The reporters turned their

rapid pages, working their fingers wearily till the sweat drops stood upon their brows. And as the Premier

was attacked with some special impetus of redoubled irony, men declared that he would be driven to enrol the

speaker among his colleagues, in spite of dishonoured bills and evil reports. A man who could shake the

thunderbolts like that must be paid to shake them on the right side. It was of this man, and of his success, that

Lord Middlesex was envious, as he sat, wretched and respectable, in his solitary study!

Mr Bott had left the House with Mr Palliser; and Vavasor, after the countout, was able to walk home by

himself, and think of the position which he had achieved. He told himself over and over again that he had

done a great thing in obtaining that which he now possessed, and he endeavoured to teach himself that the

price he was paying for it was not too dear. But already there had come upon him something of that feeling

that terribly human feeling which deprives every prize that is gained of half its value. The mere having

it robs the diamond of its purity, and mixes vile alloy with the gold. Lord Middlesex, as he had floundered on

into terrible disaster, had not been a subject to envy. There had been nothing of brilliance in the debate, and

the Members had loomed no larger than ordinary men at ordinary clubs. The very doorkeepers had hardly

treated them with respect. The great men with whose names the papers are filled had sat silent, gloomy, and

apparently idle. As soon as a fair opportunity was given them they escaped out of the House, as boys might

escape from school. Everybody had rejoiced in the breakup of the evening, except that one poor old lord

who had worked so hard. Vavasor had spent everything that he had to become a Member of that House, and

now, as he went alone to his lodgings, he could not but ask himself whether the thing purchased was worth

the purchasemoney. But his courage was still high. Though he was gloomy, and almost sad, he knew that he

could trust himself to fight out the battle to the last. On the morrow he would go to Queen Anne Street, and

would demand sympathy there from her who had professed to sympathise with him so strongly in his

political desires. With her, at any rate, the glory of his Membership would not be dimmed by any untoward

knowledge of the realities. She had only seen the play acted from the boxes; and to her eyes the dresses

When Alice heard of her cousin's success, and understood that he was actually Member of Parliament for the

Chelsea Districts, she resolved that she would be triumphant. She had sacrificed nearly everything to her

desire for his success in public life, and now that he had achieved the first great step towards that success, it

would have been madness on her part to decline her share in the ovation. If she could not rejoice in that, what

source of joy would then be left for her? She had promised to be his wife, and at present she was under the

bonds of that promise. She had so promised because she had desired to identify her interests with his

because she wished to share his risks, to assist his struggles, and to aid him in his public career. She had done

all this, and he had been successful. She strove, therefore, to be triumphant on his behalf, but she knew that

she was striving ineffectually. She had made a mistake, and the days were coming in which she would have

But yet she struggled to be triumphant. The tidings were first brought to her by her servant, and then she at

once sat down to write him a word or two of congratulation. But she found the task more difficult than she

had expected, and she gave it up. She had written no word to him since the day on which he had left her

almost in anger, and now she did not know how she was to address him. "I will wait till he comes," she said,

putting away from her the paper and pens. "It will be easier to speak than to write." But she wrote to Kate,

and contrived to put some note of triumph into her letter. Kate had written to her at length, filling her sheet

with a loud paean of sincere rejoicing. To Kate, down in Westmoreland, it had seemed that her brother had

already done everything. He had already tied Fortune to his chariot wheels. He had made the great leap, and

had overcome the only obstacle that Fate had placed in his way. In her great joy she almost forgot whence

had come the money withwhich the contest had been won. She was not enthusiastic in many things about

herself she was never so; but now she was elated with an enthusiasm which seemed to know no bounds. "I

am proud," she said, in her letter to Alice. "No other thing that he could have done would have made me so

proud of him. Had the Queen sent for him and made him an earl, it would have been as nothing to this. When

I think that he has forced his way into Parliament without any great friend, with nothing to back him but his

own wit' she had, in truth, forgotten Alice's money as she wrote "that he has achieved his triumph in

the metropolis, among the most wealthy and most fastidious of the richest city in the world, I do feel proud of

my brother. And, Alice, I hope that you are proud of your lover." Poor girl! One cannot but like her pride,

nay, almost love her for it, though it was so sorely misplaced. It must be remembered that she had known

nothing of Messrs Grimes and Scruby, and the River Bank, and that the means had been wanting to her of

"And, Alice, I hope that you are proud of your lover!" "He is not my lover," Alice said to herself. He knows

that he is not. He understands it, though she may not." And if not your lover, Alice Vavasor, what is he then

to you? And what are you to him, if not his love? She was beginning to understand that she had put herself in

the way of utter destruction that she had walked to the brink of a precipice, and that she must now topple

over it. "He is not my lover," she said; and then she sat silent and moody, and it took her hours to get her

On the same afternoon she saw her father for a moment or two. "So George has got himself returned," he

"Upon my word, I'm not. He has bought a seat for three months; and with whose money has he purchased it?"

"When you discuss the value of a thing just purchased, you must mention the price before you know whether

the purchaser has done well or badly. They have let him in for his money because there are only a few

months left before the general election. Two thousand pounds he has had, I believe?"

"Very well, my dear very well. If you choose to make a beggar of yourself, I cannot help it. Indeed, I shall

not complain though he should spend all your money, if you do not marry him at last." In answer to this,

Alice said nothing. On that point her father's wishes were fast growing to be identical with her own.

"I tell you fairly what are my feelings and my wishes," he continued. "Nothing, in my opinion, would be so

deplorable and ruinous as such a marriage. You tell me that you have made up your mind to take him, and I

know well that nothing that I can say will turn you. But I believe that when he has spent all your money he

will not take you, and that thus you will be saved. Thinking as I do about him, you can hardly expect that I

Then he left her, and it seemed to Alice that he had been very cruel. There had been little, she thought

nay, nothing of a father's loving tenderness in his words to her. If he had spoken to her differently, might

she not even now have confessed everything to him? But herein Alice accused him wrongfully. Tenderness

from him on this subject had, we may say, become impossible. She had made it impossible. Nor could he tell

her the extent of his wishes without damaging his own cause. He could not let her know that all that was done

But what words were those for a father to speak to a daughter! Had she brought herself to such a state that her

own father desired to see her deserted and thrown aside? And was it probable that this wish of his should

come to pass? As to that, Alice had already made up her mind. She thought that she had made up her mind

that she would never become her cousin's wife. It needed not her father's wish to accomplish her salvation, if

On the next morning George went to her. The reader will, perhaps, remember their last interview. He had

come to her after her letter to him from Westmoreland, and had asked her to seal their reconciliation with a

kiss; but she had refused him. He had offered to embrace her, and she had shuddered before him, fearing his

touch, telling him by signs much more clear than any words, that she felt for him none of the love of a

woman. Then he had turned from her in anger, declaring to her honestly that he was angry. Since that he had

borrowed her money, had made two separate assaults upon her purse, and was now come to tell her of

the results. How was he to address her? I beg that it may be also remembered that he was not a man to forget

the treatment he had received. When heentered the room, Alice looked at him, at first, almost furtively. She

was afraid of him. It must be confessed that she already feared him. Had there been in the man anything of

lofty principle he might still have made her his slave, though I doubt whether he could ever again have forced

her to love him. She looked at him furtively, and perceived that the gash on his face was nearly closed. The

mark of existing anger was not there. He had come to her intending to be gentle, if it might be possible. He

had been careful in his dress, as though he wished to try once again if the role of lover might be within his

Alice was the first to speak. "George, I am so glad that you have succeeded! I wish you joy with my whole

"Thanks, dearest. But before I say another word, let me acknowledge my debt. Unless you had aided me with

"Let me rather speak of it at once, and have done. If you will think of it, you will know that I must speak of it

sooner or later." He smiled and looked pleasant, as he used to do in those Swiss days.

"I do believe that you have. I need hardly say that I could not have stood for this last election without it; and I

must try to make you understand that if I had not come forward at this vacancy, I should have stood no

chance for the next; otherwise, I should not have been justified in paying so dearly for a seat for one session.

"Anybody, even your father, would tell you that; though, probably, he regards my ambition to be a Member

of Parliament as a sign of downright madness. But I was obliged to stand now, if I intended to go on with it,

as that old lord died so inopportunely. Well, about the money! It is quite upon the cards that I may be forced

"Thanks, Alice. And now I will tell you what I propose. You know that I have been reconciled, with a sort

of reconciliation, to my grandfather? Well, when the next affair is over, I propose to tell him exactly how

you and I then stand." "Do not go into that now, George. It is enough for you at present to be assured that

such assistance as I can give you is at your command. I want you to feel the full joy of your success, and you

will do so more thoroughly if you will banish all these money troubles from your mind for a while."

"They shall, at any rate, be banished while I am with you," said he. "There; let them go!" And he lifted up his

right hand, and blew at the tips of his fingers. "Let them vanish," said he. "It is always well to be rid of such

It is well to be rid of them at any time, or at all times, if only they can be banished without danger. But when

a man has overused his liver till it will not act for him any longer, it is not well for him to resolve that he

It was a pretty bit of acting, that of Vavasor's, when he blew away his cares; and, upon the whole, I do not

know that he could have done better. But Alice saw through it, and he knew that she did so. The whole thing

was uncomfortable to him, except the fact that he had the promise of her further moneys. But he did not

intend to rest satisfied with this. He must extract from her some meed of approbation, some show of

sympathy, some spark of affection, true or pretended, in order that he might at least affect to be satisfied, and

be enabled to speak of the future without open embarrassment. How could even he take her money from her,

unless he might presume that he stood with her upon some ground that belonged mutually to them both?

"Yes; I saw that in the newspapers. My acquaintance among Members of Parliament is very small, but I see

that you were introduced, as they call it, by one of the few men that I do know. Is Mr. Bott a friend of yours?"

"Ah, that's just what they said of Mr. Palliser when they felt ashamed of his having such a man as his guest. I

think if I were in public life I should try to act with people that I could like."

"He is a vulgar ass," said George, with no more pretensions to rank himself a gentleman than your footman."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand what are the requisitcs for Parliamentary success, or indeed of what it

"His ambition, I take it, docs not go beyond a desire to be Parliamentary flunkey to a big man, with

"Oh, as to mine; there are some things, Alice, that a man does not tell to any one."

"The schoolboy, when he sits down to make his rhymes , dares not say, even to his sister, that he hopes to

rival Milton; but he nurses such a hope. The preacher, when he prepares his sermon, does not whisper, even

to his wife, his belief that thousands may perhaps be turned to repentance by the strength of his words; but he

"And you, though you will not say so, intend to rival Chatham and to make your thousand converts in

"I like to hear you laugh at me, I do indeed. It does me good to hear your voice again with some touch of

satire in it. It brings back the old days, the days to which I hope we may soon revert without pain. Shall it

Her playful manner at once dcserted her. Why had he made this foolish attempt to be tender? "I do not

For a few minutes he sat silent, fingering some article belonging to her which was lying on the table. It was a

small steel paperknife, of which the handle was cast and gilt; a thing of no great value, of which the price

may have been five shillings. He sat with it, passing it through his fingers, while she went on with her work.

"I asked simply because if it is a present to you from any one, I will take up something else."

He let it drop from his fingers on to the table with a noise, and then pushed it from him, so that it fell on the

"George," she said, as she stooped and picked it up, "your violence is unreasonab]e; pray do not repeat it." "I

did not mean it," he said, and I beg your pardon. I was simply unfortunate in the article I selected. And who

gave you this?" In saying which he took up a little ivory footrule that was folded up so as to bring it within

"Then this will do. You shall give it me as a present, on the renewal of our love."

"It is too poor a thing to give," said she, speaking still more gloomily than she had done before.

"By no means; nothing is too poor, if given in that way. Anything will do; a ribbon, a glove, a broken

sixpence. Will you give me something that I may take, and, taking it, may know that your heart is given with

He should have been more of a rascal or less. Seeing how very much of a rascal he was already, I think it

would have been better that he should have been more, that he should have been able to content his spirit

with the simple acquisition of her money, and that he should have been free from all those remains of a finer

feeling which made him desire her love also. But it was not so. It was necessary for his comfort that she

should, at any rate, say she loved him. "Well, Alice, and what about the heart?" he asked again.

The cicatrice began to make itself very visible in his face, and the debonair manner was fast vanishirg. He

had fixed his eyes upon her, and had inserted his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat.

" I am not so sure of that. I almost think that you do mean it. You have told me that you intend to become my

"I am not making you miserable, certainly not wilfully." "Did that letter which you wrote to me from

But Alice, though she would have said so had she dared, made no answer to this. She sat silent, turning her

face away from his gaze, longing that the meeting might be over, and feeling that she had lost her own

"Look here, Alice," he said, I find it very hard to understand you. When I look back over all that has passed

between us, and to that other episode ih your life, summing it all up with your conduct to me at present, I find

"When you first loved me; for you did love me. I understood that well enough. There is no young man

who in early life does not read with sufficient clearness that sweetest morsel of poetry. And when you

quarrelled with me, judging somewhat harshly of my offences, I understood that also; for it is the custom of

women to be hard in their judgment on such sins. When I heard that you had accepted the offer made to you

by that gentleman in Cambridgeshire, I thought that I understood you still, knowing how natural it was

that you should seek some cure for your wound. I understood it, and accused myself, not you, in that I had

driven you to so fatal a remedy." Here Alice turned round towards him sharply, as though she were going to

interrupt him, but she said nothing, though he paused for her to speak; and then he went on. "And I

understood it well when I heard that this cure had been too much for you. By heavens, yes ! there was no

misunderstanding that. I meant no insult to the man when I upset his little toy just now. I have not a word to

say against him. For many women he would make a model husband, but you are not one of them. And when

you discovered this yourself, as you did, I understood that without difficulty. Yes, by heavens! if ever woman

had been driven to a mistake, you had been driven to one there." Here she lookcd at him again, and met his

eyes. She looked at him with something of his own fierceness in her face, as though she were preparing

herself to fight with him; but she said nothing at the moment, and then he again went on. "And, Alice, I

understood it also when you again consented to be my wife. I thought that I still understood you then. I may

have been vain to think so, but surely it was natural. I believed that the old love had come back upon you, and

again warmed your heart. I thought that it had been cold during our separation, and I was pleased to think so.

Was that unnatural? Put yourself in my place, and say if you would not have thought so. I told myself that I

understood you then, and I told myself that in all that you had done you had acted as a true, and good, and

loving woman. I thought of you much, and I saw that your conduct, as a whole, was intelligible and

becoming." The last word grated on Alice's ears, and she showed her anger by the motion of her foot upon

the floor. Her cousin noted it all, but went on as though he had not noted it. "But now your present behaviour

makes all the rest a riddle. You have said that you would be my wife, declaring thereby that you had forgiven

my offences, and, as I suppose, reassuring me of your love; and yet you receive me with all imaginable

coldness. What am I to think of it, and in what way would you have me behave to you? When last I was here

I asked you for a kiss." As he said this he looked at her with all his eyes, with his mouth just open, so as to

show the edges of his white teeth, with the wound down his face all wide and purple. The last word came

with a stigmatizillg hiss from his lips. Though she did not essay to speak, he paused again, as if he were

desirous that she might realize the full purport of such a request. I think that, in thc energy of his speaking, a

touch of true passion had come upon him; that he had forgotten his rascaldom, and his need of her money,

and that he was punishing her with his whole power of his vengeance for the treatment which he had received

from her. "I asked you for a kiss. If you are to be my wife you can have no shame in granting me such a

reguest. Within the last two months you have told me that you would marry me. What am I to think of such a

promise if you deny me all customary signs of your affection?" Then he paused again, and she found that the

"Come, Alice, do not be untrue; you do know what answer I want, and you know also whether my wanting it

"You do know what it is that I desire. I desire to learn that the woman who is to be my wife, in truth, loves

She was standing up, and so was he also, but still she said nothing. He had in his hand the little rule which

she had told him that he might take, but he held it as though in doubt what he would do with it. "Well, Alice,

"Have I not cause to be angry? Do you not know that you are treating me badly?" "I know that my head

"There, then, is your gift," said he, and he threw the rule over on to the sofa behind her. "And there is the

trumpery trinket which I had hoped you would have worn for my sake." Whereupon something which he had

taken from his waistcoatpocket was thrown violently into the fender, beneath the firegrate. He then walked

with quick steps to the door; but when his hand was on the handle, he turned. "Alice," he said, when I am

gone, try to think honestly of your conduct to me." Then he went, and she remained still, till she heard the

When she was sure that he was gone, her first movement was made in search of the trinket. I fear that this

was not dignified on her part; but I think that it was natural. It was not that she had any desire for the jewel,

or any curiosity even to see it. She would very much have preferred that he should have brought nothing of

the kind to her. But she had a feminine reluctance that anything of value should be destroyed without a

purpose. So she took thc shovel, and poked among the ashes, and found the ring which her cousin had thrown

there. It was a valuable ring, bearing a ruby on it between two small diamonds. Such at least, she became

aware, had been its bearing; but one of the side stones had been knocked out by the violence with which the

ring had been flung. She searched even for this, scorching her face and eyes, but in vain. Then she made up

her mind that the diamond should be lost for evcr, and that it should go out among the cinders into the huge

dustheaps of the metropolis. Better that, though it was distasteful to her feminine economy, than the other

alternative of setting the servants to search, and thereby telling them something of what had been done.

When her search was over, she placed the ring on the mantelpiece; but she knew that it would not do to leave

it there, so she folded it up carefully in a new sheet of notepaner, and put it in the drawer of her desk.

After that she sat herself down at the table to think what she would do; but her head was, in truth, racked with

When Mrs Greenow was left alone in her lodgings, after the little entertainment which she had given to her

two lovers, she sat herself down to think seriously over her affairs. There were three paths open before her.

She might take Mr Cheesacre, or she might take Captain Bellfield or she might decide that she would

have nothing more to say to either of them in the way of courting. They were very persistent, no doubt; but

she thought that she would know how to make them understand her, if she should really make up her mind

that she would have neither one nor the other. She was going to leave Norwich after Easter, and they knew

that such was her purpose. Something had been said of her returning to Yarmouth in the summer. She was a

just woman at heart, and justice required that each of them should know what was to be his prospect if she

There was a good deal to be said on Mr Cheesacre's behalf. Mahoganyfurnitured bedrooms assist one's

comfort in this life; and heaps of manure, though they are not brilliant in romance, are very efficacious in

farming. Mrs Greenow by no means despised these things; and as for the owner of them, though she saw that

there was much amiss in his character, she thought that his little foibles were of such a nature that she, as his

wife, or any other woman of spirit, might be able to repress them, if not to cure them. But she had already

married for money once, as she told herself very plainly on this occasion, and she thought that she might now

venture on a little love. Her marriage for money had been altogether successful. The nursing of old Greenow

had not been very disagreeable to her, nor had it taken longer than she had anticipated. She had now got all

the reward that she had ever promised herself, and she really did feel grateful to his memory. I almost think

that among those plentiful tears some few drops belonged to sincerity. She was essentially a happytempered

woman, blessed with a good digestion, who looked back upon her past life with contentment, and forward to

her future life with confidence. She would not be greedy, she said to herself. She did not want more money,

and therefore she would have none of Mr Cheesacre. So far she resolved resolving also that, if possible,

the mahoganyfurnitured bedrooms should be kept in the family, and made over to her niece, Kate Vavasor.

But should she marry for love; and if so, should Captain Bellfield be the man? Strange to say, his poverty and

his scampishness and his lies almost recommended him to her. At any rate, it was not of those things that she

was afraid. She had a woman's true belief in her own power, and thought that she could cure them as far

as they needed cure. As for his stories about Inkerman, and his little debts, she cared nothing about that. She

also had her Inkermans, and was quite aware that she made as good use of them as the Captain did of his.

And as for the debts what was a man to do who hadn't got any money? She also had owed for her gloves

and corsets in the anteGreenow days of her adventures. But there was this danger that there might be

more behind of which she had never heard. Another Mrs Bellfield was not impossible; and what, if instead of

being a real captain at all, he should be a returned ticketofleave man! Such things had happened. Her chief

security was in this that Cheesacre had known the man for many years, and would certainly have told

anything against him that he did know. Under all these circumstances, she could not quite make up her mind

either for or against Captain Bellfield. Between nine and ten in the evening, an hour or so after Mr Cheesacre

had left her, Jeannette brought to her some arrowroot with a little sherry in it. She usually dined early, and it

"Jeannette," she said, as she stirred the lumps of white sugar in the bowl, "I'm afraid those two gentlemen

Jeannette, on these occasions, was in the habit of standing beside the chair of her mistress, and chatting with

her; and then, if the chatting was much prolonged, she would gradually sink down upon the corner of a chair

herself and then the two women would be very comfortable together over the fire, Jeannette never

forgetting that she was the servant, and Mrs Greenow never forgetting that she was the mistress.

"And why should they quarrel, Jeannette? It's very foolish." "I don't know about being foolish, ma'am; but it's

the most natural thing in life. If I had two beaux as was acourting me together, in course I should expect as

they would punch each other's heads. There's some girls do it a purpose, because they like to see it. One at a

"Well, ma'am yes; I am young, no doubt. But I won't say but what I've had a beau, young as I look."

"I don't know, ma'am, as you wants 'em exactly. That's as may be. There they are; and if they was to blow

each other's brains out in the gig tonight, I shouldn't be a bit surprised for one. There's nothing won't quiet

them at Oileymead tonight, if brandy and water don't do it." As she said this, Jeannette slipped into her chair,

"Why, you silly child, they're not going home together at all. Did not the Captain go away first?"

"The Captain did go away first, certainly; but I thought perhaps it was to get his pistols and fighting things

"Have they, ma'am? That makes it much easier for ladies, no doubt. Perhaps them peaceable ways will come

down to such as us in time. It'd be a comfort, I know, to them as are quiet given, like me. I hate to see men

knocking each other's heads about I do. So Mr Cheesacre and the Captain won't fight, ma'am?"

"Dear, dear; I was so sure we should have had the papers all full of it and perhaps one of them stretched

upon his bloody bier! I wonder which it would have been? I always made up my mind that the Captain

wouldn't be wounded in any of his wital partsunless it was his heart, you know, ma'am."

"Well, ma'am, I don't know about that. What else is they to do? There's some things as you can cry halves

"Jeannette, I wonder how you can say such things; as if I, in my position, had ever said a word to encourage

either of them. You know it's not true, Jeannette, and you shouldn't say so." Whereupon Mrs Greenow put her

handkerchief to her eyes, and Jeannette, probably in token of contrition, put her apron to hers.

"To be sure, ma'am, no lady could have behaved better through it than you have done, and goodness knows

"And if gentlemen will make fools of themselves, it isn't your fault; is it, ma'am?"

"But I'm so sorry that they should have quarrelled. They were such dear friends, you know quite all in all

"When you've settled which it's to be, ma'am, that'll all come right again seeing that gentlefolks like them

have given up fighting, as you say." Then there was a little pause. "I suppose, ma'am, it won't be Mr

"What's all that to me, Jeannette? I shall ever regard Mr Cheesacre as a dear friend who has been very good to

"Then it'll be the Captain, ma'am? I'm sure, for my part, I've always thought the Captain was the nicer

"And as for money what's the good of having more than enough? If he can bring love, you can bring

"Well, I'm sure! What's the world come to, I wonder, when you sit yourself down there, and crossexamine

"I hope I haven't said anything amiss, ma'am;" and Jeannette rose from her seat.

"It's my fault for encouraging you," said Mrs Greenow. "Go downstairs and finish your work, do; and then

take yourself off to bed. Next week we shall have to be packing up, and there'll be all my things to see to

before that." So Jeannette got up and departed, and after some few further thoughts about Captain Bellfield,

Mr Cheesacre, when he drove back to Oileymead alone from Norwich, after dining with Mrs Greenow, had

kept himself hot, and almost comfortable, with passion against Bellfield; and his heat, ifnot his comfort, had

been sustained by his seeing the Captain, with his portmanteau, escaping just as he reached his own

homestead. But early on the following morning his mind reverted to Mrs Greenow, and he remembered, with

anything but satisfaction, some of the hard things which she had said to him. He had made mistakes in his

manner of wooing. He was quite aware of that now, and was determined that they should be rectified for the

future. She had rebuked him for having said nothing about his love. He would instantly mend that fault. And

she had bidden him not to be so communicative about his wealth. Henceforth he would be dumb on that

subject. Nevertheless, he could not but think that the knowledge of his circumstances which the lady already

possessed, must be of service to him. "She can't really like a poor beggarly wretch who hasn't got a shilling,"

he said to himself. He was very far from feeling that the battle was already lost. Her last word to him had

been an assurance of her friendship; and then why should she have been at so much trouble to tell him the

way in which he ought to address her if she were herself indifferent as to his addresses? He was, no doubt,

becoming tired of his courtship, and heartily wished that the work were over; but he was not minded to give it

up. He therefore prepared himself for another attack, and took himself into Norwich without seeking counsel

from any one. He could not trust himself to think that she could really wish to refuse him after all the

encouragement she had given him. On this occasion he put on no pink shirt or shiny boots, being deterred

from doing so by a remembrance of Captain Bellfield's ridicule; but, nevertheless, he dressed himself with

considerable care. He clothed his nether person in knickerbockers, with tight, leathern, brightcoloured

gaiters round his legs, being conscious of certain manly graces and symmetrical proportions which might, as

he thought, stand him in good stead. And he put on a new shootingcoat, the buttons on which were

elaborate, and a wonderful waistcoat worked over with foxes' heads. He completed his toilet with a round,

lowcrowned hat, with dog'sskin gloves, and a cutting whip. Thus armed he went forth resolved to conquer

or to die as far as death might result from any wound which Mrs Greenow might be able to give him. He

waited, on this occasion, for the coming of no marketday; indeed, the journey into the city was altogether

special, and he was desirous that she should know that such was the case. He drove at a great pace into the

innyard, threw his reins to the ostler, took just one glass of cherrybrandy at the bar, and then marched off

across the marketplace to the Close, with quiet and decisive steps. "Is that you, Cheesacre?" said a friendly

voice, in one of the narrow streets. "Who expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday!" It was Grimsby,

the son of old Grimsby of Hatherwich, a country gentleman, and one, therefore, to whom Cheesacre would

generally pay much respect; but on this occasion he did not even pull up for an instant, or moderate his pace.

"A little bit of private business," he said, and marched onwards with his head towards the Close. "I'm not

going to be afraid of a woman not if I know it," he said to himself; but, nevertheless, at a certain

pastrycook's, of whose shop he had knowledge, he pulled up and had another glass of cherrybrandy.

"Mrs Greenow is at home," he said to Jeannette, not deigning to ask any question.

"Oh, yes, sir; she is at home," said Jeannette, conscious that some occasion had arrived; and in another

"Mr Cheesscre, whoever expected to see you in Norwich on a Thursday?" said the lady, as she welcomed

him, using almost the same words as his friend had done in the street. Why should not he come into Norwich

on a Thursday, as well as any one else? Did they suppose that he was tied for ever to his ploughs and carts?

He was minded to conduct himself with a little spirit on this occasion, and to improve the opinion which Mrs

"There's no knowing when I may be in Norwich, Mrs Greenow, or when I mayn't. I'm one of those men of

whom nobody knows anything certain, except that I pay as I go." Then he remembered that he was not to

make any more boasts about his money, and he endeavoured to cover the error. "There's one other thing they

"Well thank you I will sit down for a few minutes if you'll let me, Mrs Greenow. Mrs Greenow, I'm in

such a state of mind that I must put an end to it, or else I shall be going mad, and doing somebody a damage."

"Dear me! what has happened to you? You're going out shooting, presently; are you not?" and Mrs Greenow

"No, Mrs Greenow, I'm not going out shooting. I put on these things because I thought I might take a shot as I

came along. ButI couldn't bring myself to do it, and then I wouldn't take them off again. What does it matter

"Oh, dear, yes. More than that, I should say. I consider you to be rather gay in your attire."

"I don't pretend to anything of that kind, Mrs Greenow. I like to be nice, and all that kind of thing. There are

people who think that because a man farms his own land, he must be always in the muck. It is the case, of

course, with those who have to make their rent and living out of it." Then he remembered that he was again

treading on forbidden ground, and stopped himself. "But it don't matter what a man wears if his heart isn't

"I don't know why you should speak in that way, Mr Cheesacre; but it's what I have felt every hour since

Mr Cheesacre was rather at a loss to know how he should begin. This allusion to the departed one did not at

all assist him, He had so often told the widow that care killed a cat, and that a live dog was better than a dead

lion; and had found so little efficacy in the proverbs, that he did not care to revert to them. He was aware that

some more decided method of proceeding was now required. Little hints at lovemaking had been all very

well in the earlier days of their acquaintance; but there must be something more than little hints before he

could hope to bring the matter to a favourable conclusion. The widow herself had told him that he ought to

talk about love; and he had taken two glasses of cherrybrandy, hoping that they might enable him to do so.

He had put on a coat with brilliant buttons, and new knickerbockers, in order that he might be master of the

occasion. He was resolved to call a spade a spade, and to speak boldly of his passion; but how was he to

begin? There was the difficulty. He was now seated in a chair, and there he remained silent for a minute or

two, while she smoothed her eyebrows with her handkerchief after her last slight ebullition of grief.

"Mrs Greenow," he exclaimed at last, jumping up before her; "dearest Mrs Greenow; darling Mrs Greenow,

will you be my wife? There! I have said it at last, and I mean it. Everything that I've got shall be yours. Of

course I speak specially of my hand and heart. As for love oh, Arabella, if you only knew me! I don't

think there's a man in Norfolk better able to love a woman than I am. Ever since I first saw you at Yarmouth,

I've been in love to that extent that I've not known what I've been about. If you'll ask them at home, they'll tell

you that I've not been able to look after anything about the place not as it should be done. I haven't really.

"Upon my word, it has. I can't move about anywhere without thinking about you. My mind's made up; I won't

"No, indeed. I'll let the place, and go and travel somewheres. What's the use of my hanging on there without

the woman of my heart? I couldn't do it, Mrs Greenow; I couldn't, indeed. Of course I've got everything there

that money can buy but it's all of no use to a man that's in love. Do you know, I've come quite to despise

money and stock, and all that sort of thing. I haven't had my banker's book home these last three months.

"Just say one word, and the thing'll be done. Say you'll be my wife? I'll be so good to you. I will, indeed. As

for your fortune, I don't care that for it! I'm not like somebody else; it's yourself I want. You shall be my pet,

"And why not? Look here, Arabella!" At these words he rose from his chair, and coming immediately before

her, went down on both knees so close to her as to prevent the possibility of her escaping from him. There

could be no doubt as to the efficacy of the cherrybrandy. There he was, well down on his knees; but he had

not got down so low without some little cracking and straining on the part of the gaiters with which his legs

were encompassed. He, in his passion, had probably omitted to notice this; but Mrs Greenow, who was more

cool in her present temperament, was painfully aware that he might not be able to rise with ease.

"Then you'll remain there for ever, which will be inconvenient. I won't have you take hold of my hand, Mr

Cheesacre. I tell you to have done." Whereupon his grasp upon her hand was released; but he made no

"I never saw a man look so much like a fool in my life," said she. "If you don't get up, I'll push you over.

There; don't you hear? There's somebody coming." But Cheesacre, whose senses were less acute than the

"Bid you play the fiddle. Get away from my knees, at any rate. There he'll be in the room now before "

Cheesacre now did hear a sound of steps, and the door was opened while he made his first futile attempt to

get back to a standing position. The door was opened, and Captain Bellfield entered. "I beg ten thousand

pardons," said he; "but as I did not see Jeannette, I ventured to come in. May I venture to congratulate my

In the meantime Cheesacre had risen; but he had done so slowly, and with evident difficulty. "I'll trouble you

to leave the room, Captain Bellfield," said he. "I'm particularly engaged with Mrs Greenow, as any gentleman

"There wasn't the slightest difficulty in seeing it, old fellow," said the Captain. "Shall I wish you joy?

Then Mrs Greenow felt herself called upon to speak. "Gentlemen, I must beg that you will not make my

drawingroom a place for quarrelling. Captain Bellfield, lest there should be any misconception, I must beg

you to understand that the position in which you found Mr Cheesacre was one altogether of his own seeking.

"Gentlemen! gentlemen! this is really unkind. Captain Bellfield, I think I had better ask you to withdraw."

"As it is absolutely necessary that I should give Mr Cheesacre a definite answer after what has occurred "

"Of course," said Captain Bellfield, preparing to go. "I'll take another opportunity of paying my respects to

To this Mrs Greenow half assented with an uncertain nod, and then the Captain went. As soon as the door

was closed behind his back, Mr Cheesacre again prepared to throw himself into his former position, but to

this Mrs Greenow decidedly objected. If he were allowed to go down again, there was no knowing what force

might be necessary to raise him. "Mr Cheesacre," she said, "let there be an end to this little farce between us."

"Farce!" said he, standing with his hand on his heart, and his legs and knickerbockers well displayed.

"It is certainly either a farce or a mistake. If the latter and I have been at all to blame I ask your pardon

"No, Mr Cheesacre; no. One husband is enough for any woman, and mine lies buried at Birmingham."

"Oh, damn it!" said he, in utter disgust at this further reference to Mr Greenow. The expression, at such a

moment, militated against courtesy; but even Mrs Greenow herself felt that the poor man had been subjected

But he turned his back upon her, for there was a something in his eye that he wanted to hide. I believe that he

really did love her, and that at this moment he would have taken her, even though he had learned that her

fortune was gone. "Will you not give me your hand," said she, "in token that there is no anger between us?"

"Do think about it again do!" said he. If there's anything you like to have changed, I'll change it at once.

I'll give up Oileymead altogether, if you don't like being so near the farmyard. I'll give up anything; so I will.

Mrs Greenow, if you only knew how I've set my heart upon it!" And now, though his back was turned, the

She was a little touched. No woman would feel disposed to marry a man simply because he cried, and

perhaps few women would be less likely to give way to such tenderness than Mrs Greenow. She understood

men and women too well, and had seen too much both of the world's rough side and of its smooth side to fall

into such a blunder as that; but she was touched. "My friend," she said, putting her hand upon his arm, "think

"But I can't help thinking of it," said he, almost blubbering in his earnestness.

"No, no, no," said she, still touching him with her hand. "Why, Mr Cheesacre, how can you bring yourself to

care for an old woman like me, when so many pretty young ladies would give their eyes to get a kind word

"I don't want any young lady," said he. "There's Charlie Fairstairs, who would make as good a wife as any

"Psha! Charlie Fairstairs, indeed!" The very idea of having such a bride palmed off upon him did something

"Or my niece, Kate Vavasor, who has a nice little fortune of her own, and who is as accomplished as she is

"That's because you never asked her to be anything. If I get her to come back to Yarmouth next summer, will

you think about it? You want a wife, and you couldn't do better if you searched all England over. It would be

so pleasant for us to be such near friends; wouldn't it?" And again she put her hand upon his arm.

"Mrs Greenow, just at present there's only one woman in the world that I can think of."

"And that's yourself. I'm a brokenhearted man I am, indeed. I didn't ever think I should feel so much

about a thing of the kind I didn't, really. I hardly know what to do with myself; but I suppose I'd better go

back to Oileymead." He had become so painfully unconscious of his new coat and his knickerbockers that it

was impossible not to pity him. "I shall always hate the place now," he said "always.

"That will pass away. You'd be as happy as a king there, if you'd take Kate for your queen."

"That is, if you marry Kate? Why, I'll come and stay with you half my time, and nurse the children, as an old

"Come, Mr Cheesacre, that's rank jealousy. What right can you have to ask me whether I shall take any man

or no man? The chances are that I shall remain as I am till I'm carried to my grave; but I'm not going to give

"You don't know that man, Mrs Greenow; you don't, indeed. I tell it you as your friend. Does not it stand to

reason, when he has got nothing in the world, that he must be a beggar? It's all very well saying that when a

man is courting a lady, he shouldn't say much about his money; but you won't make me believe that anyman

will make a good husband who hasn't got a shilling. And for lies, there's no beating him!"

"Well, because I've been foolish. I took up with him just because he looked pleasant, I suppose."

"If you were to marry him, Mrs Greenow, it's my belief I should do him a mischief; it is, really. I don't think I

"Friends, indeed! Well, I won't say any more at present. I suppose if I was to talk for ever it wouldn't be any

To this he made no reply, but went forth from the house, and got his gig, and drove himself home to

Oileymead, thinking of his disappointment with all the bitterness of a young lover. "I didn't ever think I

should ever care so much about anything," he said, as he took himself up to bed that night.

That evening Captain Bellfield did call in the Close, as he had said he would do, but he was not admitted.

Early in April, the Easter recess being all over, Lady Monk gave a grand party in London. Lady Monk's town

house was in Gloucester Square. It was a large mansion, and Lady Monk's parties in London were known to

be very great affairs. She usually gave two or three in the season, and spent a large portion of her time and

energy in so arranging matters that her parties should be successful. As this was her special line in life, a

failure would have been very distressing to her and we may also say very disgraceful, taking into

consideration, as we should do in forming our judgment on the subject, the very large sums of Sir Cosmo's

money which she spent in this way. But she seldom did fail. She knew how to select her days, so as not to fall

foul of other events. It seldom happened that people could not come to her because of a division which

occupied all the Members of Parliament, or that they were drawn away by the superior magnitude of some

other attraction in the world of fashion. This giving of parties was her business, and she had learned it

thoroughly. She worked at it harder than most men work at their trades, and let us hope that the profits were

It was generally acknowledged to be the proper thing to go to Lady Monk's parties. There were certain people

who were asked, and who went as a matter of course people who were by no means on intimate terms

with Lady Monk, or with Sir Cosmo; but they were people to have whom was the proper thing, and they were

people who understood that to go to Lady Monk's was the proper thing for them. The Duchess of St Bungay

was always there, though she hated Lady Monk, and Lady Monk always abused her; but a card was sent to

the Duchess in the same way as the Lord Mayor invites a Cabinet Minister to dinner, even though the one

man might believe the other to lie a thief. And Mrs Conway Sparkes was generally there; she went

everywhere. Lady Monk did not at all know why Mrs Conway Sparkes was so favoured by the world;but

there was the fact, and she bowed to it. Then there were another set, the members of which were or were not

invited, according to circumstances, at the time; and these were the people who were probably the most

legitimate recipients of Lady Monk's hospitality. Old family friends of her husband were among the number.

Let the Tuftons come in April, and perhaps again in May; then they will not feel their exclusion from that

seventh heaven of glory the great culminating crush in July. Scores of young ladies who really loved

parties belonged to this set. Their mothers and aunts knew Lady Monk's sisters and cousins. They accepted so

much of Lady Monk's good things as she vouchsafed them, and were thankful. Then there was another lot,

which generally became, especially on that great July occasion, the most numerous of the three. It comprised

all those who made strong interest to obtain admittance within her ladyship's house who struggled and

fought almost with tooth and nail to get invitations. Against these people Lady Monk carried on an

internecine war. Had she not done so she would have been swamped by them, and her success would have

been at an end; but yet she never dreamed of shutting her doors against them altogether, or of saying boldly

that none such should hamper her staircases. She knew that she must yield, but her effort was made to yield

to as few as might be possible. When she was first told by her factotum in these operations that Mr Bott

wanted to come, she positively declined to have him. When it was afterwards intimated to her that the

Duchess of St Bungay had made a point of it, she sneered at the Duchess, and did not even then yield. But

when at last it was brought home to her understanding that Mr Palliser wished it, and that Mr Palliser

probably would not come himself unless his wishes were gratified, she gave way. She was especially anxious

that Lady Glencora should come to her gathering, and she knew that Lady Glencora could not be had without

It was very much desired by her that Lady Glencora should be there. "Burgo," said she to her nephew, one

morning, look here." Burgo was at the time staying with his aunt, in Gloucester Square, much to the

annoyance of Sir Cosmo, who had become heartily tired of his nephew. The aunt and the nephew had been

closeted together more than once lately, and perhaps they understood each other better now than they had

done down at Monkshade. The aunt had handed a little note to Burgo, which he read and then threw back to

"I suppose she doesn't think much about it," said Burgo. "If that's what you really believe, you'd better give it

up. Nothing on earth would justify such a step on your part except a thorough conviction that she is attached

Burgo looked at the fireplace, almost savagely, and his aunt looked at him very keenly. "Well," she said, if

"Burgo, I will not have you here if you talk to me in that way. I am trying to help you once again; but if you

"Are you becoming cowardly at last? With all your faults I never expected that of you."

"No; I am not a coward. I'd go out and fight him at two paces' distance with the greatest pleasure in the

"You know that's nonsense, Burgo. It's downright braggadocio. Men do not fight now; nor at any time would

a man be called upon to fight, because you simply wanted to take his wife from him. If you had done it,

"How am I to do it? I'd do it tomorrow if it depended on me. No one can say that I'm afraid of anybody or of

"Look here, Burgo," and the considerate aunt gave to the impoverished and ruined nephew such counsel as

she, in accordance with her lights, was enabled to bestow. "I think you were much wronged in that matter.

After what had passed I thought that you had a right to claim Lady Glencora as your wife. Mr Palliser, in my

mind, behaved very wrongly in stepping in between you and you and such a fortune as hers, in that way.

He cannot expect that his wife should have any affection for him. There is nobody alive who has a greater

horror of anything improper in married women than I have. I have always shown it. When Lady Madeline

Madtop left her husband, I would never allow her to come inside my doors again though I have no doubt

he illused her dreadfully, and there was nothing ever proved between her and Colonel Graham. One can't be

too particular in such matters. But here, if you if you can succeed, you know, I shall always regard the

Palliser episode in Lady Glencora's life as a tragical accident. I shall, indeed. Poor dear! It was done exactly

as they make nuns of girls in Roman Catholic countries; and as I should think no harm of helping a nun out of

her convent, so I should think no harm of helping her now. If you are to say anything to her, I think you

Burgo was still looking at the fireplace; and he sat on, looking and still looking, but he said nothing.

"You can think of what I have said, Burgo," continued his aunt, meaning that he should get up and go. But he

Lady Glencora's property was worth not less than fifty thousand a year. He was a young man ambitious of

obtaining that almost incredible amount of wealth, and who once had nearly reached it, by means of her love.

His present obstacle consisted in his want of a twentypound note! "I've got no money." The words were

growled out rather than spoken, and his eyes were never turned even for a moment towards his aunt's face.

"How can I help it? I can't make money. If I had a couple of hundred pounds, so that I could take her, I

believe that she would go with me. It should not be my fault if she did not. It would have been all right if she

"Would Cosmo lend it me?" said he, hesitating to go on with that suggestion which he had been about to

make. The Cosmo of whom he spoke was not his uncle, but his cousin. No eloquence could have induced his

uncle, Sir Cosmo, to lend him another shilling. But the son of the house was a man rich with his own wealth,

"It is hard," said Burgo. Fancy that a man should be ruined for two hundred pounds, just at such a moment of

his life as this!" He was a man bold by nature, and he did make his proposition. "You have jewels, aunt

could you not raise it for me? I would redeem them with the very first money that I got."

Lady Monk rose in a passion when the suggestion was first made, but before the interview was over she had

promised that she would endeavour to do something in the way of raising money for him yet once again. He

was her favourite nephew, and the same almostto her as a child of her own. With one of her own children

indeed she had quarrelled, and of the other, a married daughter, she rarely saw much. Such love as she had to

give she gave to Burgo, and she promised him the money though she knew that she must raise it by some

On the same morning Lady Glencora went to Queen Anne Street with the purpose of inducing Alice to go to

Lady Monk's party; but Alice would not accede to the proposition, though Lady Glencora pressed it with all

"My dear," said Lady Glencora, that's absurd. Half the people there won't know her."

"But they know her set, or know her friends or, at any rate, will meet their own friends at her house. I

"The fact is, everybody will go who can, and I should have no sort of trouble in getting a card for you. Indeed

"Pray don't do any such thing, for I certainly shall not go. I can't conceive why you should wish it."

"Mr Fitzgerald will be there," said Lady Glencora, altering her voice altogether, and speaking in that low tone

with which she used to win Alice's heart down at Matching. She was sitting close over the fire, leaning low,

holding up her little hands as a screen to her face, and looking at her companion earnestly. "I'm sure that he

"That may be a reason for your staying away," said Alice, slowly, "but hardly a reason for my going with

Lady Glencora would not condescend to tell her friend in so many words that she wanted her protection. She

could not bring herself to say that, though she wished it to be understood. "Ah! I thought you would have

"It would lie contrary to all my habits," said Alice. "I never go to people's houses when I don't know them.

"Oh! very well. If it must be so, I won't press it." Lady Glencora had moved the position of one of her hands

so as to get it to her pocket, and there had grasped a letter, which she still carried; but when Alice said those

last cold words, "Pray do not ask me," she released the grasp, and left the letter where it was. "I suppose he

won't bite me, at any rate," she said, and she assumed that look of childish drollery which she would

sometimes put on, almost with a grimace, but still with so much prettiness that no one who saw her would

"Do you know, Alice, though they all say that Plantagenet is one of the wisest men in London, I sometimes

think that he is one of the greatest fools. Soon after we came to town I told him that we had better not go to

that woman's house. Of course he understood me. He simply said that he wished that I should do so. "I hate

anything out of the way," he said. "There can be no reason why my wife should not go to Lady Monk's house

as well as to any other." There was an end of it, you know, as far as anything I could do was concerned. But

there wasn't an end of it with him. He insists that I shall go, but he sends my duenna with me. Dear Mrs

"I'm not so sure of that, Alice. In the first place, one doesn't like to be followed everywhere by a policeman,

even though one isn't going to pick a pocket. And then, the devil is so strong within me, that I should like to

dodge the policeman. I can fancy a woman being driven to do wrong simply by a desire to show her

"Will you go with me, then, so that I may have a policeman of my own choosing? He asked me if I would

mind taking Mrs Marsham with me in my carriage. So I up and spoke, very boldly, like the proud young

porter, and told him I would not; and when he asked why not, I said that I preferred taking a friend of my own

a young friend, I said, and I then named you or my cousin, Lady Jane. I told him I should bring one or the

"No; he took it very quietly saying something, in his calm way, about hoping that I should get over a

prejudice against one of his earliest and dearest friends. He twits at me because I don't understand Parliament

and the British Constitution, but I know more of them than he does about a woman. You are quite sure you

won't go, then?" Alice hesitated a moment. "Do, said Lady Glencora; and there was an amount of persuasion

"It is against the whole tenor of my life's way," she said. "And, Glencora, I am not happy myself. I am not fit

"That's nonsense, you know." "I suppose it is, but I cannot go now. I would if I really thought "

"Oh, very well," said Lady Glencora, interrupting her. "I suppose I shall get through it. If he asks me to

dance, I shall stand up with him, just as though I had never seen him before." Then she remembered the letter

in her pocket remembered that at this moment she bore about with her a written proposition from this man

to go off with him and leave her husband's house. She had intended to show it to Alice on this occasion; but

as Alice had refused her request, she was glad that she had not done so. "You'll come to me the morning

after," said Lady Glencora, as she went. This Alice promised to do; and then she was left alone.

Alice regretted regretted deeply that she had not consented to go with her cousin. After all, of what

importance had been her objection when compared with the cause for which her presence had been desired?

Doubtless she would have been uncomfortable at Lady Monk's house; but could she not have borne some

hour or two of discomfort on her friend's behalf? But, in truth, it was only after Lady Glencora had left her

that she began to understand the subject fully, and to feel that she might possibly have been of service in a

great danger. But it was too late now, Then she strove to comfort herself with the reflection that a casual

meeting at an evening party in London could not be perilous in the same degree as a prolonged sojourn

Lady Monk's use in Gloucester Square was admirably well adapted for the giving of parties. It was a larger

house and seemed to the eyes of guests to be much larger than it was. The hall was spacious, and the stairs

went up in the centre, facing you as you entered the inner hall. Round the top of the stairs there was a broad

gallery, with an ornamented railing, and from this opened the doors into the three receptionrooms. There

were two on the right, the larger of which looked out backwards, and these two were connected by an

archway, as though made for folding doors; but the doors, I believe, never were there. Fronting the top of the

staircase there was a smaller room, looking out backwards, very prettily furnished, and much used by Lady

Monk when alone. It was here that Burgo had held that conference with his aunt of which mention has been

made. Below stairs there was the great diningroom, in which, on these occasions, a huge buffet was erected

for refreshments what I may call a masculine buffet, as it was attended by butlers and men in livery

and there was a smaller room looking out into the square, in which there was a feminine buttery for the

dispensing of tea and such like smaller good things, and from which female aid could be attained for the

arrangement or mending of dresses in a further sanctum within it. For such purposes as that now on foot the

house was most commodious. Lady Monk, on these occasions, was moved by a noble ambition to do

something different from that done by her neighbours in similar circumstances, and therefore she never came

forward to receive her guests. She ensconced herself, early in the evening, in that room at the head of the

stairs, and there they who chose to see her made their way up to her, and spoke their little speeches. They

who thought her to be a great woman and many people did think her to be great were wont to declare

that she never forgot those who did come, or those who did not. And even they who desired to describe her as

little for even Lady Monk had enemies would hint that though she never came out of the room, she

would rise from her chair and make a step towards the door whenever any name very high in fashionable life

greeted her ears. So that a mighty Cabinet Minister, or a duchess in great repute, or any special wonder of the

season, could not fail of entering her precincts and being seen there for a few moments. It would, of course,

happen that the doorway of her chamber would become blocked; but there were precautions taken to avoid

this inconvenience as far as possible, and one man in livery was employed to go backwards and forwards

between his mistress and the outer world, so as to keep the thread of a passage open.

But though Lady Monk was in this way enabled to rest herself during her labours, there was much in her

night's work which was not altogether exhilarating. Ladies would come into her small room and sit there by

the hour, with whom she had not the slightest wish to hold conversation. The Duchess of St Bungay would

always be there so that there was a special seat in one corner of the room which was called the Duchess'

stool. "I shouldn't care a straw about her", Lady Monk had been heard to complain, "if she would talk to

There had been another word or two between Burgo Fitzgerald and his aunt before the evening came, a word

or two in the speaking of which she had found some difficulty. She was prepared with the money with

that two hundred pounds for which he had asked obtained with what wiles, and lies, and baseness of

subterfuge I need not stop here to describe. But she was by no means willing to give this over into her

nephew's hands without security. She was willing to advance him this money; she had been willing even to

go through unusual dirt to get it for him; but she was desirous that he should have it only for a certain

purpose. How could she bind him down to spend it as she would have it spent? Could she undertake to hand

it to him as soon as Lady Glencora should be in his power? Even though she could have brought herself to

say as much and I think she might almost have done so after what she had said she could not have

carried out such a plan. In that case the want would be instant, and the action must be rapid. She therefore had

no alternative but to entrust him with the banknotesat once. "Burgo," she said, if I find that you deceive me

"All right," said Burgo, as he barely counted the money before he thrust it into his breast pocket. "It is lent to

you for a certain purpose, should you happen to want it," she said, solemnly. "I do happen to want it very

much," he answered. She did not dare to say more; but as her nephew turned away from her with a step that

was quite light in its gaiety, she almost felt that she was already cozened. Let Burgo's troubles be as heavy as

they might be, there was something to him ecstatic in the touch of ready money which always cured them for

the moment. On the morning of Lady Monk's party a few very uncomfortable words passed between Mr

"Impossible, Plantagenet. I thought I had told you that I had promised my cousin Jane."

There was something in this a tone of loudness, a touch of what he called to himself vulgarity which

made him very angry. So he turned away from her, and looked as black as a thundercloud.

"You must know, Plantagenet," she went on, that it is impossible for three women dressed to go out in one

carriage. I am sure you wouldn't like to see me afterwards if I had been one of them."

"You need not have said anything to Lady Jane when Miss Vavasor refused. I had asked you before that."

"And I had told you that I liked going with young women, and not with old ones. That's the long and the short

"What! not the long and the short? It's good English. Quite as good as Mr Bott's, when he said in the House

the other night that the Government kept their accounts in a higgledypiggledy way. You see, I have been

"I am not angry with you. You speak like a child to say so. Then, I suppose, the carriage must go for Mrs

Marsham after it has taken you?" "It shall go before. Jane will not be in a hurry, and I am sure I shall not."

"She will think you very uncivil; that is all. I told her that she could go with you when I heard that Miss

"Then, Plantagenet, you shouldn't have told her so, and that's the long ; but I mustn't say that. The truth is

this, if you give me any orders I'll obey them as far as I can. If I can't I'll say so. But if I'm left to go by my

"Then, if it's only what she thinks, I don't care two straws about it. She may have the carriage to herself if she

likes, but she shan't have me in it not unless I'm ordered to go. I don't like her, and I won't pretend to like

her. My belief is that she follows me about to tell you if she thinks that I do wrong."

"And that odious baboon with the red bristles does the same thing, only he goes to her because he doesn't

dare to go to you: Plantagenet Palliser was struck wild with dismay. He understood well who it was whom his

wife intended to describe; but that she should have spoken of any man as a baboon with red bristles, was

terrible to his mind! He was beginning to think that he hardly knew how to manage his wife. And the picture

she had drawn was very distressing to him. She had no mother; neither had he; and he had wished that Mrs

Marsham should give to her some of that matronly assistance and guidance which a mother does give to her

young married daughter. It was true, too, as he knew, that a word or two as to some socially domestic matters

had filtered through to him from Mr Bott, down at Matching Priory, but only in such a way as to enable him

to see what counsel it was needful that he should give. As for espionage over his wife no man could

despise it more than he did! No man would be less willing to resort to it! And now his wife was accusing him

"Well, my dear, it's better you should know at once what I feel about it. I don't suppose I'm very good; indeed

I dare say I'm bad enough, but these people about me won't make me any better. The duennas don't make the

"Duennas!" After that, Lady Glencora sat herself down, and Mr Palliser stood for some moments looking at

It ended in his making her a long speech, in which he said a good deal of his own justice and forbearance, and

something also of her frivolity and childishness. He told her that his only complaint of her was that she was

too young, and, as he did so, she made a little grimace not to him, but to herself, as though saying to

herself that that was all he knew about it. He did not notice it, or, if he did, his notice did not stop his

eloquence. He assured her that he was far from keeping any watch over her, and declared that she had

altogether mistaken Mrs Marsham's character. Then there was another little grimace. "There's somebody has

mistaken it worse than I have," the grimace said. Of the bristly baboon he condescended to say nothing, and

he wound up by giving her a cold kiss, and saying that he would meet her at Lady Monk's.

When the evening came or rather the night the carriage went first for Mrs Marsham, and having

deposited her at Lady Monk's, went back to Park Lane for Lady Glencora. Then she had herself driven to St

James's Square, to pick up Lady Jane, so that altogether the coachman and horses did not have a good time of

it. "I wish he'd keep a separate carriage for her," Lady Glencora said to her cousin Jane having perceived

that her servants were not in a good humour. "That would be expensive," said Lady Jane. "Yes, it would be

expensive," said Lady Glencora. She would not condescend to make any remark as to the nonimportance of

such expense to a man so wealthy as her husband, knowing that his wealth was, in fact, hers. Never to him or

to any other not even to herself had she hinted that much was due to her because she had been

magnificent as an heiress. There were many things about this woman that were not altogether what a husband

might wish. She was not softly delicate in all her ways; but in disposition and temper she was altogether

generous. I do not know that she was at all points a lady, but had Fate so willed it she would have been a

Mrs Marsham was by no means satisfied with the way in which she was treated. She would not have cared to

go at all to Lady Monk's party had she supposed that she would have to make her entry there alone. With

Lady Glencora she would have seemed to receive some of that homage which would certainly have been paid

to her companion. The carriage called, moreover, before she was fullyready, and the footman, as he stood at

the door to hand her in, had been very sulky. She understood it all. She knew that Lady Glencora had

positively declined her companionship; and if she resolved to be revenged, such resolution on her part was

only natural. When she reached Lady Monk's house, she had to make her way upstairs all alone. The servants

called her Mrs Marsh, and under that name she got passed on into the front drawingroom. There she sat

It was past eleven before Lady Glencora arrived, and Burgo Fitzgerald had begun to think that his evil stars

intended that he should never see her again. He had been wickedly baulked at Monkshade, by what influence

he had never yet ascertained; and now he thought that the same influence must be at work to keep her again

away from his aunt's house. He had settled in his mind no accurate plan of a campaign; he had in his thoughts

no fixed arrangement by which he might do the thing which he meditated. He had attempted to make some

such plan; but, as is the case with all men to whom thinking is an unusual operation, concluded at last that he

had better leave it to the course of events. It was, however, obviously necessary that he should see Lady

Glencora before the course of events could be made to do anything for him. He had written to her, making his

proposition in bold terms, and he felt that if she were utterly decided against him, her anger at his suggestion,

or at least her refusal, would have been made known to him in some way. Silence did not absolutely give

consent, but it seemed to show that consent was not impossible. From ten o'clock to past eleven he stood

about on the staircase of his aunt's house, waiting for the name which he was desirous of hearing, and which

he almost feared to hear. Men spoke to him, and women also, but he hardly answered. His aunt once called

him into her room, and with a cautionary frown on her brow, bade him go and dance. "Don't look so

dreadfully preoccupied," she said to him in a whisper. But he shook his head at her, almost savagely, and

went away, and did not dance. Dance! How was he to dance with such an enterprise as that upon his mind?

Even to Burgo Fitzgerald the task of running away with another man's wife had in it something which

prevented dancing. Lady Monk was older, and was able to regulate her feelings with more exactness. But

Burgo, though he could not dance, went down into the diningroom and drank. He took a large beerglass

full of champagne, and soon after that another. The drink did not flush his cheeks, or make his forehead red,

or bring out the sweatdrops on hisbrow, as it does with some men; but it added a peculiar brightness to his

blue eyes. It was by the light of his eyes that men knew when Burgo had been drinking.

At last, while he was still in the supperroom, he heard Lady Glencora's name announced. He had already

seen Mr Palliser come in and make his way upstairs some quarter of an hour before; but as to that he was

indifferent. He had known that the husband was to be there. When the longexpected name reached his ears,

his heart seemed to jump within him. What, on the spur of the moment, should he do? As he had resolved that

he would be doing that something should be done, let it be what it might he hurried to the

diningroom door, and was just in time to see and be seen as Lady Glencora was passing up the stairs. She

was just above him as he got himself out into the hall, so that he could not absolutely greet her with his hand;

but he looked up at her, and caught her eye. He looked up, and moved his hand to her in token of salutation.

She looked down at him, and the expression of her face altered visibly as her glance met his. She barely

bowed to him with her eyes rather than with her head, but he flattered himself that there was, at any rate,

no anger in her countenance. How beautiful he was as he gazed up at her, leaning against the wall as he

stood, and watching her as she made her slow way up the stairs! She felt that his eyes were on her, and where

the stairs turned she could not restrain herself from one other glance. As her eyes fell on his again, his mouth

opened, and she fancied that she could hear the faint sigh that he uttered. It was a glorious mouth, such as the

old sculptors gave to their marble gods! And Burgo, if it was so that he had not heart enough to love truly,

could look as though he loved. It was not in him deceit or what men call acting. The expression came to

him naturally, though it expressed so much more than there was within; as strong words come to some men

who have no knowledge that they are speaking strongly. At this moment Burgo Fitzgerald looked as though it

Lady Glencora was met at the top of the stairs by Lady Monk, who came out to her, almost into the gallery,

with her sweetest smile so that the newlyarrived guest, of course, entered into the small room. There sat

the Duchess of St Bungay on her stool in the corner, and there, next to the Duchess, but at the moment

engaged in no conversation, stood Mr Bott. There was another lady there, who stood very high in the world,

and whom Lady Monk was very glad to welcome the young Marchioness of Hartletop. She wasin slight

mourning; for her fatherinlaw, the late Marquis, had died not yet quite six months since. Very beautiful she

was, and one whose presence at their houses ladies and gentlemen prized alike. She never said silly things,

like the Duchess, never was troublesome as to people's conduct to her, was always gracious, yet was never

led away into intimacies, was without peer the bestdressed woman in London, and yet gave herself no airs

and then she was so exquisitely beautiful. Her smile was loveliness itself. There were, indeed, people who

said that it meant nothing; but then, what should the smile of a young married woman mean? She had not

been born in the purple, like Lady Glencora, her father being a country clergyman who had never reached a

higher grade than that of an archdeacon; but she knew the ways of high life, and what an exigeant husband

would demand of her, much better than poor Glencora. She would have spoken of no man as a baboon with a

bristly beard. She never talked of the long and the short of it. She did not wander out o' nights in winter

among the ruins. She made no fast friendship with ladies whom her lord did not like. She had once, indeed,

been approached by a lover since she had been married Mr Palliser himself having been the offender

but she had turned the affair to infinite credit and profit, had gained her husband's closest confidence by

telling him of it all, had yet not brought on any hostile collision, and had even dismissed her lover without

Lady Glencora was no miracle. Though born in the purple, she was made of ordinary flesh and blood, and as

she entered Lady Monk's little room, hardly knew how to recover herself sufficiently for the purposes of

ordinary conversation. "Dear Lady Glencora, do come in for a moment to my den. We were so sorry not to

have you at Monkshade. We heard such terrible things about your health." Lady Glencora said that it was

only a cold a bad cold. "Oh, yes; we heard something about moonlight and ruins. So like you, you

know. I love that sort of thing, above all people; but it doesn't do; does it? Circumstances are so exacting. I

think you know Lady Hartletop and there's the Duchess of St Bungay. Mr Palliser was here five minutes

since." Then Lady Monk was obliged to get to her door again, and Lady Glencora found herself standing

"We saw Mr Palliser just pass through," said Lady Hartletop, who was able to meet and speak of the man

who had dared to approach her with his love, without the slightest nervousness. "Yes; he said he should be

"There's a great crowd," said Lady Hartletop. I didn't think London was so full."

"Very great," said Lady Glencora, and then they had said to each other all that society required. Lady

Glencora, as we know, could talk with imprudent vehemence by the hour together if she liked her companion;

but the other lady seldom committed herself by more words than she had uttered now unless it was to her

"How very well you are looking!" said the Duchess. "And I heard you had been so ill." Of that midnight

escapade among the ruins it was fated that Lady Glencora should never hear the last.

"How d'ye do, Lady Glencowrer?" sounded in her ear, and there was a great red paw stuck out for her to take.

But after what had passed between Lady Glencora and her husband today about Mr Bott; she was determined

"How are you, Mr Bott?" she said. I think I'll look for Mr Palliser in the back room."

"Dear Lady Glencora," whispered the Duchess, in an ecstasy of agony. Lady Glencora turned and bowed her

head to her stout friend. "Do let me go away with you. There's that woman, Mrs Conway Sparkes, coming,

and you know how I hate her." She had nothing to do but to take the Duchess under her wing, and they

passed into the large room together. It is, I think, more than probable that Mrs Conway Sparkes had been

Just within the dancingroom Lady Glencora found her husband, standing in a corner, looking as though he

"I'm going away," said he, coming up to her. I only just came because I said I would. Shall you be late?"

"Don't heat yourself. Goodbye." Then he went, and in the crush of the doorway he passed Burgo Fitzgerald,

whose eye was intently fixed upon his wife. He looked at Burgo, and some thought of that young man's

former hopes flashed across his mind some remembrance, too, of a caution that had been whispered to

him; but for no moment did a suspicion come to him that he ought to stop and watch by his wife.

Burgo Fitzgerald remained for a minute or two leaning where we last saw him against the diningroom

wall at the bottom of the staircase; and as he did so some thoughts that were almost solemn passed across his

mind. This thing that he was about to do, or to attempt was it in itself a good thing, and would it be good

for her whom he pretended to love? What would be her future if she consented now to go with him, and to

divide herself from her husband? Of his own future he thought not at all. He had never done so. Even when

he had first found himself attracted by the reputation of her wealth, he cannot be said to have looked forward

in any prudential way to coming years. His desire to put himself in possession of so magnificent a fortune had

simply prompted him, as he might have been prompted to play for a high stake at a gamingtable. But now,

during these moments, he did think a little of her. Would she be happy, simply because he loved her, when all

women should cease to acknowledge her; when men would regard her as one degraded and dishonoured;

when society should be closed against her; when she would be driven to live loudly because the softness and

graces of quiet life would be denied to her? Burgo knew well what must be the nature of such a woman's life

in such circumstances. Would Glencora be happy with him while living such a life simply because he loved

her? And, under such circumstances, was it likely that he would continue to love her? Did he not know

himself to be the most inconstant of men, and the least trustworthy? Leaning thus against the wall at the

bottom of the stairs he did ask himself all these questions with something of true feeling about his heart, and

almost persuaded himself that he had better take his hat and wander forth anywhere into the streets. It

mattered little what might become of himself. If he could drink himself out of theworld, it might be an end of

But then the remembrance of his aunt's two hundred pounds came upon him, which money he even now had

about him on his person, and a certain idea of honour told him that he was bound to do that for which the

money had been given to him. As to telling his aunt that he had changed his mind, and, therefore, refunding

the money no such thought as that was possible to him! To give back two hundred pounds entire two

hundred pounds which were already within his clutches, was not within the compass of Burgo's generosity.

Remembering the cash, he told himself that hesitation was no longer possible to him. So he gathered himself

up, stretched his hands over his head, uttered a sigh that was audible to all around him, and took himself

He looked in at his aunt's room, and then he saw her and was seen by her. "Well, Burgo," she said, with her

sweetest smile, "have you been dancing?" He turned away from her without answering her, muttering

something between his teeth about a coldblooded Jezebel which, if she had heard it, would have made

her think him the most ungrateful of men. But she did not hear him, and smiled still as he went away, saying

something to Mrs Conway Sparkes as to the great change for the better which had taken place in her

"There's no knowing who may not reform," said Mrs Sparkes, with an emphasis which seemed to Lady Monk

Burgo made his way first into the front room and then into the larger room where the dancing was in

progress, and there he saw Lady Glencora standing up in a quadrille with the Marquis of Hartletop. Lord

Hartletop was a man not much more given to conversation than his wife, and Lady Glencora seemed to go

through her work with very little gratification either in the dancing or in the society of her partner. She was

simply standing up to dance, because, as she had told Mr Palliser, ladies of her age generally do stand up on

such occasions. Burgo watched her as she crossed and recrossed the room, and at last she was aware of his

presence. It made no change in her, except that she became even somewhat less animated than she had been

before. She would not seem to see him, nor would she allow herself to be driven into a pretence of a

conversation with her partner because he was there. "I will go up to her at once, and ask her to waltz," Burgo

said to himself, as soon as the last figure of the quadrille was in action. "Why should I not ask her as well as

any other woman?" Then the music ceased, and after a minute's interval Lord Hartletop took away his partner

on his arm into another room. Burgo, who had been standing near the door, followed them at once. The

crowd was great, so that he could not get near them or even keep them in sight, but he was aware of the way

It was five minutes after this when he again saw her, and then she was seated on a cane bench in the gallery,

and an old woman was standing close to her, talking to her. It was Mrs Marsham cautioning her against some

petty imprudence, and Lady Glencora was telling that lady that she needed no such advice, in words almost

as curt as those I have used. Lord Hartletop had left her, feeling that, as far as that was concerned, he had

done his duty for the night. Burgo knew nothing of Mrs Marsham had never seen her before, and was

quite unaware that she had any special connection with Mr Palliser. It was impossible, he thought, to find

Lady Glencora in a better position for his purpose, so he made his way up to her through the crowd, and

"That will do very well, thank you, Mrs Marsham," Lady Glencora said at this moment. "Pray, do not trouble

yourself," and then she gave her hand to Fitzgerald. Mrs Marsham, though unknown to him, knew with quite

sufficient accuracy who he was, and all his history, as far as it concerned her friend's wife. She had learned

the whole story of the loves of Burgo and Lady Glencora. Though Mr Palliser had never mentioned that

man's name to her, she was well aware that her duty as a duenna would make it expedient that she should

keep a doubly wary eye upon him should he come near the sheepfold. And there he was, close to them,

almost leaning over them, with the hand of his late lady love the hand of Mr Palliser's wife within his

own! How Lady Glencora might have carried herself at this moment had Mrs Marsham not been there, it is

bootless now to surmise; but it may be well understood that under Mrs Marsham's immediate eye all her

resolution would be in Burgo's favour. She looked at him softly and kindly, and though she uttered no

articulate word, her countenance seemed to show that the meeting was not unpleasant to her.

"Will you waltz?" said Burgo asking it not at all as though it were a special favour asking it exactly as

he might have donehad they been in the habit of dancing with each other every other night for the last three

"I don't think Lady Glencora will waltz tonight," said Mrs Marsham, very stiffly. She certainly did not know

her business as a duenna, or else the enormity of Burgo's proposition had struck her so forcibly as to take

away from her all her presence of mind. Otherwise, she must have been aware that such an answer from her

"And why not, Mrs Marsham?" said Lady Glencora rising from her seat. "Why shouldn't I waltz tonight? I

rather think I shall, the more especially as Mr Fitzgerald waltzes very well." Thereupon she put her hand

Mrs Marsham made still a little effort a little effort that was probably involuntary. She put out her hand,

and laid it on Lady Glencora's left shoulder, looking into her face as she did so with all the severity of caution

of which she was mistress. Lady Glencora shook her duenna off angrily. Whether she would put her fate into

the hands of this man who was now touching her, or whether she would not, she had not as yet decided; but

of this she was very sure, that nothing said or done by Mrs Marsham should have any effect in restraining

What could Mrs Marsham do? Mr Palliser was gone. Some rumour of that proposed visit to Monkshade, and

the way in which it had been prevented, had reached her ear. Some whispers had come to her that Fitzgerald

still dared to love, as married, the woman whom he had loved before she was married. There was a rumour

about that he still had some hope. Mrs Marsham had never believed that Mr Palliser's wife would really be

false to her vows. It was not in fear of any such catastrophe as a positive elopement that she had taken upon

herself the duty of duenna. Lady Glencora would, no doubt, require to be pressed down into that decent

mould which it would become the wife of a Mr Palliser to assume as her form; and this pressing down, and

this moulding, Mrs Marsham thought that she could accomplish. It had not hitherto occurred to her that she

might be required to guard Mr Palliser from positive dishonour; but now now she hardly knew what to

think about it. What should she do? To whom should she go? And then she saw Mr Bott looming large before

In the meantime Lady Glencora went off towards the dancers, leaning on Burgo's arm. "Who is that woman?"

said Burgo. They were the first words he spoke to her, though since he had last seen her he had written to her

that letter which even now she carried about her. His voice in her ears sounded as it used to sound when their

intimacy had been close, and questions such as that he had asked were common between them. And her

answer was of the same nature. "Oh, such an odious woman!" she said. "Her name is Mrs Marsham; she is

my bete noire." And then they were actually dancing, whirling round the room together, before a word had

been said of that which was Burgo's settled purpose, and which at some moments was her settled purpose

Burgo waltzed excellently, and in old days, before her marriage, Lady Glencora had been passionately fond

of dancing. She seemed to give herself up to it now as though the old days had come back to her. Lady Monk,

creeping to the intermediate door between her den and the dancingroom, looked in on them, and then crept

back again. Mrs Marsham and Mr Bott standing together just inside the other door, near to the staircase,

"I didn't mean now at once," said Mr Bott and then he added, "Do you think it is as bad as that?"

The waltzers went on till they were stopped by want of breath. "I am so much out of practice," said Lady

Glencora; I didn't think I should have been able to dance at all." Then she put up her face, and slightly

opened her mouth, and stretched her nostrils as ladies do as well as horses when the running has been

"Presently," said she, beginning to have some thought in her mind as to whether Mrs Marsham was watching

It was, of course, necessary for him that he should bring her to some thought of the truth. It was all very

sweet, that dancing with her, as they used to dance, without any question as to the reason why it was so; that

sudden falling into the old habits, as though everything between this night and the former nights had been a

dream; but this would not further his views. The opportunity had come to him which he must use, if he

intended ever to use such opportunity. There was the two hundred pounds in his pocket, which he did not

The words roused her from her sleep at once, and dissipated her dream. The facts all rushed upon her in an

instant; the letter in her pocket; the request which she had made to Alice, that Alice might be induced to

guard her from this danger; the words which her husband had spoken to her in the morning, and her anger

against him in that he had subjected her to the eyes of a Mrs Marsham; her own unsettled mind quite

unsettled whether it would be best for her to go or to stay! It all came upon her now at the first word of

It has often been said of woman that she who doubts is lost so often that they who say it now, say it

simply because others have said it before them, never thinking whether or no there be any truth in the

proverb. But they who have said so, thinking of their words as they were uttered, have known but little of

women. Women doubt every day, who solve their doubts at last on the right side, driven to do so, some by

fear, more by conscience, but most of them by that halfprudential, halfunconscious knowledge of what is

fitting, useful, and best under the circumstances, which rarely deserts either men or women till they have

brought themselves to the Burgo Fitzgerald state of recklessness. Men when they have fallen even to that,

will still keep up some outward show towards the world; but women in this condition defy the world, and

declare themselves to be children of perdition. Lady Glencora was doubting sorely; but, though doubting, she

She was driven to answer, and she knew that much would be decided by the way in which she might now

"May I not?" And now his tongue was unloosed, so that he began to speak quickly. "May I not? And why

not? They were happy days so happy! Were not you happy when you thought ? Ah, dear! I suppose it

"Only it is impossible. I wish I knew the inside of your heart, Cora, so that I could see what it is that you

In the old days he had always called her Cora, and now the name came from his lips upon her ears as a thing

of custom, causing no surprise. They were standing back, behind the circle, almost in a corner, and Burgo

knew well how to speak at such moments so that his words should be audible to none but her whom he

"And why not? Who has a better right to come to you? Who has ever loved you as I have done? Cora, did you

"Come and dance," she said; I see a pair of eyes looking at us." The pair of eyes which Lady Glencora saw

were in the possession of Mr Bott, who was standing alone, leaning against the side of the doorway, every

now and then raising his heels from the ground, so that he might look down upon the sinners as from a

vantage ground. He was quite alone. Mrs Marsham had left him, and had got herself away in Lady Glencora's

own carriage to Park Lane, in order that she might find Mr Palliser there, if by chance he should be at home.

"Won't it be making mischief?" Mrs Marsham had said when Mr Bott had suggested this line of conduct.

"There'll be worse mischief if you don't," Mr Bott had answered. "He can come back, and then he can do as

Again they went round the room or that small portion of the room which the invading crowd had left to

the dancers as though they were enjoying themselves thoroughly, and in all innocence. But there were

others besides Mr Bott who looked on and wondered. The Duchess of St Bungay saw it, and shook her head

sorrowing for the Duchess was good at heart. Mrs Conway Sparkes saw it, and drank it down with keen

appetite as a thirsty man with a longing for wine will drink champagne for Mrs Conway Sparkes was

not good at heart. Lady Hartletop saw it, and just raised her eyebrows. It was nothing to her. She liked to

know what was going on, as such knowledge was sometimes useful; but, as for heart what she had was, in

such a matter, neither good nor bad. Her blood circulated with its ordinary precision, and, in that respect, no

woman ever had a better heart. Lady Monk saw it, and a frown gathered on her brow. "The fool!" she said to

herself. She knew that Burgo would not help his success by drawing down the eyes of all her guests upon his

attempt. In the meantime Mr Bott stood there, mounting still higher on his toes, straightening his back against

"Did you get my letter?" Burgo said again, as soon as a moment'spause gave him breath to speak. She did not

answer him. Perhaps her breath did not return to her as rapidly as his. But, of course, he knew that she had

received it. She would have quickly signified to him that no letter from him had come to her hands had it not

reached her. "Let us go out upon the stairs," he said, "for I must speak to you. Oh, if you could know what I

They were now making their way slowly down the stairs, in the crowd, towards the supperroom. All the

world was now intent on food and drink, and they were only doing as others did. Lady Glencora was not

thinking where she went, but, glancing upwards, as she stood for a moment wedged upon the stairs, her eyes

met those of Mr Bott. "A man that can treat me like that deserves that I should leave him." That was the

"I'll get you some champagne with water in it," said Burgo. "I know that is what you like."

"Do not get me anything," she said. They had now got into the room, and had therefore escaped Mr Bott's

eyes for the moment. "Mr Fitzgerald,' and now her words had become a whisper in his ear "do what I

ask you. For the sake of the old days of which you spoke, the dear old days which can never come again "

"Never. But you can still do me a kindness. Go away, and leave me. Go to the sideboard, and then do not

But she had now recovered her presence of mind, and understood what was going on. She was no longer in a

dream, but words and things bore to her again their proper meaning. "I will not have it, Mr Fitzgerald," she

answered, speaking almost passionately. "I will not have it. Do as I bid you. Go and leave me, and do not

return. I tell you that we are watched." This was still true, for Mr Bott had now again got his eyes on them,

round the supperroom door. Whatever was the reward for which he was working, private secretaryship or

what else, it must be owned that he worked hard for it. But there are labours which are labours of love. "Who

is watching us?" said Burgo; and what does it matter? If you are minded to do as I have asked you "

"Yes it is an insult, Cora unless such an offer be a joy to you. If you wish to be my wife instead of his,

"How can I be that?" Her face was not turned to him, and her words were halfpronounced, and in the lowest

"Come with me abroad, and you shall yet be my wife. You got my letter? Do what I asked you, then.

The pressing instance of the suggestion, the fixing of a present hour, startled her back to her propriety. "Mr

Fitzgerald," she said, "I asked you to go and leave me. If you do not do so, I must get up and leave you. It

"All at any rate, now." Oh, Glencora! how could you be so weak? Why did you add that word, "now'? In

truth, she added it then, at that moment, simply feeling that she could thus best secure an immediate

"I will not go," he said, looking at her sternly, and leaning before her, with earnest face, with utter

indifference as to the eyes of any that might see them. "I will not go till you tell me that you will see me

Looking up again towards the doorway, in fear of Mr Bott's eyes, she saw the face of Mr Palliser as he

entered the room. Mr Bott had also seen him, and had tried to clutch him by the arm; but Mr Palliser had

shaken him off, apparently with indifference had got rid of him, as it were, without noticing him. Lady

Glencora, when she saw her husband, immediately recovered her courage. She would not cower before him,

or show herself ashamed of what she had done. For the matter of that, if he pressed her on the subject, she

could bring herself to tell him that she loved Burgo Fitzgerald much more easily than she could whisper such

a word to Burgo himself. Mr Bott's eyes were odious to her as they watched her; but her husband's glance she

could meet without quailing before it. "Here is Mr Palliser," said she, speaking again in her ordinary

cleartoned voice. Burgo immediately rose from his seat with a start, and turned quickly towards the door;

but Lady Glencora kept her chair. Mr Palliser made his way as best he could through the crowd up to his

wife. He, too, kept his countenance without betraying his secret. There was neither anger nor dismay in his

face, nor was there any untoward hurry in his movement. Burgo stood aside as he came up, and Lady

Glencora was the first to speak. "I thought you were gone home hours ago," she said.

"What a model of a husband! Well; I am ready. Only, what shall we do about Jane? Mr Fitzgerald, I left a

scarf in your aunt's room a little black and yellow scarf would you mind getting it for me?"

"I will fetch it," said Mr Palliser; and I will tell your cousin that the carriage shall come back for her."

"I will do it," said Mr Palliser; and away he went, making his slow progress up through the crowd, ordering

his carriage as he passed through the hall, and leaving Mr Bott still watching at the door.

Lady Glencora resolved that she would say nothing to Burgo while her husband was gone. There was a touch

of chivalry in his leaving them again together, which so far conquered her. He might have bade her leave the

scarf, and come at once. She had seen, moreover, that he had not spoken to Mr Bott, and was thankful to him

also for that. Burgo also seemed to have become aware that his chance for that time was over. "I will say

goodnight," he said. Goodnight, Mr Fitzgerald," she answered, giving him her hand. He pressed it for a

moment, and then turned and went. When Mr Palliser came back he was no more to be seen.

Lady Glencora was at the diningroom door when her husband returned, standing close to Mr Bott. Mr Bott

had spoken to her, but she made no reply. He spoke again, but her face remained as immovable as though she

had been deaf. "And what shall we do about Mrs Marsham?" she said, quite out loud, as soon as she put her

These questions were asked and answered as he was putting herinto the carriage. She got in just as she asked

the last, and he, as he took his seat, did not find it necessary to answer it. But that would not serve her turn.

"What made Mrs Marsham go to you at Park Lane after she left Lady Monk's?" she asked again. Mr Palliser

sat silent, not having made up his mind what he would say on the subject. "I suppose she went," continued

"I don't mean to discuss it now, or ever. If you did not wish me to see Mr Fitzgerald you should not have sent

me to Lady Monk's. But, Plantagenet, I hope you will forgive me if I say that no consideration shall induce

me to receive again as a guest, in my own house, either Mrs Marsham or Mr Bott."

Mr Palliser absolutely declined to say anything on the subject on that occasion, and the evening of Lady

George Vavasor was not in a very happy mood when he left Queen Anne Street, after having flung his gift

ring under the grate. Indeed there was much in his condition as connected with the house which he was

leaving, which could not but make him unhappy. Alice was engaged to be his wife and had as yet said

nothing to show that she meditated any breach of that engagement, but she had treated him in a way which

made him long to throw her promise in her teeth. He was a man to whom any personal slight from a woman

was unendurable. To slights from men, unless they were of a nature to provoke offence, he was indifferent.

There was no man living for whose liking or disliking George Vavasor cared anything. But he did care much

for the good opinion, or rather for the personal favour, of any woman to whom he had endeavoured to make

himself agreeable. "I will marry you," Alice had said to him not in words, but in acts and looks, which

were plainer than words "I will marry you for certain reasons of my own, which in my present condition

make it seem that that arrangement will be more convenient to me than any other that I can make; but pray

understand that there is no love mixed up with this. There is another man whom I love only, for those

reasons above hinted, I do not care to marry him." It was thus that he read Alice's present treatment of him,

But though he could throw his ring under the grate in his passion, he could not so dispose of her. That he

would have done so had his hands been free, we need not doubt. And he would have been clever enough to

do so in some manner that would have been exquisitely painful to Alice, willing as she might be to be

released from her engagement. But he could not do this to a woman whose money he had borrowed, and

whose money he could not repay to a woman, more of whose money he intended to borrow immediately.

As to that latter part of it, he did say to himself over and over again, that he would have no more of it. As he

left the house in Queen Anne Street, on that occasion, he swore, that under no circumstances would he be

indebted to her for another shilling. But before he had reached Great Marlborough Street, to which his steps

took him, he had reminded himself that everything depended on a further advance. He was in Parliament, but

Parliament would be dissolved within three months. Having sacrificed so much for his position, should he let

it all fall from him now now, when success seemed to be within his reach? That wretched old man in

Westmoreland, who seemed gifted almost with immortality why could he not die and surrender his paltry

acres to one who could use them? He turned away from Regent Street into Hanover Square before he crossed

to Great Marlborough Street, giving vent to his passion rather than arranging his thoughts. As he walked the

four sides of the square he considered how good it would be if some accident should befall the old man. How

he would rejoice were he to hear tomorrow that one of the trees of the "accursed place," had fallen on the

"obstinate old idiot, and put an end to him! I will not say that he meditated the murder of his grandfather.

There was a firm conviction on his mind, as he thought of all this, that such a deed as that would never come

in his way. But he told himself, that if he chose to make the attempt, he would certainly be able to carry it

through without detection. Then he remembered Rush and Palmer, the openly bold murderer and the

secret poisoner. Both of them, in Vavasor's estimation, were great men. He had often said so in company. He

had declared that the courage of Rush had never been surpassed. "Think of him," he would say with

admiration, "walking into a man's house, with pistols sufficient to shoot every one there, and doing it as

though he were killing rats! What was Nelson at Trafalgar to that? Nelson had nothing to fear!" And of

Palmer he declared that he was a man of genius as well as courage. He had "looked the whole thing in the

face", Vavasor would say, "and told himself that all scruples and squeamishness are bosh child's tales.

And so they are. Who lives as though they fear either heaven or hell? And if we do live without such fear or

respect, what is the use of telling lies to ourselves? To throw it all to the dogs, as Palmer did, is more manly."

"And be hanged," some hearer of George's doctrine replied. "Yes, and be hanged if such is your destiny.

But you hear of the one who is hanged, but hear nothing of the twenty who are not."

Vavasor walked round Hanover Square, nursing his hatred against the old Squire. He did not tell himself that

he would like to murder his grandfather. But he suggested to himself, that if he desired to do so, he would

have courage enough to make his way into the old man's room, and strangle him; and he explained to himself

how he would be able to get down into Westmoreland without the world knowing that he had been there

how he would find an entrance into the house by a window with which he was acquainted how he could

cause the man to die as though, those around him should think, it was apoplexy he, George Vavasor,

having read something on that subject lately. All this he considered very fully, walking rapidly round

Hanover Square more than once or twice. If he were to become an active student in the Rush or Palmer

school, he would so study the matter that he would not be the one that should be hung. He thought that he

could, so far, trust his own ingenuity. But yet he did not meditate murder. "Beastly old idiot!" he said to

himself, "he must have his chance as other men have, I suppose." And then he went across Regent Street to

Mr Scruby's office in Great Marlborough Street, not having, as yet, come to any positive conclusion as to

But he soon found himself talking to Mr Scruby as though there were no doubts as to the forthcoming funds

for the next election. And Mr Scruby talked to him very plainly, as though those funds must be forthcoming

before long. "A stitch in time saves nine," said Mr Scruby, meaning to insinuate that a pound in time might

have the same effect. "And I'll tell you what, Mr Vavasor of course I've my outstanding bills for the last

affair. That's no fault of yours, for the things came so sharp one on another that my fellows haven't had time

to make it out. But if you'll put me in funds for what I must be out of pocket in June "

"They are talking of June. Why, then, I'll lump the two bills together when it's all over."

In their discussion respecting money Mr Scruby injudiciously mentioned the name of Mr Tombe. No precise

caution had been given to him, but he had become aware that the matter was being managed through an

agency that was not recognised by his client; and as that agency was simply a vehicle of money which found

its way into Mr Scruby's pocket, he should have held his tongue. But Mr Tombe's name escaped from him,

and Vavasor immediately questioned him. Scruby, who did not often make such blunders, readily excused

himself, shaking his head, and declaring that the name had fallen from his lips instead of that of another man.

Vavasor accepted the excuse without further notice, and nothing more was said about Mr Tombe while he

was in Mr Scruby's office. But he had not heard the name in vain, and had unfortunately heard it before. Mr

Tombe was a remarkable man in his way. He wore powder to his hair was very polite in his bearing

was somewhat asthmatic, and wheezed in his talking and was, moreover, the most obedient of men,

though it was said of him that he managed the whole income of the Ely Chapter just as he pleased. Being in

these ways a man of note, John Grey had spoken of him to Alice, and his name had filtered through Alice and

her cousin Kate to George Vavasor. George seldom forgot things or names, and when he heard Mr Tombe's

name mentioned in connection with his own money matters, he remembered that Mr Tombe was John Grey's

As soon as he could escape out into the street he endeavoured to put all these things together, and after awhile

resolved that he would go to Mr Tombe. What if there should be an understanding between John Grey and

Alice, and Mr Tombe should be arranging his money matters for him! Would not anything be better than this

even that little tragedy down in Westmoreland, for which his ingenuity and courage would be required?

He could endure to borrow money from Alice. He might even endure it still though that was very difficult

after her treatment of him; but he could not endure to be the recipient of John Grey's money. By heavens, no!

And as he got into a cab, and had himself driven off to the neighbourhood of Doctors' Commons, he gave

himself credit for much fine manly feeling. Mr Tombe's chambers were found without difficulty, and, as it

The lawyer rose from his chair as Vavasor entered, and bowed his powdered head very meekly as he asked

his visitor to sit down. "Mr Vavasor oh, yes. He had heard the name. Yes; he was in the habit of acting for

his very old friend Mr John Grey. He had acted for Mr John Grey, and for Mr John Grey's father he or his

partner he believed he might say, for about half a century. There could not be a nicer gentleman than Mr

John Grey and such a pretty child as he used to be!" At every new sentence Mr Tombe caught his poor

asthmatic breath, and bowed his meek old head, and rubbed his hands together as though he hardly dared to

keep his seat in Vavasor's presence without the support of some such motion; and wheezed apologetically,

and seemed to ask pardon of his visitor for not knowing intuitively what was the nature of thatvisitor's

business. But he was a sly old fox, was Mr Tombe, and was considering all this time how much it would be

well that he should tell Mr Vavasor, and how much it would be well that he should conceal. "The fat had got

into the fire," as he told his old wife when he got home that evening. He told his old wife everything, and I

don't know that any of his clients were the worse for his doing so. But while he was wheezing, and coughing,

and apologising, he made up his mind that if George Vavasor were to ask him certain questions, it would be

best that he should answer them truly. If Vavasor did ask those questions, he would probably do so upon

certain knowledge, and if so, why, in that case, lying would be of no use. Lying would not put the fat back

into the fryingpan. And even though such questions might be asked without any absolute knowledge, they

would, at any rate, show that the questioner had the means of ascertaining the truth. He would tell as little as

he could; but he decided during his last wheeze, that he could not be in the matter with any chance of

benefiting his client. "The prettiest child I ever saw, Mr Vavasor!" said Mr Tombe, and then he coughed

"Can you tell me, Mr Tombe, whether either you or he have anything to do with the payment of certain sums

"Messrs Hock and Block's, the bankers in Lombard Street?" said Mr Tombe, taking a little more time.

"Well, I don't think you may. That is to say, my reason for asking it can have nothing to do with yours for

replying to it. If you have had no hand in any such payment, there is an end of it, and I need not take up your

"I am not prepared to go that length, Mr Vavasor not altogether to go that length ugh ugh ugh."

"Well upon my word, you've taken me a little by surprise. Let me see. Pinkle Pinkle." Pinkle was a

clerk who sat in an inner room, and Mr Tombe's effort to call him seemed to be most ineffectual. But Pinkle

understood the sound, and came. "Pinkle, didn't we pay some money into Hock and Block's a few weeks

"Did we, sir?" said Tinkle, who probably knew that his employer was an old fox, and who, perhaps, had

"I think we did. Just look, Pinkle and, Pinkle see the date, and let me know all about it. It's fine bright

weather for this time of year, Mr Vavasor; but these easterly winds ugh ugh ugh!"

Vavasor found himself sitting for an apparently interminable number of minutes in Mr Tombe's dingy

chamber, and was coughed at, and wheezed at, till he begun to he tired of his position; moreover, when tired,

he showed his impatience. "Perhaps you'll let us write you a line when we have looked into the matter?"

"I'd rather know at once," said Vavasor. I don't suppose it can take you very long to find out whether you

have paid money to my account, by order of Mr Grey. At any rate, I must know before I go away."

"Pinkle, Pinkle!" screamed the old man through his coughing; and again Pinkle came. "Well, Pinkle, was

anything of the kind done, or is my memory deceiving me?" Mr Tombe was, no doubt, lying shamefully, for,

of course, he remembered all about it; and, indeed, George Vavasor had learned already quite enough for his

"I'm sorry to give your clerk so much trouble," said Vavasor, in an angry voice; "and I think it must be

unnecessary. Surely you know whether Mr Grey has commissioned you to pay money for me?"

"We have so many things to do, Mr Vavasor; and so many clients. We have, indeed. You see, it isn't only one

"Number 5, Suffolk Street, Pall Mall East," said Mr Tombe. Herein Mr Tombe somewhat committed himself.

His client, Mr Grey, was, in fact, in town, but Vavasor had not known or imagined that such was the case.

Had Mr Tombe given the usual address of Nethercoats, nothing further would have been demanded from him

on that subject. But he had foolishly presumed that the question had been based on special information as to

his client's visit to London, and he had told the plain truth in a very simple way.

"Number 5, Suffolk Street," said Vavasor, writing down the address. "Perhaps it will be better that I should

go to him, as you do not seem inclined to give me any information." Then he took up his hat, and hardly

bowing to Mr Tombe, left the chambers. Mr Tombe, as he did so, rose from his chair, and bent his head

"Pinkle, Pinkle," wheezed Mr Tombe. Never mind; never mind." Pinkle didn't mind; and we may say that he

had not minded; for up to that moment he had taken no steps towards a performance of the order which had

Mr Tombe had gained nothing for the cause by his crafty silence. George Vavasor felt perfectly certain, as he

walked out from the little street which runs at the back of Doctors' Commons, that the money which he had

been using had come, in some shape, through the hands of John Grey. He did not care much to calculate

whether the payments had been made from the personal funds of his rival, or whether that rival had been

employed to dispense Alice's fortune. Under either view of the case his position was sufficiently bitter. The

truth never for a moment occurred to him. He never dreamed that there might be a conspiracy in the matter,

of which Alice was as ignorant as he himself had been. He never reflected that his uncle John, together with

John, the lover, whom he so hated, might be the conspirators. To him it seemed to be certain that Alice and

Mr Grey were in league and if they were in league, what must he think of Alice, and of her engagement

There are men who rarely think well of women who hardly think well of any woman. They put their

mothers and sisters into the background as though they belonged to some sex or race apart and then

declare to themselves and to their friends that all women are false that no woman can be trusted unless her

ugliness protect her; and that every woman may be attacked as fairly as may game in a cover, or deer on a

mountain. What man does not know men who have so thought? I cannot say that such had been Vavasor's

creed not entirely such. There had been periods of his life when he had believed implicitly in his cousin

Alice but then there had been other moments in which he had ridiculed himself for his Quixotism in

believing in any woman. And as he had grown older the moments of his Quixotism had become more rare.

There would have been no such Quixotism left with him now, had not thevarious circumstances which I have

attempted to describe, filled him, during the last twelve months, with a renewed desire to marry his cousin.

Every man tries to believe in the honesty of his future wife; and, therefore, Vavasor had tried, and had, in his

way, believed. He had flattered himself, too, that Alice's heart had, in truth, been more prone to him than to

that other suitor. Grey, as he thought, had been accepted by her cold prudence; but he thought, also, that she

had found her prudence to be too cold, and had therefore returned where she had truly loved. Vavasor, though

This idea of his, however, had been greatly shaken by Alice's treatment of himself personally; but still he had

not, hitherto, believed that she was false to him. Now, what could he believe of her? What was there within

the compass of such a one to believe? As he walked out into St Paul's Churchyard he called her by every

name which is most offensive to a woman's ears. He hated her at this moment with even a more bitter hatred

than that which he felt towards John Grey. She must have deceived him with unparalleled hypocrisy, and lied

to him and to his sister Kate as hardly any woman had ever lied before. Or could it be that Kate, also, was

But why should they have conspired to feed him with these moneys? There had been no deceit, at any rate, in

reference to the pounds sterling which Scruby had already swallowed. They had been supplied, whatever had

been the motives of the suppliers; and he had no doubt that more would be supplied if he would only keep

himself quiet. He was still walking westward as he thought of this, down Ludgate Hill, on his direct line

towards Suffolk Street; and he tried to persuade himself that it would be well that he should hide his wrath till

after provision should have been made for this other election. They were his enemies Alice and Mr Grey

and why should he keep any terms with his enemies? It was still a trouble to him to think that he should

have been in any way beholden to John Grey; but the terrible thing had been done; the evil had occurred.

What would he gain by staying his hand now? Still, however, he walked on quickly along Fleet Street, and

along the Strand, and was already crossing under the Picture Galleries towards Pall Mall East before he had

definitely decided what steps he would take on this very day. Exactly at the corner of Suffolk Street he met

"Mr Grey," he said, stopping himself suddenly, I was this moment going to call on you at your lodgings." "At

"If you please," said Vavasor, leading the way up Suffolk Street. There had been no other greeting than this

between them. Mr Grey himself, though a man very courteous in his general demeanour, would probably

have passed Vavasor in the street with no more than the barest salutation. Situated as they were towards each

other there could hardly be any show of friendship between them; but when Vavasor had spoken to him, he

had dressed his face in that guise of civility which men always use who do not intend to be offensive but

Vavasor dressed his as men dress theirs who do mean to be offensive; and Mr Grey had thoroughly

"If you will allow me, I have the key," said Grey. Then they both entered the house, and Vavasor followed

his host up stairs. Mr Grey, as he went up, felt almost angry with himself in having admitted his enemy into

his lodgings. He was sure that no good could come of it, and remembered, when it was too late, that he might

easily have saved himself from giving the invitation while he was still in the street. There they were,

however, together in the sittingroom, and Grey had nothing to do but to listen. "Will you take a chair, Mr

Vavasor?" he said. "No, said Vavasor; I will stand up." And he stood up, holding his hat behind his back with

his left hand, with his right leg forward, and the thumb of his right hand in his waistcoatpocket. He looked

full into Grey's face, and Grey looked full into his; and as he looked the great cicatrice seemed to open itself

and to become purple with fresh blood stains. "I have come here from Mr Tombe's office in the City," said

Vavasor, "to ask you of what nature has been the interference which you have taken in my money matters?"

This was a question which Mr Grey could not answer very quickly. In the first place it was altogether

unexpected; in the next place he did not know what Mr Tombe had told, and what he had not told; and then,

before he replied, he must think how much of the truth he was bound to tell in answer to a question so put to

"I think you heard me say so. I have come here direct from Mr Tombe's chambers. He is your lawyer, I

"And I have come from him to ask you what interference you have lately taken in my money matters. When

"But, Mr Vavasor, has it occurred to you that I may not be disposed to answer questions so asked?" "It has

not occurred to me to think that you will prevaricate. If there has been no such interference, I will ask your

pardon, and go away; but if there has been such interference on your part, I have a right to demand that you

Grey had now made up his mind that it would be better that he should tell the whole story better not only

for himself, but for all the Vavasors, including this angry man himself. The angry man evidently knew

something, and it would be better that he should know the truth. "There has been such interference, Mr

Vavasor, if you choose to call it so. Money, to the extent of two thousand pounds, I think, has by my

"Well," said Vavasor, taking his right hand away from his waistcoat, and tapping the round table with his

"I hardly know how to explain all the circumstances under which this has been done."

Grey was a man tranquil in temperament, very little prone to quarrelling, with perhaps an exaggerated idea of

the evil results of a row a man who would take infinite trouble to avoid any such scene as that which now

seemed to be imminent; but he was a man whose courage was quite as high as that of his opponent. To bully

or to be bullied were alike contrary to his nature. It was clear enough now that Vavasor intended to bully him,

and he made up his mind at once that if the quarrel were forced upon him it should find him ready to take his

own part. "My difficulty in explaining it comes from consideration for you," he said.

"Then I beg that your difficulty will cease, and that you will have no consideration for me. We are so

circumstanced towards each other that any consideration must be humbug and nonsense. At any rate, I intend

"No, sir; Mr Tombe is not my uncle's lawyer. My uncle never heard his name, unless he heard of it from

"But it was by agreement with your uncle that I commissioned Mr Tombe to raise for you the money you

were desirous of borrowing from your cousin. We thought it better that her fortune should not be for the

moment disturbed." "But what had you to do with it? Why should you have done it? In the first place, I don't

believe your story; it is altogether improbable. But why should he come to you of all men to raise money on

"Unless you can behave yourself with more discretion, Mr Vavasor, you must leave the room," said Mr Grey.

Then, as Vavasor simply sneered at him, but spoke nothing, he went on. "It was I who suggested to your

uncle that this arrangement should be made. I did not wish to see Miss Vavasor's fortune squandered."

"And what was her fortune to you, sir? Are you aware that she is engaged to me as my wife? I ask you,'sir,

"I must altogether decline to discuss with you Miss Vavasor's present or future position."

"By heavens, then, you shall hear me discuss it! She was engaged to you, and she has given you your

dismissal. If you had understood anything of the conduct which is usual among gentlemen, or if you had had

any particle of pride in you, sir, you would have left her and never mentioned her name again. I now find you

"Yes, sir, you have. You do not advance two thousand pounds without knowing that you have security. She

has rejected you; and in order that you may be revenged, or that you may have some further hold upon her

that she may be in some sort within your power, you have contrived this rascally pettifogging way of

obtaining power over her income. The money shall be repaid at once, with any interest that can be due; and if

"Mr Vavasor," said Grey very slowly, in a low tone of voice, but with something in his eye which would have

told any bystander that he was much in earnest, "you have used words in your anger which I cannot allow to

"What were the words? I said that you were a pettifogging rascal. I now repeat them." As he spoke he put on

his hat, so as to leave both his hands ready for action if action should be required.

Grey was much the larger man and much the stronger. It may be doubted whether he knew himself the extent

of his own strength, but such as it was he resolved that he must now use it. "There is no help for it," he said,

as he also prepared for action. The first thing he did was to open the door, and as he did so he became

consciousthat his mouth was full of blood from a sharp blow upon his face. Vavasor had struck him with his

fist, and had cut his lip against his teeth. Then there came a scramble, and Grey was soon aware that he had

his opponent in his hands. I doubt whether he had attempted to strike a blow, or whether he had so much as

clenched his fist. Vavasor had struck him repeatedly, but the blows had fallen on his body or his head, and he

was unconscious of them. He had but one object now in his mind, and that object was the kicking his

assailant down the stairs. Then came a scramble, as I have said, and Grey had a hold of the smaller man by

the nape of his neck. So holding him he forced him back through the door on to the landing, and then

succeeded in pushing him down the first flight of steps. Grey kicked at him as he went, but the kick was

impotent. He had, however, been so far successful that he had thrust his enemy out of the room, and had the

Vavasor, when he raised himself, prepared to make another rush at the room, but before he could do so a man

from below, hearing the noise, had come upon him and interrupted him. "Mr Jones," said Grey, speaking

from above, "if that gentleman does not leave the house, I must get you to search for a policeman."

Vavasor, though the lodginghouse man had hold of the collar of his coat, made no attempt to turn upon his

new enemy. When two dogs are fighting, any bystander may attempt to separate them with impunity. The

brutes are so anxious to tear each other that they have no energies left for other purposes. It never occurs to

them to turn their teeth upon the new comers in the quarrel. So it was with George Vavasor. Jones was

sufficient to prevent his further attack upon the foe up stairs, and therefore he had no alternative but to

"What's it all about, sir?" said Jones, who kept a tailor's establishment, and, as a tailor, was something of a

fighting man himself. Of all tradesmen in London the tailors are, no doubt, the most combative as might

be expected from the necessity which lies upon them of living down the general bad character in this respect

which the world has wrongly given them. "What's it all about, sir?" said Jones, still holding Vavasor by his

"I don't know much about punishing," said the tailor. "It seems to me he pitched you down pretty clean out of

It was the only thing that Vavasor could do, and he did walk himself off. He walked himself off, and went

home to his own lodgings in Cecil Street, that he might smooth his feathers after the late encounter before he

went down to Westminster to take his seat in the House of Commons. I do not think that he was comfortable

when he got there, or that he felt himself very well able to fight another battle that night on behalf of the

River Bank. He had not been hurt, but he had been worsted. Grey had probably received more personal

damage than had fallen to his share; but Grey had succeeded in expelling him from the room, and he knew

that he had been found prostrate on the landingplace when the tailor first saw him.

But he might probably have got over the annoyance of this feeling had he not been overwhelmed by a

consciousness that everything was going badly with him. He was already beginning to hate his seat in

Parliament. What good had it done for him, or was it likely to do for him? He found himself to be associated

there with Mr Bott, and a few others of the same class men whom he despised; and even they did not

admit him among them without a certain show of superiority on their part. Who has not ascertained by his

own experience the different lights through which the same events may be seen, according to the success, or

want of success, which pervades the atmosphere at the moment? At the present time everything was

unsuccessful with George Vavasor; and though he told himself, almost from hour to hour, that he would go

on with the thing which he had begun that he would persevere in Parliament till he had obtained a hearing

there and created for himself success, he could not himself believe in the promises which he had made to

himself. He had looked forward to his entrance into that Chamber as the hour of his triumph; but he had

entered it with Mr Bott, and there had been no triumph to him in doing so. He had sworn to himself that when

there he would find men to hear him. Hitherto, indeed, he could not accuse himself of having missed his

opportunities; his election had been so recent that he could hardly yet have made the attempt. But he had been

there long enough to learn to fancy that there was no glory in attempting. This art of speaking in Parliament,

which had appeared to him to be so grand, seemed already to be a humdrum, homely, dull affair. No one

seemed to listen much to what was said. To such as himself Members without an acquired name men

did not seem to listen at all. Mr Palliser had once, in his hearing, spoken for two hours together, and all the

House had treated his speechwith respect had declared that it was useful, solid, conscientious, and what

not; but more than half the House had been asleep more than half the time that he was on his legs. Vavasor

had not as yet commenced his career as an orator; but night after night, as he sat there, the chance of

commencing it with brilliance seemed to be further from him, and still further. Two thousand pounds of his

own money, and two thousand more of Alice's money or of Mr Grey's he had already spent to make

his way into that assembly. He must spend, at any rate, two thousand more if he intended that his career

should be prolonged beyond a three months' sitting and how was he to get this further sum after what had

He would get it. That was his resolve as he walked in by the applewoman's stall, under the shadow of the

great policeman, and between the two august lamps. He would get it as long as Alice had a bound over

which he could obtain mastery by any act or violence within his compass. He would get it; even though it

should come through the hands of John Grey and Mr Tombe. He would get it; though in doing so he might

destroy his cousin Alice and ruin his sister Kate. He had gone too far to stick at any scruples. Had he not

often declared how great had been that murderer who had been able to divest himself of all such scruples

who had scoured his bosom free from all fears of the hereafter, and, as regarded the present, had dared to trust

for everything to success? He would go to Alice and demand the money from her with threats, and with that

violence in his eyes which he knew so well how to assume. He believed that when he so demanded it, the

money would be forthcoming so as to satisfy, at any rate, his present emergencies.

That wretched old man in Westmoreland! If he would but die, there might yet be a hope remaining of

permanent success! Even though the estate might be entailed so as to give him no more than a lifeinterest,

still money might be raised on it. His lifeinterest in it would be worth ten or twelve years' purchase. He had

an idea that his grandfather had not as yet made any such will when he left the place in Westmoreland. What

a boon it would be if death could be made to overtake the old man before he did so! On this very night he

walked about the lobbies of the House, thinking of all this. He went by himself from room to room, roaming

along passages, sitting now for ten minutes in the gallery, and then again for a short space in the body of the

House till he would get up and wander again out into the lobby, impatient of the neighbourhood of Mr

Bott. Certainly just at this time he felt no desire to bring before the House the subject of the River

Nor was Mr Grey much happier when he was left alone, than was his assailant. To give Vavasor his due, the

memory of the affray itself did not long trouble him much. The success between the combatants had been

nearly equal, and he had, at any rate, spoken his mind freely. His misery had come from other sources. But

the reflection that he had been concerned in a row was in itself enough to make John Grey wretched for the

time. Such a misfortune had never hitherto befallen him. In all his dealings with men words had been

sufficient, and generally words of courtesy had sufficed. To have been personally engaged in a fighting

scramble with such a man as George Vavasor was to him terrible. When ordering that his money might be

expended with the possible object of saving Alice from her cousin, he had never felt a moment's regret; he

had never thought that he was doing more than circumstances fairly demanded of him. But now he was

almost driven to utter a reproach. "Oh, Alice! Alice! that this thing should have come upon me through thy

When Vavasor was led away down stairs by the tailor, and Grey found that no more actual fighting would be

required of him, he retired into his bedroom, that he might wash his mouth and free himself from the stains of

the combat. He had heard the front door closed, and knew that the miscreant was gone the miscreant who

had disturbed his quiet. Then he began to think what was the accusation with which Vavasor had charged

him. He had been told that he had advanced money on behalf of Alice, in order that he might obtain some

power over Alice"s fortune, and thus revenge himself upon Alice for her treatment of him. Nothing could be

more damnably false than this accusation. Of that he was well aware. But were not the circumstances of a

nature to make it appear that the accusation was true? Security for the money advanced by him, of course, he

had none of course he had desired none of course the money had been given out of his own pocket

with the sole object of saving Alice, if that might be possible; but of all those who might hear of this affair,

While he was in this wretched state of mind, washing his mouth, and disturbing his spirit, Mr Jones, his

landlord, came up to him. Mr Jones had known him for some years, and entertained a most profound respect

for his character. A rather sporting man than otherwise was Mr Jones. His father had been a tradesman at

Cambridge, and in this way Jones had become known to Mr Grey.But though given to sport, by which he

meant modern prizefighting and the Epsom course on the Derby day, Mr Jones was a man who dearly loved

respectable customers and respectable lodgers. Mr Grey, with his property at Nethercoats, and his august

manners, and his reputation at Cambridge, was a most respectable lodger, and Mr Jones could hardly

"Dear, dear, sir this is a terrible affair!" he said, as he made his way into the room.

"Well, yes. I should not have pushed him down stairs had he not quarrelled with me."

It was some time before Mr Grey could get rid of the tailor, but he did so at last without having told any part

In the meantime Kate Vavasor was living down in Westmoreland, with no other society than that of her

grandfather, and did not altogether have a very pleasant life of it. George had been apt to represent the old

man to himself as being as strong as an old tower, which, though it be but a ruin, shows no sign of falling. To

his eyes the Squire had always seemed to be full of life and power. He could be violent on occasions, and was

hardly ever without violence in his eyes and voice. But George's opinion was formed by his wish, or rather by

the reverse of his wish. For years he had been longing that his grandfather should die had been accusing

Fate of gross injustice in that she did not snap the thread; and with such thoughts in his mind he had grudged

every ounce which the Squire's vigour had been able to sustain. He had almost taught himself to believe that

it would be a good deed to squeeze what remained of life out of that violent old throat. But, indeed, the

embers of life were burning low; and had George known all the truth, he would hardly have inclined his mind

He was, indeed, very weak with age, and tottering with unsteady steps on the brink of his grave, though he

would still come down early from his room, and would, if possible, creep out about the garden and into the

farmyard. He would still sit down to dinner, and would drink his allotted portion of port wine, in the doctor's

teeth. The doctor by no means desired to rob him of this last luxury, or even to stint his quantity; but he

recommended certain changes in the mode and time of taking it. Against this, however, the old Squire

indignantly rebelled, and scolded Kate almost off her legs when she attempted to enforce the doctor's orders.

"What the mischief does it signify," the old man said to her one evening "what difference will it make

whether I am dead or alive, unless it is that George would turn you out of the house directly he gets it?" "I

was not thinking of any one but yourself, sir," said Kate, with a tear in her eye.

"You won't be troubled to think of me much longer," said the Squire; and then he gulped down the remaining

Kate was, in truth, very good to him. Women always are good under such circumstances; and Kate Vavasor

was one who would certainly stick to such duties as now fell to her lot. She was eminently true and loyal to

her friends, though she could be as false on their behalf as most false people can be on their own. She was

very good to the old man, tending all his wants, taking his violence with good humour rather than with

submission, not opposing him with direct contradiction when he abused his grandson, but saying little words

to mitigate his wrath, if it were possible. At such times the Squire would tell her that she also would learn to

know her brother's character some day. "You'll live to be robbed by him, and turned out as naked as you were

born," he said to her one day. Then Kate fired up and declared that she fully trusted her brother's love.

Whatever faults he might have, he had been stanch to her. So she said, and the old man sneered at her for

One morning, soon after this, when she brought him up to his bedroom some mixture of thin porridge which

he still endeavoured to swallow for his breakfast, he bade her sit down, and began to talk to her about the

property. "I know you are a fool," he said, "about all matters of business more of a fool than even women

generally are." To this Kate acceded with a little smile acknowledging that her understanding was limited.

"I want to see Gogram," he said. "Do you write him a line, telling him to come here today he or one of his

men, and send it at once by Peter." Gogram was an attorney who lived at Penrith, and who was never

summoned to Vavasor Hall unless the Squire had something to say about his will. "Don't you think you'd

better put it off till you are a little stronger?" said Kate. Whereupon the Squire fired at her such a volley of

oaths that she sprang off the chair on which she was sitting, and darted across to a little table at which there

was pen and ink, and wrote her note to Mr Gogram, before she had recovered from the shaking which the

battery had given her. She wrote the note, and ran away with it to Peter, and saw Peter on the pony on his

"What should you do with the estate if I left it you?" the Squire said to her the first moment she was again

back with him. This was a question she could not answer instantly. She stood by his bedside for a while

thinking holding her grandfather's hand and looking down upon the bed. He, with his rough watery old

eyes, was gazing up into her face, as though he were trying to read her thoughts. "I think I should give it to

"Then I'm d if I'll leave it to you," said he. She did not jump now, though he had sworn at her. She still

stood, holding his hand softly, and looking down upon the bed. "If I were you, grandfather," she said almost

in a whisper, "I would not trust myself to alter family arrangements whilst I was ill. I'm sure you would

"And if I were to leave it to Alice, she'd give it him too," he said, speaking his thoughts out loud. "What it is

you see in him, I never could even guess. He's as ugly as a baboon, with his scarred face. He has never done

anything to show himself a clever fellow. Kate, give me some of that bottle the man sent." Kate handed him

"Where did he get the money to pay for his election?" the Squire asked, as soon as he had swallowed the

draught. "They wouldn't give such a one as him credit a yard further than they could see him."

"You're the biggest idiot that ever I heard of, and you'll know it yourself some day. Go away now, and let me

She went away, and for a time employed herself about her ordinary household work. Then she sat down alone

in the dingy old diningroom, to think what had better be done in her present circumstances. The carpet of

the room was worn out, as were also the covers of the old chairs and the horsehair sofa which was never

moved from its accustomed place along the wall. It was not a comfortable Squire's residence, this old house

at Vavasor. In the last twenty years no money had been spent on furniture or embellishments, and for the last

ten years there had been nopainting, either inside or out. Twenty years ago the Squire had been an

embarrassed man, and had taken a turn in his life and had lived sparingly. It could not be said that he had

become a miser. His table was kept plentifully, and there had never been want in his house. In some respects,

too, he had behaved liberally to Kate and to others, and he had kept up the timber and fences on the property.

But the house had become wretched in its dull, sombre, dirty darkness, and the gardens round it were as bad.

What ought she now to do? She believed that her grandfather's last days were coming, and she knew that

others of the family should be with him besides herself. For their sakes, for his, and for her own, it would be

proper that she should not be alone there when he died. But for whom should she send? Her brother was the

natural heir, and would be the head of the family. Her duty to him was clear, and the more so as her

grandfather was at this moment speaking of changes in his will. But it was a question to her whether George's

presence at Vavasor, even if he would come, would not at this moment do more harm than good to his own

interests. It would make some prejudicial change in the old man's will more probable instead of less so.

George would not become soft and mildspoken even by a deathbed side, and it would be likely enough

that the Squire would curse his heir with his dying breath. She might send for her uncle John; but if she did so

without telling George she would be treating George unfairly; and she knew that it was improbable that her

uncle and her brother should act together in anything. Her aunt Greenow, she thought, would come to her,

and her presence would not influence the Squire in any way with reference to the property. So she made up

her mind at last that she would ask her aunt to come to Vavasor, and that she would tell her brother accurately

all that she could tell leaving him to come or stay, as he might think. Alice would, no doubt, learn all the

facts from him, and her uncle John would hear them from Alice. Then they could do as they pleased. As soon

as Mr Gogram had been there she would write her letters, and they should be sent over to Shap early on the

Mr Gogram came and was closeted with the Squire, and the doctor also came. The doctor saw Kate, and,

shaking his head, told her that her grandfather was sinking lower and lower every hour. It would be infinitely

better for him if he would take that port wine at four doses in the day, or even at two, instead of taking it all

together. Kate promised to try again, but stated her conviction thatthe trial would be useless. The doctor,

when pressed on the matter, said that his patient might probably live a week, not improbably a fortnight

perhaps a month, if he would be obedient and so forth. Gogram went away without seeing Kate; and Kate,

who looked upon a will as an awful and somewhat tedious ceremony, was in doubt whether her grandfather

would live to complete any new operation. But, in truth, the will had been made and signed and witnessed

the parish clerk and one of the tenants having been had up into the room as witnesses. Kate knew that the

That evening when it was dusk the Squire came into the diningroom, having been shuffling about the grand

sweep before the house for a quarter of an hour. The day was cold and the wind bleak, but still he would go

out, and Kate had wrapped him up carefully in mufflers and great coats. Now he came in to what he called

dinner, and Kate sat down with him. He had drunk no wine that day, although she had brought it to him twice

during the morning. Now he attempted to swallow a little soup, but failed; and after that, while Kate was

eating her bit of chicken, had the decanter put before him. "I can't eat, and I suppose it won't hurt you if I take

my wine at once," he said. It went against the grain with him, even yet, that he could not wait till the cloth

was gone from the table, but his impatience for the only sustenance that he could take was too much for him.

"But you should eat something, sir; will you have a bit of toast to sop in your wine?"

The word "sop" was badly chosen, and made the old Squire angry. "Sopped toast! Why am I to spoil the only

"Good! Nothing will do me any good any more. As for eating, you know I can't eat. What's the use of

bothering me?" Then he filled his second glass, and paused awhile before he put it to his lips. He never

exceeded four glasses, but the four he was determined that he would have, as long as he could lift them to his

Kate finished, or pretended to finish, her dinner within five minutes, in order that the table might be made to

look comfortable for him. Then she poked the fire, and brushed up the hearth, and closed the old curtains

with her own hands, moving about silently. As she moved his eye followed her, and when she came behind

his chair, and pushed the decanter a little more within his reach, he put out his rough, hairy hand, and laid it

upon one of hers which she had rested on the table, with a tenderness that was unusual with him. "You are a

"If I had, I shouldn't, perhaps, have been here to take care of you," she said, smiling.

"No; you'd have been like your brother, no doubt. Not that I think there could have been two so bad as he is."

"Try to forgive him! How often have I forgiven him without any trying? Why did he come down here the

other day, and insult me for the last time? Why didn't he keep away, as I had bidden him?"

"I didn't give him leave to treat me like that. Never mind; he will find that, old as I am, I can punish an

"I have made another will, that's all. Do you suppose I had that man here all the way from Penrith for

"I tell you it is done. If I left him the whole property it would be gone in two years' time. What's the use of

"But for his life, sir! You had promised him that he should have it for his life."

"How dare you tell me that? I never promised him. As my heir, he would have had it all, if he would have

behaved himself with common decency. Even though I disliked him, as I always have done, he should have

"I shall answer no questions about it, Kate." Then a fit of coughing came upon him, his four glasses of wine

having been all taken, and there was no further talk about business. During the evening Kate read a chapter of

the Bible out loud. But the Squire was very impatient under the reading, and positively refused permission for

a second. "There isn't any good in so much of it, all at once," he said, using almost exactly the same words

which Kate had used to him about the port wine. There may have been good produced by the small quantity

to which he listened as there is good from the physic which children take with wry faces, most unwillingly.

For many weeks past Kate had begged her grandfather to allow the clergyman of Vavasor to come to him; but

he hid positivelydeclined. The vicar was a young man to whom the living had lately been given by the

Chancellor, and he had commenced his career by giving instant offence to the Squire. This vicar's

predecessor had been an old man, almost as old as the Squire himself, and had held the living for forty years.

He had been a Westmoreland man, had read the prayers and preached his one Sunday sermon in a

Westmoreland dialect, getting through the whole operation rather within an hour and a quarter. He had

troubled none of his parishioners by much advice and had been meek and obedient to the Squire. Knowing

the country well, and being used to its habits, he had lived, and been charitable too, on the proceeds of his

living, which had never reached two hundred a year. But the new comer was a closefisted man, with higher

ideas of personal comfort, who found it necessary to make every penny go as far as possible, who made up in

preaching for what he could not give away in charity; who established an afternoon service, and who had

rebuked the Squire for saying that the doing so was trash and nonsense. Since that the Squire had never been

inside the church except on the occasion of Christmas Day. For this, indeed, the state of his health gave

ample excuse; but he had positively refused to see the vicar, though that gentleman had assiduously called,

and had at last desired the servant to tell the clergyman not to come again unless he were sent for. Kate's task

was, therefore, difficult, both as regarded the temporal and spiritual wants of her grandfather.

When the reading was finished, the old man dozed in his chair for half an hour. He would not go up to bed

before the enjoyment of that luxury. He was daily implored to do so, because that sleep in the chair interfered

so fatally with his chance of sleeping in bed. But sleep in his chair he would and did. Then he woke, and after

a fit of coughing, was induced, with much illhumour, to go up to his room. Kate had never seen him so

weak. He was hardly able, even with her assistance and that of the old servant, to get up the broad stairs. But

there was still some power left to him for violence of language after he got to his room, and he rated Kate and

the old woman loudly, because his slippers were not in the proper place. "Grandfather," said Kate, would you

like me to stay in the room with you tonight?" He rated her again for this proposition, and then, with

After that Kate went to her own room and wrote her letters. The first she wrote was to her aunt Greenow.

That was easilyenough written. To Mrs Greenow it was not necessary that she should say anything about

money. She simply stated her belief that her grandfather's last day was near at hand, and begged her aunt to

come and pay a last visit to the old man. "It will be a great comfort to me in my distress," she said; "and it

will be a satisfaction to you to have seen your father again." She knew that her aunt would come, and that

But her letter to her brother was much more difficult. What should she tell him, and what should she not tell

him? She began by describing her grandfather's state, and by saying to him, as she had done to Mrs Greenow,

that she believed the old man's hours were wellnigh come to a close. She told him that she had asked her

aunt to come to her; "not," she said, that I think her coming will be of material service, but I feel the

loneliness of the house will be too much for me at such a time. I must leave it for you to decide," she said,

"whether you had better be here. If anything should happen people when writing such letters are always

afraid to speak of death by its proper name "I will send you a message, and no doubt you would come at

once." Then came the question of the will. Had it not occurred to her that her own interests were involved she

would have said nothing on the subject; but she feared her brother feared even his misconstruction of her

motives, even though she was willing to sacrifice so much on his behalf and therefore she resolved to tell

him all that she knew. He might turn upon her hereafter if she did not do so and accuse her of a silence which

So she told it all, and the letter became long in the telling "I write with a heavy heart," she said, because I

know it will be a great blow to you. He gave me to understand that in this will he left everything away from

you. I cannot declare that he said so directly. Indeed I cannot remember his words; but that was the

impression he left on me. The day before he had asked me what I should do if he gave me the estate; but of

course I treated that as a joke. I have no idea what he put into this will. I have not even attempted to guess.

But now I have told you all that I know." The letter was a very long one, and was not finished till late; but

when it was completed she had the two taken out into the kitchen, as the boy was to start with them before

Early on the next morning she crept silently into her grandfather's room, as was her habit; but he was

apparently sleeping, and then she crept back again. The old servant told her that the Squire had been awake at

four, and at five, and at six, and had called for her. Then he had seemed to go to sleep. Four or five times in

the course of the morning Kate went into the room, but her grandfather did not notice her. At last she feared

he might already have passed away, and she put her hand upon his shoulder, and down his arm. He then

gently touched her hand with his, showing her plainly that he was not only alive, but conscious. She then

offered him food the thin porridge which he was wont to take, and the medicine. She offered him some

At twelve o'clock a letter was brought to her, which had come by the post. She saw that it was from Alice,

and opening it found that it was very long. At that moment she could not read it, but she saw words in it that

made her wish to know its contents as quickly as possible. But she could not leave her grandfather then. At

two o'clock the doctor came to him, and remained there till the dusk of the evening had commenced. At eight

Poor Kate's condition at the old Hall on that night was very sad. The presence of death is always a source of

sorrow, even though the circumstances of the case are of a kind to create no agony of grief. The old man who

had just passed away upstairs was fully due to go. He had lived his span all out, and had himself known that

to die was the one thing left for him to do. Kate also had expected his death, and had felt that the time had

come in which it would be foolish even to wish that it should be arrested. But death close to one is always sad

And she was quite alone at Vavasor Hall. She had no acquaintance within some miles of her. From the young

vicar, though she herself had not quarrelled with him, she could receive no comfort, as she hardly knew him;

nor was she of a temperament which would dispose her to turn to a clergyman at such a time for comfort,

unless to one who might have been an old friend. Her aunt and brother would probably both come to her; but

they could hardly be with her for a day or two, and during that day or two it would be needful that orders

should be given which it is disagreeable for a woman to have to give. The servants, moreover, in the house

were hardly fit to assist her much. There was an old butler, or footman, who had lived at the Hall for more

than fifty years, but he was crippled with rheumatism, and so laden with maladies, that he rarely crept out of

his own room. He was simply an additional burden on the others. There was a boy who had lately done all the

work which the other should have done, and ever so much more beside. There is no knowing how much work

such a boy will do when properly drilled, and he was now Kate's best minister in her distress. There was the

old nurse but she had been simply good for nursing, and there were two rough Westmoreland girls who

On that first evening the very day on which her grandfather had died Kate would have been more

comfortable had she really found something that she could do. But there was in truth nothing. She hovered

for an hour or two in and out of the room, conscious of the letter which she had in her pocket, and very

desirous in heart of reading it, but restrained by a feeling that at such a moment she ought to think only of the

dead. In this she was wrong. Let the living think of the dead, when their thoughts will travel that way whether

the thinker wish it or no. Grief taken up because grief is supposed to be proper, is only one degree better than

pretended grief. When one sees it, one cannot but think of the lady who asked her friend, in confidence,

whether hot roast fowl and bread sauce were compatible with the earliest state of weeds; or of that other lady

a royal lady she who was much comforted in the tedium of her trouble when assured by one of the

It was late at night, near eleven, before Kate took out her letter and read it. As something of my story hangs

upon it, I will give it at length, though it was a long letter. It had been written with great struggles and with

many tears, and Kate, as she read it to the end, almost forgot that her grandfather was lying dead in the room

"I hardly know how to write to you what I have to tell, and yet I must tell it. I must tell it to you, but I

shall never repeat the story to any one else. I should have written yesterday, when it occurred, but I was so ill

that I felt myself unable to make the exertion. Indeed, at one time, after your brother had left me, I almost

doubted whether I should ever be able to collect my thoughts again. My dismay was at first so great that my

"Dear Kate, I hope you will not be angry with me for telling you. I have endeavoured to think about it as

calmly as I can, and I believe that I have no alternative. The fact that your brother has quarrelled with me

cannot be concealed from you, and I must not leave him to tell you of the manner of it. He came to me

yesterday in great anger. His anger then was nothing to what it became afterwards; but even when he first

came in he was full of wrath. He stood up before me, and asked me how it had come to pass that I had sent

him the money which he had asked of me through the hands of Mr Grey. Of courseI had not done this, and so

I told him at once. I had spoken of the matter to no one but papa, and he had managed it for me. Even now I

know nothing of it, and as I have not yet spoken to papa I cannot understand it. George at once told me that

he disbelieved me, and when I sat quiet under this insult, he used harsher words, and said that I had conspired

"He then asked me whether I loved him. Oh, Kate, I must tell it you all, though it is dreadful to me that I

should have to write it. You remember how it came to pass when we were in Westmoreland together at

Christmas? Do not think that I am blaming you, but I was very rash then in the answers which I made to him.

I thought that I could be useful to him as his wife, and I had told myself that it would be good that I should be

of use in some way. When he asked me that question yesterday, I sat silent. Indeed, how could I have

answered it in the affirmative, when he had just used such language to me while he was standing opposite

to me, looking at me in that way which he has when he is enraged? Then he spoke again and demanded of me

that I should at once send back to Mr Grey all presents of his which I had kept, and at the same time took up

and threw across the table on to the sofa near me, a little paper knife which Mr Grey once gave me. I could

not allow myself to be so ordered by him; so I said nothing, but put the knife back upon the table. He then

took it again and threw it beneath the grate. "I have a right to look upon you as my wife," he said, "and, as

such, I will not allow you to keep that man's things about you." I think I told him then that I should never

become his wife, but though I remember many of his words, I remember none of my own. He swore, I know,

with a great oath, that if I went back a second time from my word to him he would leave me no peace that

he would punish me for my perfidy with some fearful punishment. Oh, Kate, I cannot tell you what he looked

like. He had then come quite close to me, and I know that I trembled before him as though he were going to

strike me. Of course I said nothing. What could I say to a man who behaved to me in such a manner? Then,

as far as I can remember it, he sat down and began to talk about money. I forget what he said at first, but I

know that I assured him that he might take what he wanted so long as enough was left to prevent my being

absolutely a burden on papa. "That, madam, is a matter of course," he said. I remember those words so well.

Then he explained that after what had passed between us, I had no right to ruin him by keeping back from

him money which had been promised to him, and whichwas essential to his success. In this, dear Kate, I think

he was mainly right. But he could not have been right in putting it to me in that hard, cruel manner, especially

as I had never refused anything that he had asked of me in respect of money. The money he may have while it

lasts; but then there must be an end of it all between us, even though he should have the power of punishing

me, as he says he will do. Punishing me, indeed! What punishment can be so hard as that which he has

"He then desired me to write a letter to him which he might show to the lawyer to our own lawyer, I think

he meant, in order that money might be raised to pay back what Mr Grey had advanced, and give him what he

now required, I think he said it was to be five thousand pounds. When he asked this I did not move. Indeed, I

was unable to move. Then he spoke very loud, and swore at me again, and brought me pen and ink,

demanding that I should write the letter. I was so frightened that I thought of running to the door to escape,

and I would have done so had I not distrusted my own power. Had it been to save my life I could not have

written the letter. I believe I was now crying at any rate I threw myself back and covered my face with my

hands. Then he came and sat by me, and took hold of my arms. Oh, Kate; I cannot tell it you all. He put his

mouth close to my ear, and said words which were terrible, though I did not understand them. I do not know

what it was he said, but he was threatening me with his anger if I did not obey him. Before he left me, I

believe I found my voice to tell him that he should certainly have the money which he required. And so he

shall. I will go to Mr Round myself, and insist on its being done. My money is my own, and I may do with it

as I please. But I hope I am obliged to hope, that I may never be made to see my cousin again.

"I will not pretend to express any opinion as to the cause of all this. It is very possible that you will not

believe all I say that you will think that I am mad and have deluded myself. Of course your heart will

prompt you to accuse me rather than him. If it is so, and if there must therefore be a division between us, my

grief will be greatly increased; but I do not know that I can help it. I cannot keep all this back from you. He

has cruelly illused me and insulted me. He has treated me as I should have thought no man could have

treated a woman. As regards money, I did all that I could do to show that I trusted him thoroughly, and my

confidence has only led to suspicion. I do not know whether he understands that everything must be over

between us; but, if not, I must ask you to tell him so.And I must ask you to explain to him that he must not

come again to Queen Anne Street. If he does, nothing shall induce me to see him. Tell him also that the

money that he wants shall assuredly be sent to him as soon as I can make Mr Round get it.

"Dearest Kate, goodbye. I hope you will feel for me. If you do not answer me I shall presume that you think

yourself bound to support his side, and to believe me to have been wrong. It will make me very unhappy; but

Kate, as she read her letter through, at first quickly, and then very slowly, came by degrees almost to forget

that death was in the house. Her mind, and heart, and brain, were filled with thoughts and feelings that had

exclusive reference to Alice and her brother, and at last she found herself walking the room with quick,

All her sympathies in the matter were with Alice. It never occurred to her to disbelieve a word of the

statement made to her, or to suggest to herself that it had been coloured by any fears or exaggerations on the

part of her correspondent. She knew that Alice was true. And, moreover, much as she loved her brother

willing as she had been and would still be to risk all that she possessed, and herself also, on his behalf she

knew that it would be risking and not trusting. She loved her brother, such love having come to her by nature,

and having remained with her from of old; and in his intellect she still believed. But she had ceased to have

belief in his conduct. She feared everything that he might do, and lived with a consciousness that though she

was willing to connect all her own fortunes with his, she had much reason to expect that she might encounter

ruin in doing so. Her sin had been in this that she had been anxious to subject Alice to the same danger

that she had intrigued, sometimes very meanly, to bring about the object which she had at heart that she

had used all her craft to separate Alice from Mr Grey. Perhaps it may be alleged in her excuse that she had

thought had hoped rather than thought that the marriage which she contemplated would change much

in her brother that was wrong, and bring him into a mode of life that would not be dangerous. Might not she

and Alice together so work upon him, that he should cease to stand ever on the brink of some

halfseenprecipice? To risk herself for her brother was noble. But when she used her cunning in inducing her

cousin to share that risk she was ignoble. Of this she had herself some consciousness as she walked up and

Her cheeks became tinged with shame as she thought of the scene which Alice had described the toy

thrown beneath the grate, the loud curses, the whispered threats, which had been more terrible than curses,

the demand for money, made with something worse than a cutthroat's violence, the strong man's hand

placed upon that woman's arm in anger and in rage, those eyes glaring, and the gaping horror of that still raw

cicatrice, as he pressed his face close to that of his victim! Not for a moment did she think of defending him.

She accused him to herself vehemently of a sin over and above those sins which had filled Alice with dismay.

He had demanded money from the girl whom he intended to marry! According to Kate's idea, nothing could

excuse or palliate this sin. Alice had accounted it as nothing had expressed her opinion that the demand

was reasonable even now, after the illusage to which she had been subjected, she had declared that the

money should be forthcoming, and given to the man who had treated her so shamefully. It might be well that

Alice should so feel and so act, but it behoved Kate to feel and act very differently. She would tell her

brother, even in that house of death, should he come there, that his conduct was mean and unmanly. Kate was

no coward. She declared to herself that she would do this even though he should threaten her with all his fury

One o'clock, and two o'clock, still found her in the dark sombre parlour, every now and then pacing the floor

of the room. The fire had gone out, and, though it was now the middle of April, she began to feel the cold.

But she would not go to bed before she had written a line to Alice. To her brother a message by telegraph

would of course be sent the next morning; as also would she send a message to her aunt. But to Alice she

would write, though it might be but a line. Cold as she was, she found her pens and paper, and wrote her

letter that night. It was very short. "Dear Alice, today I received your letter, and today our poor old

grandfather died. Tell my uncle John, with my love, of his father's death. You will understand that I cannot

write much now about that other matter; but I must tell you, even at such a moment as this, that there shall he

no quarrelbetween you and me. There shall be none at least on my side. I cannot say more till a few days

shall have passed by. He is lying upstairs, a corpse, I have telegraphed to George, and I suppose he will come

down. I think my aunt Greenow will come also, as I had written to her before, seeing that I wanted the

comfort of having her here. Uncle John will of course come or not as he thinks fitting. I don't know whether I

am in a position to say that I shall be glad to see him; but I should be very glad. He and you will know that I

can, as yet, tell you nothing further. The lawyer is to see the men about the funeral. Nothing, I suppose, will

be done till George comes. Your own cousin and friend, KATE VAVASOR." And then she added a line

below. "My own Alice If you will let me, you shall be my sister, and be the nearest to me and the dearest."

Alice, when she received this, was at the first moment so much struck, and indeed surprised, by the tidings of

her grandfather's death, that she was forced, in spite of the still existing violence of her own feelings, to think

and act chiefly with reference to that event. Her father had not then left his room. She therefore went to him,

and handed him Kate's letter. "Papa," she said, "there is news from Westmoreland; bad news, which you

hardly expected yet." "My father is dead, said John Vavasor. Whereupon Alice gave him Kate's letter, that he

might read it, "Of course I shall go down," he said, as he came to that part in which Kate had spoken of him.

"Does she think I shall not follow my father to the grave, because I dislike her brother? What does she mean

by saying that there shall be no quarrel between you and her?" "I will explain that at another time," said

Alice. John Vavasor asked no further questions then, but declared at first that he should go to Westmoreland

on the following day. Then he altered his purpose. "I'll go by the mail train tonight," he said. It will be very

disagreeable, but I ought to be there when the will is opened." There was very little more said in Queen Anne

Street on the subject till the evening till a few moments before Mr Vavasor left his house. He indeed had

thought nothing more about that quarrelling, or rather that promise that there should be no quarrelling,

between the girls. He still regarded his nephew George as the man who, unfortunately, was to be his

soninlaw, and now, during this tedious sad day, in which he felt himself compelled to remain at home, he

busied his mind in thinking of George and Alice, as living together at the old Hall. At six, the father and

daughter dined, and soon after dinner Mr Vavasor went up to his own room to prepare himself for his

journey. After a whileAlice followed him but she did not do so till she knew that if anything was to be

told before the journey no further time could be lost. "Papa," she said, as soon as she had shut the door behind

her, "I think I ought to tell you before you go that everything is over between me and George."

"Have you quarrelled with him too?" said her father, with uncontrolled surprise.

"I should perhaps say that he has quarrelled with me. But, dear papa, pray do not question me at present. I

will tell you all when you come back, but I thought it right that you should know this before you went."

"I cannot explain it to you in a hurry like this. Papa, you may understand something of the shame which I

"I'll be shot if I can understand you. George, you know, has had two thousand pounds of your money of

yours or somebody else's. Well, we can't talk about it now, as I must be off. Thinking as I do of George, I'm

glad of it that's all." Then he went, and Alice was left alone, to comfort herself as best she might by her

George Vavasor had received the message on the day previous to that on which Alice's letter had reached her,

but it had not come to him till late in the day. He might have gone down by the mail train of that night, but

there were one or two persons, his own attorney especially, whom he wished to see before the reading of his

grandfather's will. He remained in town, therefore, on the following day, and went down by the same train as

that which took his uncle. Walking along the platform, looking for a seat, he peered into a carriage and met

his uncle's eye. The two saw each other, but did not speak, and George passed on to another carriage. On the

following morning, before the break of day, they met again in the refreshment room, at the station at

Lancaster. "So my father has gone, George," said the uncle, speaking to the nephew. They must go to the

same house, and Mr Vavasor felt that it would be better that they should be on speaking terms when they

reached it. "Yes," said George; "he has gone at last. I wonder what we shall find to have been his last act of

injustice." The reader will remember that he had received Kate's first letter, in which she had told him ofthe

Squire's altered will. John Vavasor turned away disgusted. His finer feelings were perhaps not very strong,

but he had no thoughts or hopes in reference to the matter which were mean. He expected nothing himself,

and did not begrudge his nephew the inheritance. At this moment he was thinking of the old Squire as a father

who had ever been kind to him. It might be natural that George should have no such old affection at his heart,

but it was unnatural that he should express himself as he had done at such a moment. The uncle turned away,

but said nothing. George followed him with a little proposition of his own. "We shan't get any conveyance at

Shap," he said. "Hadn't we better go over in a chaise from Kendal?" To this the uncle assented, and so they

finished their journey together. George smoked all the time that they were in the carriage, and very few words

were spoken. As they drove up to the old house, they found that another arrival had taken place before them

Mrs Greenow having reached the house in some vehicle from the Shap station. She had come across from

Norwich to Manchester, where she had joined the train which had brought the uncle and nephew from

The coming of Mrs Greenow at this very moment was a great comfort to Kate. Without her she would hardly

have known how to bear herself with her uncle and her brother. As it was, they were all restrained by

something of the courtesy which strangers are bound to show to each other. George had never seen his aunt

"And a Member of Parliament" said Mrs Greenow. It's quite an honour to the family. I felt so proud when I

heard it!" She said this pleasantly, meaning it to be taken for truth, and then turned away to her brother.

"Papa's time was fully come," she said, "though, to tell the truth, I had no idea that he was so weak as Kate

"Nor I, either," said John Vavasor. He went to church with us here on Christmas Day."

"Did he, indeed? Dear, dear! He seems at last to have gone off just like poor Greenow." Here she put her

"Ah! he wasn't to be known and understood in that way. I'm aware there was a little prejudice, because of his

being in trade, but we won't talk of that now. Where should I have been without him, tradesman or no

"You may say that, John. Ah, well! we can't keep everything in this life for ever." It may, perhaps, be as well

to explain now that Mrs Greenow had told Captain Bellfield at their last meeting before she left Norwich,

that, under certain circumstances, if he behaved himself well, there might possibly be ground of hope.

Whereupon Captain Bellfield had immediately gone to the best tailor in that city, had told the man of his

coming marriage, and had given an extensive order. But the tailor had not as yet supplied the goods, waiting

for more credible evidence of the Captain's good fortune. "We're all grass of the field," said Mrs Greenow,

lightly brushing a tear from her eye, "and must be cut down and put into the oven in our turns." Her brother

uttered a slight sympathetic groan, shaking his head in testimony of the uncertainty of human affairs, and then

said that he would go out and look about the place. George, in the meantime, had asked his sister to show him

Kate had made up her mind that she would say nothing about Alice at the present moment nothing, if it

could be avoided, till after the funeral. She led the way upstairs, almost trembling with fear, for she knew that

that other subject of the will would also give rise to trouble and sorrow perhaps, also, to determined

"And why did you ask her to come here?" said George, angrily. Kate immediately felt that he was speaking as

though he were master of the house, and also as though he intended to be master of her. As regarded the

former idea, she had no objection to it. She thoroughly and honestly wished that he might be the master; and

though she feared that he might find himself mistaken in his assumption, she herself was not disposed to deny

any appearance of right that he might take upon himself in that respect. But she had already begun to tell

herself that she must not submit herself to his masterdom. She had gradually so taught herself since he had

compelled her to write the first letter in which Alice had been asked to give her money.

"I asked her, George, before my poor grandfather's death, when I thought that he would linger perhaps for

weeks. My life here alone with him, without any other woman in the house beside the servants, was very

"I don't know why she shouldn't have come. I won't have that woman about the place, She disgraced herself

"Why, George, it was you yourself who advised me to go and stay with her," "That's a very different thing.

Now that he's dead, and she's got his money, it's all very well that you should go to her occasionally; but I

"It's natural that she should come to her father's house at her father's deathbed."

"I hate to be told that things are natural. It always means humbug. I don't suppose she cared for the old man

any more than I did or than she cared for the other old man who married her. People are such intense

hypocrites. There's my uncle John, pulling a long face because he has come into this house, and he will pull it

as long as the body lies up there; and yet for the last twenty years there's nothing on earth he has so much

"Mr Gogram. He was here yesterday, and told me to tell you and uncle John that he would have it with him

"What has my uncle John to do with it?" said George, sharply. "I shall go over to Penrith this afternoon and

"What right has he to keep it? What right has he to it at all? How do I know that he has really got the old

"In that old secretary, as he used to call it; the one that stands in the diningroom. It is sealed up."

"I merely assisted him. But I believe he was quite right. I think it is usual in such cases."

"Balderdash! You are thinking of some old trumpery of former days, Till I know to the contrary, everything

here belongs to me as heiratlaw, and I do not mean to allow of any interference till I know for certain that

my rights have been taken from me. And I won't accept a deathbed will. What a man chooses to write when

his fingers will hardly hold the pen, goes for nothing." "You can't suppose that I wish to interfere with your

"Well; I say, I hope not. But I know there are those who would. Do you think my uncle John would not

interfere with me if he could? By ! if he does, he shall find that he does it to his cost. I'll lead him such a

life through the courts, for the next two or three years, that he'll wish that he had remained in Chancery Lane,

A message was now brought up by the nurse, saying that Mrs Greenow and Mr Vavasor were going into the

room where the old Squire was lying, "Would Miss Kate and Mr George go with them?"

"Mr Vavasor!" shouted out George, making the old woman jump. She did not understand his meaning in the

"No; what should I go there for? Why should I pretend an interest in the dead body of a man whom I hated,

and who hated me whose very last act, as far as I know as yet, was an attempt to rob me? I won't go and

Kate went, and was glad of an opportunity of getting away from her brother. Every hour the idea was

becoming stronger in her mind that she must in some way separate herself from him. There had come upon

him of late a hard ferocity which made him unendurable. And then he carried to such a pitch that hatred, as he

called it, of conventional rules, that he allowed himself to be controlled by none of the ordinary bonds of

society. She had felt this heretofore, with a nervous consciousness that she was doing wrong in endeavouring

to bring about a marriage between him and Alice; but this demeanour and mode of talking had now so grown

upon him that Kate began to feel herself thankful that Alice had been saved. Kate went up with her uncle and

aunt, and saw the face of her grandfather for the last time. "Poor, dear old man!" said Mrs Greenow, as the

easy tears ran down her face. "Do you remember, John, how he used to scold me, and say that I should never

"He has been very kind to me," said Kate, standing at the foot of the bed. She was not one of those whose

"He was a fine old gentleman," said John Vavasor "belonging to days that are now gone by, but by no

means the less of a gentleman on that account. I don't know that he ever did an unjust or ungenerous act to

any one. Come, Kate, we may as well go down." Mrs Greenow lingered to say a word or two to the nurse, of

the manner in which Greenow's body was treated when Greenow was lying dead, and then she followed her

George did not go into Penrith, nor did he see Mr Gogram till that worthy attorney came out to Vavasor Hall

on the morning of the funeral. He said nothing more on the subject, nor did he break the seals on the old

upright desk that stood in the parlour. The two days before the funeral were very wretched for all the party,

except, perhaps, for Mrs Greenow, who affected not to understand that her nephew was in a bad humour. She

called him "poor George," and treated all his incivility to herself as though it were the effect of his grief. She

asked him questions about Parliament, which, of course, he didn't answer, and told him little stories about

The two days at last went by, and the hour of the funeral came. There was the doctor and Gogram, and the

uncle and the nephew, to follow the corpse the nephew taking upon himself ostentatiously the foremost

place, as though he could thereby help to maintain his pretensions as heir. The clergyman met them at the

little wicketgate of the churchyard, having by some reasoning, which we hope was satisfactory to himself,

overcome a resolution which he at first formed, that he would not read the burial service over an unrepentant

sinner. But he did read it, having mentioned his scruples to none but one confidential clerical friend in the

"I'm told that you have got my grandfather's will," George said to the attorney as soon as he saw him.

"I have it in my pocket," said Mr Gogram, and purpose to read it as soon as we return from church."

"Quite usual," said the attorney; and in this case it was done at the express desire of the testator."

George upon this turned round at his uncle as though about to attack him, but he restrained himself and said

The funeral was very plain, and not a word was spoken by George Vavasor during the journey there and

back. John Vavasor asked a few questions of the doctor as to the last weeks of his father's life; and it was

incidentally mentioned, both by the doctor and by the attorney, that the old Squire's intellect had remained

unimpaired up to the last moment that he had been seen by either of them. When they returned to the hall Mrs

Greenow met them with an invitation to lunch. They all went to the diningroom, and drank each a glass of

sherry. George took two or three glasses. The doctor then withdrew, and drove himself back to Penrith, where

"Shall we go into the other room now?" said the attorney. The three gentlemen then rose up, and went across

to the drawingroom, George leading the way. The attorney followed him, and John Vavasor closed the door

behind them. Had any observer been there to watch them he might have seen by the faces of the two latter

that they expected an unpleasant meeting. Mr Gogram, as he had walked across the hall, had pulled a

document out of his pocket, and held it in his hand as he took a chair. John Vavasor stood behind one of the

chairs which had been placed at the table, and leaned upon it, looking across the room, up at the ceiling.

George stood on the rug before the fire, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and his coattails over

"Gentlemen, will you sit down?" said Mr Gogram. John Vavasor immediately sit down.

"Before that paper is read," said George, I think it right to say a few words. I don't know what it contains, but

I believe it to have been executed by my grandfather only an hour or two before his death."

"Well the day before he died; it is the same thing while he was dying, in fact. He never got out of bed

"He was not in bed at the time, Mr Vavasor. Not that it would have mattered if he had been. And he came

down to dinner on that day. I don't understand, however, why you make these observations."

"If you'll listen to me you will understand. I make them because I deny my grandfather's fitness to make a

will in the last moments of his existence, and at such an age. I saw him a few weeks ago, and he was not fit to

be trusted with the management of property then." "I do not think this is the time, George, to put forward

"I think it is," said George. I believe that that paper purports to be an instrument by which I should be

villanously defrauded if it were allowed to be held as good. Therefore I protest against it now, and shall

question it at law if action be taken on it. You can read it now, if you please."

"Oh, yes, I shall read," said Mr Gogram; and I say that it is as valid a will as ever a man signed."

The will was read amidst sundry interjections and expressions of anger from George, which it is not

necessary to repeat. Nor need I trouble my readers with the will at length. It began by expressing the testator's

great desire that his property might descend in his own family, and that the house might be held and inhabited

by someone bearing the name of Vavasor. He then declared that he felt himself obliged to pass over his

natural heir, believing that the property would not be safe in his hands; he therefore left it in trust to his son

John Vavasor, whom he appointed to be sole executor of his will. He devised it to George's eldest son

should George ever marry and have a son as soon as he might reach the age of twentyfive. In the

meantime the property should remain in the hands of John Vavasor for his use and benefit, with a lien on it of

five hundred a year to be paid annually to his granddaughter Kate. In the event of George having no son, the

property was to go to the eldest son of Kate, or failing that to the eldest son of his other granddaughter who

might take the name of Vavasor. All his personal property he left to his son, John Vavasor. "And, Mr

Vavasor," said the attorney, as he finished his reading, "you will, I fear, get very little by that latter clause.

The estate now owes nothing; but I doubt whether the Squire had fifty pounds in his banker's hands when he

died, and the value of the property about the place is very small. He has been unwilling to spend anything

during the last ten years, but has paid off every shilling that the property owed."

"It is as I supposed," said George. His voice was very unpleasant, and so was the fire of his eyes and the

ghastly rage of his scarred face. "The old man has endeavoured in his anger to rob me of everything because I

would not obey him in his wickedness when I was here with him a short while before he died. Such a will as

"As to that I have nothing to say at present," said the attorney. "Where is his other will the one he made

"It is not my business to know, Mr Vavasor. I believe that I saw him destroy one, but I have no absolute

"Do! I shall carry out the will. I have no alternative. Your sister is the person chiefly interested under it. She

gets five hundred a year for her life; and if she marries and you don't, or if she has a son and you don't, her

George stood for a few moments thinking. Might it not be possible that by means of Alice and Kate together

by marrying the former perhaps, he might still obtain possession of the property? But that which he

wanted was the command of the property at once the power of raising money upon it instantly. The will

had been so framed as to make that impossible in any way. Kate's share in it had not been left to her

unconditionally, but was to be received even by her through the hands of her uncle John. Such a will shut him

"What do you mean by that, sir?" said Gogram, turning round towards him. "I mean exactly what I say. It is a

"I don't ask as to the signature. Who was in the room when the thing was written?"

"No one else. The presence of any one else at such a time would be very unusual."

"Then I regard the document simply as waste paper." After saying this, George Vavasor left the room, and

"I never was insulted in such a way before," said the attorney, almost with tears in his eyes.

"He is a disappointed and I fear a ruined man," said John Vavasor. "I do not think you need regard what he

"But he should not on that account insult me. I have only done my duty. I did not even advise his grandfather.

It is mean on his part and unmanly. If he comes in my way again I shall tell him so."

Then the attorney went, having suggested to Mr Vavasor that he should instruct his attorney in London to

take steps in reference to the proving of the will. "It's as good a will as ever was made," said Mr Gogram. "If

Who was to tell Kate? That was John Vavasor's first thought when he was left alone at the hall door, after

seeing the lawyer start away. And how was he to get himself back to London without further quarrelling with

his nephew? And what was he to do at once with reference to the immediate duties of proprietorship which

were entailed upon him as executor? It was by no means improbable, as he thought, that George might

assume to himself the position of master of the house; that he might demand the keys, for instance, which no

doubt were in Kate's hands at present, and that he would take possession with violence. What should he do

under such circumstances? It was clear that he could not run away and get back to his club by the night mail

train. He had duties there at the Hall, and these duties were of a nature to make him almost regret the position

in which his father's will had placed him. Eventually he would gain some considerable increase to his means,

but the immediate effect would be terribly troublesome. As he looked up at the melancholy pines which were

slowly waving their heads in the wind before the door he declared to himself that he would sell his

In the diningroom he found his sister alone. "Well, John," said she; "well? How is it left?"

"Then, I suppose, he will tell her," said John Vavasor. After that he explained the circumstances of the will to

Mrs Greenow. "Bravo," exclaimed the widow. I'm delighted. I love Kate dearly; and now she can marry

George, when he left the room in which he had insulted the lawyer, went immediately across to the parlour in

which his aunt and sister were sitting. "Kate," said he, put on your hat and come and walk with me. That

business is over." Kate's hat and shawl were in the room, and they were out of the house together within a

They walked down the carriageroad, through the desolate, untended grounds, to the gate, before either of

them spoke a word. Kate was waiting for George to tell her of the will, but did not dare to ask any question.

George intended to tell her of the will, but was not disposed to do so without some preparation. It was a thing

not to be spoken of openmouthed, as a piece of ordinary news. "Which way shall we go?" said Kate, as soon

as they had passed through the old rickety gate, which swang at the entrance of the place. "Up across the

fell," said George; "the day is fine, and I want to get away from my uncle for a time." She turned round,

therefore, outside the hill of firs, and led the way back to the beacon wood through which she and Alice had

walked across to Hawes Water upon a memorable occasion. They had reached the top of the beacon hill, and

were out upon the Fell, before George had begun his story. Kate was half beside herself with curiosity, but

still she was afraid to ask. "Well," said George, when they paused a moment as they stepped over a plank that

crossed the boundary ditch of the wood; "don't you want to know what that dear old man has done for you?"

Then he looked into her face very steadfastly. "But perhaps you know already," he added. He had come out

determined not to quarrel with his sister. He had resolved, in that moment of thought which had been allowed

to him, that his best hope for the present required that he should keep himself on good terms with her, at any

rate till he had settled what line of conduct he would pursue. But he was, in truth, so sore with anger and

disappointment he had become so nearly mad with that continued, unappeased wrath in which he now

indulged against all the world, that he could not refrain himself from bitter words. He was as one driven by

"I know nothing of it," said Kate. Had I known I should have told you. Your question is unjust to me."

"I am beginning to doubt," said he, whether a man can be safe in trusting any one. My grandfather has done

"Then, George, I shall do that which I told him I should do in the event of his making such a will; for he

asked me the question. I told him I should restore the estate to you, and upon that he swore that he would not

"And what a fool you were," said he, stopping her in the pathway. "What an ass! Why did you tell him that?

"But I will save you still, if he has left the estate to me. I do not desire to take it from you. As God in heaven

sees me, I have never ceased to endeavour to protect your interests here at Vavasor. I will sign anything

necessary to make over my right in the property to you." Then they walked on over the Fell for some minutes

without speaking. They were still on the same path that path which Kate and Alice had taken in the winter

and now poor Kate could not but think of all that she had said that day on George's behalf how had she

mingled truth and falsehood in her efforts to raise her brother's character in her cousin's eyes! It had all been

done in vain. At this very moment of her own trouble Kate thought of John Grey, and repented of what she

had done. Her hopes in that direction were altogether blasted. She knew that her brother had illtreated Alice,

and that she must tell him so if Alice's name were mentioned between them. She could no longer worship her

brother, and hold herself at his command in all things. But, as regarded the property to which he was

naturally the heir, if any act of hers could give it to him, that act would be done."If the will is as you say,

"You can make over nothing," he answered. The old robber has been too cunning for that; he has left it all in

"Dead; of course he is dead. What of that? I wish he had been dead ten years ago or twenty. Do you

suppose I am to forgive him because he is dead? I'll heap his grave with curses, if that can be of avail to

"And I will punish them but not by cursing them. My uncle John shall have such a life of it for the next

year or two that he shall bitterly regret the hour in which he has stepped between me and my rights."

"Not done so! What was he down here for at Christmas? Do you pretend to think that that makebelieve will

"I'm sure that he knew nothing of it. I don't think my grandfather's mind was made up a week before he died."

"You'll have to swear that, remember, in a court. I'm not going to let the matter rest, I can tell you. You'll

have to prove that. How long is it since he asked you what you would do with the estate if he left it to you?"

Kate thought for a moment before she answered. "It was only two days before he died, if I remember rightly."

"But you must remember rightly. You'll have to swear to it. And now tell me this honestly; do you believe, in

"I told him that I thought no man should alter family arrargements when he was so ill."

"Now, Kate, think a little before you answer me again. If ever you are to do me a good turn, you must do it

now. And, remember this, I don't at all want to take anything away from you. Whatever you think is fair you

He was a fool not to have known her better than that. "I want nothing," she said, stopping and stamping with

her foot upon the crushed heather. "George, you don't understand what it is to be honest."

He smiled with a slight provoking smile that passed very rapidly from his face. The meaning of the smile

was to be read, had Kate been calm enough to read it. "I can't say that I do." That was the meaning of the

smile. "Well, never mind about that," said he; "you advised my grandfather not to make his will thinking,

She paused a moment again before she answered him. "His mind was clear," she said; "but I thought that he

"Look here, Kate; I do believe that you at any rate have no mind to assist in this robbery. That it is a robbery

you can't have any doubt. I said he had left the estate to you. That is not what he has done. He has left the

"Of course I am; Uncle John won't give it you. George, I don't understand you; I don't, indeed."

"Never mind about that, but listen to me. The estate is left in the hands of John Vavasor; but he has left you

five hundred a year out of it till somebody is twentyfive years old who is not yet born, and probably never

"Listen to me, I tell you. I don't mean that he was a raging maniac. Now, you had advised him not to make

"I hope I may not be called on to do so. I hope there may be no swearing about it. But if I am asked the

"Exactly. Now listen till you understand what it is I mean. That will, if it stands, gives all the power over the

estate to John Vavasor. It renders you quite powerless as regards any help or assistance that you might be

disposed to give me. But, nevertheless, your interest under the will is greater than his or than that of any

"Yes; I think so." "And your testimony as to the invalidity of the will would be conclusive against all the

"It will not be enough. Look here, Kate; you must be steadfast here; everything depends on you. How often

have you told me that you will stick to me throughout life? Now you will be tried."

Kate felt that her repugnance towards him towards all that he was doing and wished her to do was

growing stronger within her at every word he spoke. She was becoming gradually aware that he desired from

her something which she could not and would not do, and she was aware also that in refusing him she would

have to encounter him in all his wrath. She set her teeth firmly together, and clenched her little fist. If a fight

was necessary, she would fight with him. As he looked at her closely with his sinister eyes, her love towards

"Now you will be tried," he said again. You advised him not to make the will because you thought his

"Stop, Kate, stop. If you will think of it, it was so. What is the meaning of his judgment being weak?"

"Look here, George; I think I know now what you mean. If anybody asks me if his mind was gone, or his

"Then you are determined to throw me over and claim the property for yourself." Again he turned towards

and looked at her as though he were resolved to frighten her. "And I am to count you also among my

They were now upon the Fell side, more than three miles away from the Hall; and Kate, as she looked round,

saw that they were all alone. Not a cottage not a sign of humanity was within sight. Kate saw that it was

so, and was aware that the fact pressed itself upon her as being of importance. Then she thought again of her

resolution to fight with him, if any fight were necessary; to tell him, in so many words, that she would

separate herself from him and defy him. She would not fear him, let his words and face be ever soterrible!

Surely her own brother would do her no bodily harm. And even though he should do so though he should

take her roughly by the arm as he had done to Alice though he should do worse than that, still she would

fight him. Her blood was the same as his, and he should know that her courage was, at any rate, as high.

And, indeed, when she looked at him, she had cause to fear. He intended that she should fear. He intended

that she should dread what he might do to her at that moment. As to what he would do he had no resolve

made. Neither had he resolved on anything when he had gone to Alice and had shaken her rudely as she sat

beside him. He had been guided by no fixed intent when he had attacked John Grey, nor when he insulted the

attorney; but a Fury was driving him, and he was conscious of being so driven. He almost wished to be driven

to some act of frenzy. Everything in the world had gone against him, and he desired to expend his rage on

"Kate," said he, stopping her, we will have this out here, if you please. So much, at any rate, shall be settled

today. You have made many promises to me, and I have believed them. You can now keep them all, by

simply saying what you know to be the truth that that old man was a drivelling idiot when he made this

will. Are you prepared to do me that justice? Think before you answer me, for, by G , if I cannot have

justice among you, I will have revenge." And he put his hand upon her breast up near to her throat.

"Take your hand down, George," said she. I'm not such a fool that you can frighten me in that way."

"Answer me!" he said, and shook her, having some part of her raiment within his clutch.

"I have answered you. I will say nothing of the kind that you want me to say. My grandfather, up to the latest

moment that I saw him, knew what he was about. He was not an idiot. He was, I believe, only carrying out a

purpose fixed long before. You will not make me change what I say by looking at me like that, nor yet by

shaking me. You don't know me, George, if you think you can frighten me like a child."

He heard her to the last word, still keeping his hand upon her, and holding her by the cloak she wore; but the

violence of his grasp had relaxed itself, and he let her finish her words, as though his object had simply been

to make her speak out to him what she had to say. "Oh," said he, when she had done, That's to be it; is it?

That's youridea of honesty. The very name of the money being your own has been too much for you. I

"You will not dare to ask him, because he is a man," said Kate, her eyes brimming with tears, not through

fear, but in very vexation at the nature of the charge he had brought against her.

"Shall I not? You will see what I dare do. As for you, with all your promises . Kate, you know that I keep

"Murder you! Yes; why not? Treated as I have been among you, do you suppose that I shall stick at anything?

Why should I not murder you you and Alice, too, seeing how you have betrayed me?"

"Poor Alice!" as she spoke the words she looked straight into his eyes, as though defying him, as far as she

"Poor Alice, indeed! D hypocrite! There's a pair of you; cursed, whining, false, intriguing hypocrites.

There; go down and tell your uncle and that old woman there that I threatened to murder you. Tell the judge

so, when you're brought into court to swear me out of my property. You false liar!" Then he pushed her from

He did not stop to help her up, or even to look at her as she lay, but walked away across the heath, neither

taking the track on towards Hawes Water, nor returning by the path which had brought them? thither. He

went away morthwards across the wild fell; and Kate, having risen up and seated herself on a small cairn of

stones which stood there, watched him as he descended the slope of the hill till he was out of sight. He did

not run, but he seemed to move rapidly, and he never once turned round to look at her. He went away, down

the hill northwards, and presently the curving of the ground hid him from her view.

When she first seated herself her thoughts had been altogether of him. She had feared no personal injury,

even when she had asked him whether he would murder her. Her blood had been hot within her veins, and

her heart had been full of defiance. Even yet she feared nothing, but continued to think of him and his misery,

and his disgrace. That he was gone for ever, utterly and irretrievably ruined, thrown out, as it were, beyond

the pale of men, was now certain to her. And this was the brother in whom she had believed; for whomshe

had not only been willing to sacrifice herself, but for whose purposes she had striven to sacrifice her cousin!

What would he do now? As he passed from out of her sight down the hill, it seemed to her as though he were

She knew that her arm had been hurt in the fall, but for a while she would not move it or feel it, being

resolved to take no account of what might have happened to herself. But when he had been gone some ten

minutes, she rose to her feet, and finding that the movement pained her greatly, and that her right arm was

powerless, she put up her left hand and became aware that the bone of her arm was broken below the elbow.

Her first thought was given to the telling him of this, or the not telling, when she should meet him below at

the house. How should she mention the accident to him? Should she lie, and say that she had fallen as she

came down the hill alone? Of course he would not believe her, but still some such excuse as that might make

the matter easier for them all. It did not occur to her that she might not see him again at all that day; and that,

She started off to walk down home, holding her right arm steadily against her body with her left hand. Of

course she must give some account of herself when she got to the house; but it was of the account to be given

to him that she thought. As to the others she cared little for them. "Here I am; my arm is broken; and you had

When she got into the wood the path was very dark. The heavens were overcast with clouds, and a few drops

began to fall. Then the rain fell faster and faster, and before she had gone a quarter of a mile down the beacon

hill, the clouds had opened themselves, and the shower had become a storm of water. Suffering as she was

she stood up for a few moments under a large tree, taking the excuse of the rain for some minutes of delay,

that she might make up her mind as to what she would say. Then it occurred to her that she might possibly

meet him again before she reached the house; and, as she thought of it, she began for the first time to fear

him. Would he come out upon her from the trees and really kill her? Had he made his way round, when he

got out of her sight, that he might fall upon her suddenly and do as he had threatened? As the idea came upon

her, she made a little attempt to run, but she found that running was impracticable from the pain the

movement caused her. Then she walked on through the hard rain, steadily holding her arm againsther side,

but still looking every moment through the trees on the side from which George might be expected to reach

her. But no one came near her on her way homewards. Had she been calm enough to think of the nature of

the ground, she might have known that he could not have returned upon her so quickly. He must have come

back up the steep hillside which she had seen him descend. No he had gone away altogether, across the

fells towards Bampton, and was at this moment vainly buttoning his coat across his breast, in his unconscious

attempt to keep out the wet. The Fury was driving him on, and he himself was not aware whither he was

Dinner at the Hall had been ordered at five, the old hour; or rather that had been assumed to be the hour for

dinner without any ordering. It was just five when Kate reached the front door. This she opened with her left

hand, and turning at once into the diningroom, found her uncle and her aunt standing before the fire.

"Yes, I am very wet," said Kate. I must go upstairs. Perhaps you'll come with me, aunt?"

"Come with you of course I will." Aunt Greenow had seen at once that something was amiss.

"Where's George?" said John Vavasor. Has he come back with you, or are we to wait for him?"

Kate seated herself in her chair. "I don't quite know where he is," she said. In the meantime her aunt had

hastened up to her side just in time to catch her as she was falling from her chair. "My arm," said Kate, very

"He has done her a mischief," said Mrs Greenow, looking up at her brother. "This is his doing."

About eleven o'clock on that night the night of the day on which Kate Vavasor's arm had been broken

there came a gentle knock at Kate's bedroom door. There was nothing surprising in this, as of all the

household Kate only was in bed. Her aunt was sitting at this time by her bedside, and the doctor, who had

been summoned from Penrith and who had set her broken arm, was still in the house, talking over the

accident with John Vavasor in the diningroom, before he proceeded back on his journey home.

"She will do very well," said the doctor. It's only a simple fracture. I'll see her the day after tomorrow."

"Is it not odd that such an accident should come from a fall whilst walking?" asked Mr Vavasor.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "One never can say how anything may occur," said he. "I know a young

woman who broke the os femoris by just kicking her cat at least, she said she did."

"Not much. My business was with the injury, not with the way she got it. Somebody did make inquiry, but

she stuck to her story and nothing came of it. Goodnight, Mr Vavasor. Don't trouble her with questions till

she has had some hours' sleep, at any rate." Then the doctor went, and John Vavasor was left alone, standing

There had been so much trouble and confusion in the house since Kate had fainted, almost immediately upon

her reaching home, that Mr Vavasor had not yet had time to make up his mind as to the nature of the accident

which had occurred. Mrs Greenow had at once ascertained that the bone was broken, and the doctor had been

sent for. Luckily he had been found at home, and had reached the Hall a little before ten o'clock. In the

meantime, as soon as Kate recovered her senses, she volunteered her account of what had occurred.

Her brother had quarrelled with her about the will, she said, and had left her abruptly on the mountain. She

had fallen, she went on to say, as she turned from him, and had at once found that she had hurt herself. But

she had been too angry with him to let him know it; and, indeed, she had not known the extent herself till he

had passed out of her sight. This was her story; and there was nothing in it that was false by the letter, though

there was much that was false in the spirit. It was certainly true that George had not known that she was

injured. It was true that she had asked him for no help. It was true, in one sense, that she had fallen, and it was

true that she had not herself known how severe had been the injury done to her till he had gone beyond the

reach of her voice. But she repressed all mention of his violence, and when she was pressed as to the nature

of the quarrel, she declined to speak further on that matter. Neither her uncle nor her aunt believed her. That

was a matter of course, and she knew that they did not believe her. George's absence, their recent experience

of his moods, and the violence by which her arm must have been broken, made them certain that Kate had

more to tell if she chose to tell it. But in her present condition they could not question her. Mrs Greenow did

"I can only tell you," said Kate, that he went away across the Fell in the direction of Bampton. Perhaps he has

gone on to Penrith. He was very angry with us all; and as the house is not his own, he has probably resolved

that he will not stay another night under the roof. But, who can say? He is not in his senses when he is

John Vavasor, as he stood alone after the doctor's departure, endeavoured to ascertain the truth by thinking of

it. "I am sure," he said to himself, "that the doctor suspects that there has been violence. I know it from his

tone, and I can see it in his eye. But how to prove it? and would there be good in proving it? Poor girl! Will it

not be better for her to let it pass as though we believed her story?" He made up his mind that it would be

better. Why should he take upon himself the terrible task of calling this insane relation to account for an act

which he could not prove? The will itself, without that trouble, would give him trouble enough. Then he

began to long that he was back at his club, and to think that the signingroom in Chancery Lane was not so

bad. And so he went up to his bed, calling at Kate's door to ask after the patient. In the meantime there had

come a messenger to Mrs Greenow, who had stationed herself with her niece. One of the girls of the house

brought up a scrap of paper to the door, saying that a boy had brought it over with a cart from Shap, and that

it was intended for Miss Vavasor, and it was she who knocked at the sickroom door. The note was open and

was not addressed; indeed, the words were written on a scrap of paper that was crumpled up rather than

folded, and were as follows: "Send me my clothes by the bearer. I shall not return to the house." Mrs

Greenow took it in to Kate, and then went away to see her nephew's things duly put into his portmanteau.

This was sent away in the cart, and Mr Vavasor, as he went upstairs, was told what had been done.

Neither on that night nor on the following day did Mrs Greenow ask any further questions; but on the

morning after that, when the doctor had left them with a good account of the broken limb, her curiosity would

brook no further delay. And, indeed, indignation as well as curiosity urged her on. In disposition she was less

easy, and, perhaps, less selfish, than her brother. If it were the case that that man had illtreated his sister, she

would have sacrificed much to bring him to punishment. "Kate," she said, when the doctor was gone, "I

expect that you will tell me the whole truth as to what occurred between you and your brother when you had

"All the truth I mean to tell, aunt. He has quarrelled with me, as I think, most unnecessarily; but you don't

suppose that I am going to give an exact account of the quarrel? We were both wrong, probably, and so let

"Dear aunt, don't be angry with me if I say that I won't be crossexamined. I would rather answer no more

Mrs Greenow knew her niece well enough to be aware that nothing more would be told her, but she was quite

sure now that Kate had not broken her arm by a simple fall. She was certain that the injury had come from

positive violence. Had it not been so, Kate would not have contented herself with refusing to answer the last

question that had been asked, but would also have repelled the charge made against her brother with

indignation. "You must have it your own way," said Mrs Greenow; but let me just tell you this, that your

"It is probable that he will," said Kate. Especially if you remain here to nurse me."

Kate's conduct in answering all the questions made to her was not difficult, but she found that there was much

difficulty in planning her own future behaviour towards her own brother. Must she abandon him altogether

from henceforth; divide herself from him, as it were; have perfectly separate interests, and interests that were

indeed hostile? and must she see him ruined and overwhelmed by want of money, while she had been made a

rich woman by her grandfather's will? It will be remembered that her life had hitherto been devoted to him;

that all her schemes and plans had had his success as their object; that she had taught herself to consider it to

be her duty to sacrifice everything to his welfare. It is very sad to abandon the only object of a life! It is very

hard to tear out from one's heart and fling away from it the only love that one has cherished! What was she to

say to Alice about all this to Alice whom she had cheated of a husband worthy of her, that she might

allure her into the arms of one so utterly unworthy? Luckily for Kate, her accident was of such a nature that

But a blow! What woman can bear a blow from a man, and afterwards return to him with love? A wife may

have to bear it and to return. And she may return with that sort of love which is a thing of custom. The man is

the father of her children, and earns the bread which they eat and which she eats. Habit and the ways of the

world require that she should be careful in his interests, and that she should live with him in what amity is

possible to them. But as for love all that we mean by love when we speak of it and write of it a blow

given by the defender to the defenceless crushes it all! A woman may forgive deceit, treachery, desertion

even the preference given to a rival. She may forgive them and forget them; but I do not think that a woman

can forget a blow. And as for forgiveness it is not the blow that she cannot forgive, but the meanness of

Kate, as she thought of it, told herself that everything in life was over for her. She had long feared her

brother's nature had feared that he was hard and heartless; but still there has been some hope with her fear.

Success, if he could be made to achieve it, would soften him, and then all might be right. But now all was

wrong, and she knew that it was so. When he had compelled her to write to Alice for money, her faith in him

had almost succumbed. That had been very mean, and the meanness had shocked her. But now he had asked

her to perjure herself that he might have his own way, and had threatened to murder her, and had raised his

hand against her because she had refused to obey him. And he had accused her of treachery to himself had

"But he does not believe it," said Kate to herself. He said that because he thought it would vex me; but I

know he does not think it." Kate had watched her brother longing for money all his life had thoroughly

understood the intensity of his wish for it the agony of his desire. But so far removed was she from any

such longing on her own account, that she could not believe that her brother would in his heart accuse her of

it. How often had she offered to give him, on the instant, every shilling that she had in the world! At this

moment she resolved, in her mind, that she never wished to see him more; but even now, had it been

practicable, she would have made over to him, without any drawback, all her interest in the Vavasor estate.

But any such making over was impossible. John Vavasor remained in Westmoreland for a week, and during

that time many discussions were, of course, held about the property. Mr Round came down from London, and

met Mr Gogram at Penrith. As to the validity of the will Mr Round said that there was no shadow of a doubt.

So an agent was appointed for receiving the rents, and it was agreed that the old Hall should be let in six

months from that date. In the meantime Kate was to remain there till her arm should become strong, and she

could make her plans for the future. Aunt Greenow promised to remain at the Hall for the present, and

offered, indeed, indefinite services for the future, as though she were quite forgetful of Captain Bellfield. Of

Mr Cheesacre she was not forgetful, for she still continued to speak of that gentleman to Kate, as though he

were Kate's suitor. But she did not now press upon her nice the acceptance of Mr Cheesacre's hand as an

absolute duty. Kate was mistress of a considerable fortune, and though such a marriage might be comfortable,

it was no longer necessary. Mrs Greenow called him poor Cheesacre, pointing out how easily he might be

managed, and how indubitable were his possessions; but she no longer spoke of Kate's chances in the

marriage market as desperate, even though she should decline the Cheesacre alliance. "A young woman, with

six hundred a year, my dear, may do pretty nearly what she pleases," said aunt Greenow. "It's better than

Kate's desire was that Alice should come down to her for a while in Westmoreland, before the six months

were over, and this desire she mentioned to her uncle. He promised to carry the message up to Alice, but

could not be got to say more than that upon the subject. Then Mr Vavasor went away, leaving the aunt and

"What on earth shall we do if that wild beast shows himself suddenly among us women? "asked Mrs

The brother could only say that, "he hoped the wild beast would keep his distance'.

And the wild beast did keep his distance, at any rate as long as Mrs Greenow remained at the Hall. We will

now go back to the wild beast, and tell how he walked across the mountains, in the rain, to Bampton, a little

village at the foot of Hawes Water. It will be remembered that after he had struck his sister, he turned away

from her, and walked with quick steps down the mountainside, never turning back to look at her. He had

found himself to be without any power of persuasion over her, as regarded her evidence to be given, if the

will were questioned. The more he threatened her the steadier she had been in asserting her belief in her

grandfather's capacity. She had looked into his eye and defied him, and he had felt himself to be worsted.

What was he to do? In truth, there was nothing for him to do. He had told her that he would murder her; and

in the state of mind to which his fury had driven him, murder had suggested itself to him as a resource to

which he might apply himself. But what could he gain by murdering her or, at any rate, by murdering her

there, out on the mountainside? Nothing but a hanging! There would he no gratification even to his revenge.

If, indeed, he had murdered that old man, who was now, unfortunately, gone beyond the reach of murder

if he could have poisoned the old man's cup before that last will had been made there might have been

something in such a deed! But he had merely thought of it, "letting I dare not wait upon I would" as he

now told himself, with much selfreproach. Nothing was to be got by killing his sister. So he restrained

The rain soon came on, and found him exposed on the hillside. He thought little about it, but buttoned his

coat, as I have said before, and strode on. It was a storm of rain, so that he was forced to hold his head to one

side, as it hit him from the north. But with his hand to his hat, and his head bent against the wind, he went on

till he had reached the valley at the foot, and found that the track by which he had been led thither had

become a road. He had never known the mountains round the Hall as Kate had known them, and was not

aware whither he was going. On one thing only had he made up his mind since he had left his sister, and that

was that he would not return to the house. He knew that he could do nothing there to serve his purpose; his

threats would be vain impotence; he had no longer any friend in the house. He could hardly tell himself what

line of conduct he would pursue, but he thought that he would hurry back to London, and grasp at whatever

money he could get from Alice. He was still, at this moment, a Member of Parliament; and as the rain

drenched him through and through, he endeavoured to get consolation from the remembrance of that fact in

As he got near the village he overtook a shepherd boy coming down from the hills, and learned his

whereabouts from him, "Baampton," said the boy, with an accent that was almost Scotch, when he was asked

the name of the place. When Vavasor further asked whether a gig were kept there, the boy simply stared at

him, not knowing a gig by that name. At last, however, he was made to understand the nature of his

companion's want, and expressed his belief that "John Applethwaite, up at the Craigs yon, had got a mickle

cart'. But the Craigs was a farmhouse, which now came in view about a mile off, up across the valley; and

Vavasor, hoping that he might still find a speedier conveyance than John Applethwaite's mickle cart, went on

to the public house in the village. But, in truth, neither there, nor yet from John Applethwaite, to whom at last

an application was sent, could he get any vehicle; and between six and seven he started off again, through the

rain, to make his weary way on foot to Shap. The distance was about five miles, and the little byways, lying

between walls, were sticky, and almost glutinous with lightcoloured, chalky mud. Before he started he took

a glass of hot rum and water, but the effect of that soon passed away from him, and then he became colder

Wearily and wretchedly he plodded on. A man may be very weary in such a walk as that, and yet be by no

means wretched. Tired, hungry, cold, wet, and nearly penniless, I have sat me down and slept among those

mountain tracks have slept because nature refusedto allow longer wakefulness. But my heart has been as

light as my purse, and there has been something in the air of the hills that made me buoyant and happy in the

midst of my weariness. But George Vavasor was wretched as well as weary, and every step that he took,

plodding through the mud, was a new misfortune to him. What are five miles of a walk to a young man, even

though the rain be filling and the ways be dirty? What, though they may come after some other ten that he has

already traversed on his feet? His sister Kate would have thought nothing of the distance. But George stopped

on his way from time to time, leaning on the loose walls, and cursing the misfortune that had brought him to

such a pass. He cursed his grandfather, his uncle, his sister, his cousin, and himself. He cursed the place in

which his forefathers had lived, and he cursed the whole county. He cursed the rain, and the wind, and his

townmade boots, which would not keep out the wet slush. He cursed the light as it faded, and the darkness

as it came. Over and over again he cursed the will that had robbed him, and the attorney that had made it. He

cursed the mother that had borne him and the father that had left him poor. He thought of Scruby, and cursed

him, thinking how that money would be again required of him by that stern agent. He cursed the House of

Commons, which had cost him so much, and the greedy electors who would not send him there without his

paying for it. He cursed John Grey, as he thought of those two thousand pounds, with double curses. He

cursed this world, and all worlds beyond; and thus, cursing everything, he made his way at last up to the inn

It was nearly nine when he got there. He had wasted over an hour at Bampton in his endeavour to get John

Applethwaite's cart to carry him on, and he had been two hours on his walk from Bampton to Shap two

hours amidst his cursing. He ordered supper and brandy and water, and, as we know, sent off a Mercury for

his clothes. But the Mercuries of Westmoreland do not move on quick wings, and it was past midnight before

he got his possessions. During all this time he had, by no means, ceased from cursing, but continued it over

his broiled ham and while he swallowed his brandy and water. He swore aloud, so that the redarmed servant

at the inn could not but hear him, that those thieves at the Hall intended to rob him of his clothes that they

would not send him his property. He could not restrain himself, though he knew that every word he uttered

would injure his cause, as regarded the property in Westmoreland, if ever he could make a cause. He

knewthat he had been mad to strike his sister, and cursed himself for his madness. Yet he could not restrain

himself. He told himself that the battle for him was over, and he thought of poison for himself. He thought of

poison, and a pistol of the pistols he had ever loaded at home, each with six shots, good for a life apiece.

He thought of an express train rushing along at its full career, and of the instant annihilation which it would

produce. But if that was to be the end of him, he would not go alone. No, indeed! why should he go alone,

leaving those pistols ready loaded in his desk? Among them they had brought him to ruin and to death. Was

he a man to pardon his enemies when it was within his power to take them with him, down, down, down ?

What were the last words upon his impious lips, as with bloodshot eyes, half drunk, and driven by the Fury,

he took himself off to the bed prepared for him, cursing aloud the poor redhaired girl as he went, I may not

Gentle reader, do you remember Lady Monk's party, and how it ended how it ended, at least as regards

those special guests with whom we are concerned? Mr Palliser went away early, Mrs Marsham followed him

to his house in Park Lane, caught him at home, and told her tale. He returned to his wife, found her sitting

with Burgo in the diningroom, under the Argus eyes of the constant Bott, and bore her away home. Burgo

disappeared utterly from the scene, and Mr Bott, complaining inwardly that virtue was too frequently allowed

to be its own reward, comforted himself with champagne, and then walked off to his lodgings. Lady Monk,

when Mr Palliser made his way into her room upstairs, seeking his wife's scarf which little incident, also,

the reader may perhaps remember saw that the game was up, and thought with regret of the loss of her

Lady Glencora, on her journey home in the carriage with her husband, had openly suggested that Mrs

Marsham had gone to Park Lane to tell of her doings with Burgo, and had declared her resolution never again

to see either that lady or Mr Bott in her own house. This she said with more of defiance in her tone than Mr

Palliser had ever hitherto heard. He was by nature less ready than her, and knowing his own deficiency in that

respect, abstained from all answer on the subject. Indeed, during that drive home very few further words were

spoken between them. "I will breakfast with you tomorrow," he said to her, as she prepared to go upstairs. "I

have work still to do tonight, and I will not disturb you by coming to your room."

"No," said he, with more of anger in his voice than he had yet shown. "What hour will suit you? I must say

something of what has occurred tonight before I leave you tomorrow," "I don't know what you can have got

to say about tonight, but I'll be down by half past eleven, if that will do?" Mr Palliser said that he would make

Lady Glencora had played her part very well before her husband. She had declined to be frightened by him;

had been the first to mention Burgo's name, and had done so with no tremor in her voice, and had boldly

declared her irreconcilable enmity to the male and female duennas who had dared to take her in charge.

While she was in the carriage with her husband she felt some triumph in her own strength; and as she wished

him goodnight on the staircase, and slowly walked up to her room, without having once lowered her eyes

before his, something of this consciousness of triumph still supported her. And even while her maid remained

with her she held herself up, as it were, inwardly, telling herself that she would not yield that she would

not be cowed either by her husband or by his spies. But when she was left alone all her triumph departed

She bade her maid go while she was still sitting in her dressinggown; and when the girl was gone she got

close over the fire, sitting with her slippers on the fender, with her elbows on her knees, and her face resting

on her hands. In this position she remained for an hour, with her eyes fixed on the altering shapes of the hot

coals. During this hour her spirit was by no means defiant, and her thoughts of herself anything but

triumphant. Mr Bott and Mrs Marsham she had forgotten altogether. After all, they were but buzzing flies,

who annoyed her by their presence. Should she choose to leave her husband, they could not prevent her

leaving him. It was of her husband and of Burgo that she was thinking weighing them one against the

other, and connecting her own existence with theirs, not as expecting joy or the comfort of love from either of

them, but with an assured conviction that on either side there must be misery for her. But of that shame

before all the world which must be hers for ever, should she break her vows and consent to live with a man

who was not her husband, she thought hardly at all. That which in the estimation of Alice was everything, to

her, at this moment, was almost nothing. For herself, she had been sacrificed; and as she told herself with

bitter denunciations against herself had been sacrificed through her own weakness. But that was done.

Whatever way she might go, she was lost. They had married her to a man who cared nothing for a wife,

nothing for any woman so at least she declared to herself but who had wanted a wife that he mighthave

an heir. Had it been given to her to have a child, she thought that she might have been happy sufficiently

happy in sharing her husband's joy in that respect. But everything had gone against her. There was nothing in

her home to give her comfort. "He looks at me every time he sees me as the cause of his misfortune," she said

to herself. Of her husband's rank, of the future possession of his title and his estates, she thought much. But of

her own wealth she thought nothing. It did not occur to her that she had given him enough in that respect to

make his marriage with her a comfort to him. She took it for granted that that marriage was now one

distasteful to him, as it was to herself, and that he would eventually be the gainer if she should so conduct

As to Burgo, I doubt whether she deceived herself much as to his character. She knew well enough that he

was a man infinitely less worthy than her husband. She knew that he was a spendthrift, idle, given to bad

courses that he drank, that he gambled, that he lived the life of the loosest man about the town. She knew

also that whatever chance she might have had to redeem him, had she married him honestly before all the

world, there could be no such chance if she went to him as his mistress, abandoning her husband and all her

duties, and making herself vile in the eyes of all women. Burgo Fitzgerald would not be influenced for good

by such a woman as she would then be. She knew much of the world and its ways, and told herself no lies

about this. But, as I have said before, she did not count herself for much. What though she were ruined? What

though Burgo were false, mean, and untrustworthy? She loved him, and he was the only man she ever had

loved! Lower and lower she crouched before the fire; and then, when the coals were no longer red, and the

shapes altered themselves no more, she crept into bed. As to what she should say to her husband on the

Exactly at half past eleven she entered the little breakfast parlour which looked out over the park. It was the

prettiest room in the house, and now, at this springtide, when the town trees were putting out their earliest

greens, and were fresh and bright almost as country trees, it might be hard to find a prettier chamber. Mr

Palliser was there already, sitting with the morning paper in his hand. He rose when she entered, and, coming

up to her, just touched her with his lips. She put her cheek up to him, and then took her place at the breakfast

"Have you any headache this morning?" he asked. "Oh, no," she said. Then he took his tea and his toast,

spoke some word to her about the fineness of the weather, told her some scraps of news, and soon returned to

the absorbing interest of a speech made by the leader of the Opposition in the House of Lords. The speech

was very interesting to Mr Palliser, because in it the noble lord alluded to a breakup in the present Cabinet,

as to which the rumours were, he said. so rife through the country as to have destroyed all that feeling of

security in the existing Government which the country so much valued and desired. Mr Palliser had as yet

heard no official tidings of such a rupture; but if such rupture were to take place, it must be in his favour. He

felt himself at this moment to be full of politics to be near the object of his ambition, to have affairs upon

his hands which required all his attention. Was it absolutely incumbent on him to refer again to the incidents

of last night? The doing so would be odious to him. The remembrance of the task now immediately before

him destroyed all his political satisfaction. He did not believe that his wife was in any serious danger. Might

it not yet be possible for him to escape from the annoyance, and to wish his mind clean of all suspicion? He

was not jealous; he was indeed incapable of jealousy. He knew what it would be to be dishonoured, and he

knew that under certain circumstances the world would expect him to exert himself in a certain way. But the

thing that he had now to do was a great trouble to him. He would rather have to address the House of

Commons with ten columns of figures than utter a word of remonstrance to his wife. But she had defied him

defied him by saying that she would see his friends no more; and it was the remembrance of this, as he sat

behind his newspaper, that made him ultimately feel that he could not pass in silence over what had been

Nevertheless, he went on reading, or pretending to read, as long as the continuance of the breakfast made it

certain that his wife would remain with him. Every now and then he said some word to her of what he was

reading, endeavouring to use the tone of voice that was customary to him in his domestic teachings of

politics. But through it all there was a certain hesitation there were the sure signs of an attempt being

made, of which he was himself conscious, and which she understood with the most perfect accuracy. He was

deferring the evil moment, and vainly endeavouring to make himself believe that he was comfortably

employed the while. She had no newspaper, and made no endeavour to deceive herself. She, therefore, was

the first to begin the conversation. "Plantagenet," she said, you told me last night, as I was going to bed, that

He put down the newspaper slowly, and turned towards her. "Yes, my dear. After what happened, I believe

"It is not always easy for a man to show what he thinks by what he says," he replied. "My fear is that you

should suppose me to think more than I do. And it was for that reason that I determined to sleep on it before I

"If anybody is angry with me I'd much rather they should have it out with me while their anger is hot. I hate

"I don't want to stop you, Plantagenet. Pray, go on. Only it will be so nice to have it over."

He was now more than ever averse to the task before him. Husbands, when they give their wives a talking,

should do it out of hand, uttering their words hard, sharp, and quick and should then go. There are some

works that won't bear a preface, and this work of marital faultfinding is one of them. Mr Palliser was

already beginning to find out the truth of this. "Glencora," he said, "I wish you to be serious with me."

"I am very serious," she replied, as she settled herself in her chair with an air of mockery, while her eyes and

mouth were bright and eloquent with a spirit which her husband did not love to see. Poor girl! There was

"You ought to be serious. Do you know why Mrs Marsham came here from Lady Monk"s last might?"

"Of course I do. She came to tell you that I was waltzing with Burgo Fitzgerald. You night as well ask me

"I know something about him though," she said, again moving herself in her chair.

"I am speaking now of Mrs Marsham." "You should speak of them both together as they hunt in couples."

"Glencora, will you listen to me, or will you not? If you say that you will not, I shall know what to do."

"I don't think you would, Plantagenet." And she nodded her little head at him, as she spoke. "I'm sure I don't

know what you would do. But I will listen to you. Only, as I said before, it will be very nice when it's over."

"Mrs Marsham came here, not simply to tell me that you were waltzing with Mr Fitzgerald and I wish that

"You generally prefix his Christian name, which it would be much better that you should omit."

"I will try," she said, very gently; but it's hard to drop an old habit. Before you married me you knew that I

"It was not simply to tell me that you were waltzing that Mrs Marsham came here."

"And it was not simply to see me waltzing that Mr Bott stood in the doorways, for he followed me about, and

"I wish you would oblige me by not speaking of Mrs Marsham." Mr Palliser rose quickly from his chair with

a gesture of anger, stood upright for half a minute, and then sat down again." I beg your pardon, Plantagenet,

she said I think I know what you want, and I'll hold my tongue till you bid me speak."

"Mrs Marsham came here because she saw that every one in the room was regarding you with wonder." Lady

Glencora twisted herself about in her clair, but she said nothing. "She saw that you were not only dancing

"Reckless of what people might say; reckless of what I might feel about it; reckless of your own position."

"Am I to speak now?" "Perhaps you had better let me go on. I think she was right to come to me."

"That's of course. What's the good of having spies, if they don't run and tell as soon as they see anything,

"Glencora, you are determined to make me angry. I am angry now very angry. I have employed no spies.

When rumours have reached me, not from spies, as you choose to call them, but through your dearest friends

"No; not when you say my dear friends have spread rumours about me. Tell me who they are. I have no dear

"It does not signify. But when I was warned that you had better not go to any house in which you could meet

that man, I would not listen to it. I said that you were my wife, and that as such I could trust you anywhere,

everywhere, with any person. Others might distrust you, but I would not do so. When I wished you to go to

Monkshade, were there to be any spies there? When I left you last night at Lady Monk's, do you believe in

your heart that I trusted to Mrs Marsham's eyes rather than to your own truth? Do you think that I have lived

"Do you believe that I have commissioned Mr Bott to watch your conduct? Answer me, Glencora."

She paused a moment, thinking what actually was her true belief on that subject. "He does watch me,

"That does not answer my question. Do you believe that I have commissioned him to do so?"

"Then it is ignoble in you to talk to me of spies. I have employed no spies. If it were ever to come to that, that

There was something of feeling in his voice as he said this something that almost approached to passion

which touched his wife's heart. Whether or not spies would be of any avail, she knew that she had in truth

done that of which he had declared that he had never suspected her. She had listened to words of love from

her former lover. She had received, and now carried about with her a letter from this man, in which he asked

her to elope with him. She had by no means resolved that she would not do this thing. She had been false to

her husband; and as her husband spoke of his confidence in her, her own spirit rebelled against the deceit

"I know that I have never made you happy," she said. I know that I never can make you happy."

He looked at her, struck by her altered tone, and saw that her whole manner and demeanour were changed. "I

do not understand what you mean," he said. "I have never complained. You have not made me unhappy." He

was one of those men to whom this was enough. If his wife caused him no uneasiness, what more was he to

expect from her? No doubt she might have done much more for him. She might have given him an heir. But

he was a just man, and knew that the blank he had drawn was his misfortune, and not her fault.

But now her heart was loosed and she spoke out, at first slowly, but after a while with all the quickness of

strong passion. "No, Plantagenet; I shall never make you happy. You have never loved me, nor I you. We

have never loved each other for a single moment. I have been wrong to talk to you about spies; I was wrong

to go to Lady Monk's; I have been wrong in everything that I have done; but never so wrong as when I let

"Let me speak now, Plantagenet. It is better that I should tell you everything; and I will. I will tell you

everything everything! I do love Burgo Fitzgerald. I do! I do! I do! How can I help loving him? Have I

not loved him from the first before I had seen you? Did you not know that it was so? I do love Burgo

Fitzgerald, and when I went to Lady Monk's last night, I had almost made up my mind that I must tell him so,

and that I must go away with him and hide myself. But when he came to speak to me "

"He has asked you to go with him, then?" said the husband, in whose bosom the poison was beginning to take

effect, thereby showing that he was neither above nor below humanity. Glencora was immediately reminded

that though she might, if she pleased, tell her own secrets, she ought not, in accordance with her ideas of

honour, tell those of her lover. "What need is there of asking, do you think, when people have loved each

"Would it not have been the best for you? Plantagenet, I do not love you not as women love their

husbands when they do love them. But, before God, my first wish is to free you from the misfortune that I

have brought on you." As she made this attestation she started up from her chair, and coming close to him,

took him by the coat. He was startled, and stepped back a pace, but did not speak; and then stood looking at

"What matters it whether I drown myself, or throw myself away by going with such a one as him, so that you

might marry again, and have a child? I'd die I'd die willingly. How I wish I could die! Plantagenet, I

He was a tall man and she was short of stature, so that he stood over her and looked upon her, and now she

was looking up into his face with all her eyes. "I would," she said. I would I would! What is there left for

Softly, slowly, very gradually, as though he were afraid of what he was doing, he put his arm round her waist,

"I do love you," he repeated. If you mean that I am not apt at telling you so, it is true, I know. My mind is

"But I do love you. If you cannot love me, it is a great misfortune to us both. But we need not therefore be

disgraced. As for that other thing of wich you spoke of our having, as yet, no child' and in saying this

he pressed her somewhat closer with his arm "you allow yourself to think too much of it much more of

it than I do. I have made no complaints on that head, even within my own breast."

"Believe me that you wrong my thoughts. Of course I have been anxious, and have, perhaps, shown my

anxiety by the struggle I have made to hide it. I have never told you what is false, Glencora."

"I would rather have you for my wife, childless if you will try to love me than any other woman,

though another might give me an heir. Will you try to love me?" She was silent. At this moment, after the

confession that she had made, she could not bring herself to say that she would even try. Had she said so, she

"I think, dear," he said, still holding her by her waist, "that wehad better leave England for a while. I will give

up politics for this season. Should you like to go to Switzerland for the summer, or perhaps to some of the

German baths, and then on to Italy when the weather is cold enough?" Still she was silent. "Perhaps your

He was killing her by his goodness. She could not speak to him yet; but now, as he mentioned Alice's name,

At that moment there came a knock at the door a sharp knock, which was quickly repeated.

"Come in," said Mr Palliser, dropping his arm from his wife's waist, and standing away from her a few yards.

It was the butler who had knocked showing that the knock was of more importance than it would have

been had it been struck by the knuckles of the footman in livery. "If you please, sir, the Duke of St Bungay is

"The Duke of St Bungay!" said Mr Palliser, becoming rather red as he heard the announcement.

"Yes, sir, his grace is in the library. He bade me tell you that he particularly wanted to see you; so I told him

"Quite right; tell his grace that I will be with him in two minutes." Then the butler retired, and Mr Palliser

"I must go now, my dear," he said; and perhaps I shall not see you again till the evening."

"I did not mean as to that," she answered. You must not think more of Italy. He has come to tell you that you

Again he turned very red. "It may be so," he answered, "but though I am wanted, I need not go. But I must

She followed him and took hold of him as he went, so that he was forced to turn to her once again. She

managed to get hold of both his hands, and pressed them closely, looking up into his face with her eyes laden

with tears. He smiled at her gently, returned the pressure of the hands, and then left her without kissing

her. It was not that he was minded not to kiss her. He would have kissed her willingly enough had he thought

that the occasion required it. "He says that he loves me," said Lady Glencora to herself, "but he does not

But she was quite aware that he had behaved to her with genuine, true nobility. As soon as she was alone and

certain of her solitude, she took out that letter from her pocket, and tearing it into very small fragments,

without reading it, threw the pieces on the fire. As she did so, her mind seemed to be fixed, at any rate, to one

thing that she would think no more of Burgo Fitzgerald as her future master. I think, however, that she

had arrived at so much certainty as this, at that moment in which she had been parting with Burgo Fitzgerald,

in Lady Monk's diningroom. She had had courage enough or shall we rather say sin enough to think

of going with him to tell herself that she would do so; to put herself in the way of doing it; nay, she had

had enough of both to enable her to tell her husband that she had resolved that it would be good for her to do

so. But she was neither bold enough nor wicked enough to do the thing. As she had said of her own idea of

destroying herself she did not dare to take the plunge. Therefore, knowing now that it was so, she tore up

She had in truth told him everything, believing that in doing so she was delivering her own deathwarrant as

regarded her future position in his house. She had done this, not hoping thereby for any escape; not with any

purpose as regarded herself, but simply because deceit had been grievous to her, and had become

unendurable as soon as his words and manner had in them any feeling of kindness. But her confession had no

sooner been made than her fault had been forgiven. She had told him that she did not love him. She had told

him, even, that she had thought of leaving him. She had justified by her own words any treatment of his,

however harsh, which he might choose to practise. But the result had been the immediate result that he

had been more tender to her than she had ever remembered him to be before. She knew that he had conquered

her. However cold and heartless his home might be to her, it must be her home now. There could be no

further thought of leaving him. She had gone out into the tiltyard and had tilted with him, and he had been

Mr Palliser himself had not time for much thought before he found himself closeted with the Duke; but as he

crossed the hall and went up the stairs, a thought or two did pass quickly across his mind. She had confessed

to him, and he had forgiven her. Hedid not feel quite sure that he had been right, but he did feel quite sure

that the thing had been done. He recognised it for a fact that, as regarded the past, no more was to be said.

There were to be no reproaches, and there must be some tacit abandoning of Mrs Marsham's close

attendance. As to Mr Bott he had begun to hate Mr Bott, and had felt cruelly ungrateful, when that

gentleman endeavoured to whisper a word into his ear as he passed through the doorway into Lady Monk's

diningroom. And he had offered to go abroad to go abroad and leave his politics, and his ambition, and

his coming honours. He had persisted in his offer, even after his wife had suggested to him that the Duke of

St Bungay was now in the house with the object of offering him that very thing for which he had so longed!

As he thought of this his heart became heavy within him. Such chances so he told himself do not come

twice in a man's way. When returning from a twelvemonth's residence abroad he would be nobody in politics.

He would have lost everything for which he had been working all his life. But he was a man of his word, and

as he opened the library door he was resolute he thought that he could be resolute in adhering to his

"Duke," he said, I'm afraid I have kept you waiting." And the two political allies shook each other by the

The Duke was in a glow of delight. There had been no waiting. He was only too glad to find his friend at

home. He had been prepared to wait, even if Mr Palliser had been out. "And I suppose you guess why I'm

"I would rather be told than have to guess," said Mr Palliser, smiling for a moment. But the smile quickly

"He has resigned at last. What was said in the Lords last night made it necessary that he should do so, or that

Lord Brock should declare himself able to support him through thick and thin. Of course, I can tell you

everything now. He must have gone, or I must have done so. You know that I don't like him in the Cabinet. I

admire his character and his genius, but I think him the most dangerous man in England as a statesman. He

has high principles the very highest; but they are so high as to be out of sight to ordinary eyes. They are

too exalted to be of any use for everyday purposes. He is honest as the sun, I'm sure; but it's just like the sun's

honesty of a kind which we men below can't quite understand or appreciate. He has no instinct in politics,

but reaches his conclusions by philosophical deduction. Now, in politics, I woulda deal sooner trust to

instinct than to calculation. I think he may probably know how England ought to be governed three centuries

hence better than any man living, but of the proper way to govern it now, I think he knows less. Brock half

likes him and half fears him. He likes the support of his eloquence, and he likes the power of the man; but he

fears his restless activity, and thoroughly dislikes his philosophy. At any rate, he has left us, and I am here to

The Duke, as he concluded his speech, was quite contented, and almost jovial. He was thoroughly satisfied

with the new political arrangement which he was proposing. He regarded Mr Palliser as a steady, practical

man of business, luckily young, and therefore with a deal of work in him, belonging to the race from which

English ministers ought, in his opinion, to be taken, and as being, in some respects, his own pupil. He had

been the first to declare aloud that Plantagenet Palliser was the coming Chancellor of the Exchequer; and it

had been long known, though no such declaration had been made aloud, that the Duke did not sit comfortably

in the same Cabinet with the gentleman who had now resigned. Everything had now gone as the Duke

wished; and he was prepared to celebrate some little ovation with his young friend before he left the house in

"And who goes out with him?" asked Mr Palliser, putting off the evil moment of his own decision; but before

the Duke could answer him, he had reminded himself that under his present circumstances he had no right to

ask such a question. His own decision could not rest upon that point. "But it does not matter," he said; I am

"Decline it!" said the Duke, who could not have been more surprised had his friend talked of declining

"I fear I must." The Duke had now risen from his chair, and was standing, with both his hands upon the table.

All his contentment, all his joviality, had vanished. His fine round face had become almost ludicrously long;

his eyes and mouth were struggling to convey reproach, and the reproach was almost drowned in vexation.

Ever since Parliament had met he had been whispering Mr Palliser's name into the Prime Minister's ear, and

now But he could not, and would not, believe it. "Nonsense, Palliser," he said.You must have got some

false notion into your head. There can be no possible reason why you should not join us. Finespun himself

will support us, at any rate for a time." Mr Finespun was the gentleman whoseretirement from the ministry

"It is nothing of that kind," said Mr Palliser, who perhaps felt himself quite equal to the duties proposed to

him, even though Mr Finespun should not support him. "It is nothing of that kind it is no fear of that sort

"Then, for mercy's sake, what is it? My dear Palliser, I looked upon you as being as sure in this matter as

myself; and I had a right to do so. You certainly intended to join us a month ago, if the opportunity offered.

"It is true, Duke. I must ask you to listen to me now, and I must tell you what I would not willingly tell to any

man." As Mr Palliser said this a look of agony came over his face. There are men who can talk easily of all

their most inmost matters, but he was not such a man. It went sorely against the grain with him to speak of

the sorrow of his home, even to such a friend as the Duke; but it was essentially necessary to him that he

"Upon my word," said the Duke, I can't understand that there should be any reason strong enough to make

"Is that it?" said the Duke, looking at him with surprise, but at the same time with something of returning

joviality in his face. "Nobody thinks of going abroad at this time of the year. Of course, you can get away for

"Then, considering your position, you have made a promise which it behoves you to break. I am sure Lady

"You do not quite understand me, and I am afraid I must trouble you to listen to matters which, under other

circumstances, it would be impertinent in me to obtrude upon you." A certain stiffness of demeanour, and

measured propriety of voice, much at variance with his former manner, came upon him as he said this.

"If you will allow me, Duke. My wife has told me that, this morning, which makes me feel that absence from

England is requisite for her present comfort. I was with her when you came, and had just promised her that

"But, Palliser, think of it. If this were a small matter, I would not press you; but a man in your position has

public duties. He owes his services to his country. He has no right to go back, if it be possible that he should

"When a man has given his word, it cannot be right that he should go back from that."

"My wife would, of course, absolve me. It is not that. Her happiness demands it, and it is partly my fault that

it is so. I cannot explain to you more fully why it is that I must give up the great object for which I have

"I could give you twentyfour hours, you know." Mr Palliser did not answer at once, and the Duke thought

that he saw some sign of hesitation. "I suppose it would not be possible that I should speak to Lady

"It could be of no avail, Duke. She would only declare, at the first word, that she would remain in London;

"Well; I can't say. Of course, I can't say. Such an opportunity may not come twice in a man's life. And at your

age too! You are throwing away from you the finest political position that the world can offer to the ambition

of any man. No one at your time of life has had such a chance within my memory. That a man under thirty

should be thought fit to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and should refuse it because he wants to take his

wife abroad! Palliser, if she were dying, you should remain under such an emergency as this. She might go,

Mr Palliser remained silent for a moment or two in his chair; he then rose and walked towards the window, as

he spoke. "There are things worse than death," he said, when his back was turned. His voice was very low,

and there was a tear in his eye as he spoke them; the words were indeed whispered, but the Duke heard them,

"I think it must. But your visit here has come so quickly on my resolution to go abroad which, in truth,

was only made ten minutes before your name was brought to me that I believe I ought to ask for a portion

of those twentyfour hours which you have offered me. A small portion will be enough. Will you see me,if I

come to you this evening, say at eight? If the House is up in the Lords I will go to you in St James's Square."

"Then I will see you there. And, Duke, I must ask you to think of me in this matter as a friend should think,

"I am sure of it. And, Duke, I can tell you that the sacrifice to me will be almost more than I can bear. This

thing that you have offered me today is the only thing that I have ever coveted. I have thought of it and

worked for it, have hoped and despaired, have for moments been vain enough to think that it was within my

strength, and have been wretched for weeks together because I have told myself that it was utterly beyond

"As to that, neither Brock nor I, nor any of us, have any doubt. Finespun himself says that you are the man."

"I am much obliged to them. But I say all this simply that you may understand how imperative is the duty

"But you haven't refused as yet," said the Duke. I shall wait at the House for you, whether they are sitting or

not. And endeavour to join us. Do the best you can. I will say nothing as to that duty of which you speak; but

if it can be made compatible with your public service, pray pray let it be done. Remember how much such

a one as you owes to his country." Then the Duke went, and Mr Palliser was alone.

He had not been alone before since the revelation which had been made to him by his wife, and the words she

had spoken were still sounding in his ears. "I do love Burgo Fitzgerald I do! I do! I do!" They were not

pleasant words for a young husband to hear. Men there are, no doubt, whose nature would make them more

miserable under the infliction than it had made Plantagenet Palliser. He was calm, without strong passion, not

prone to give to words a stronger significance than they should bear and he was essentially unsuspicious.

Never for a moment had he thought, even while those words were hissing in his ears, that his wife had

betrayed his honour. Nevertheless, there was that at his heart, as he remembered those words, which made

him feel that the world was almost too heavy for him. For the first quarter of an hour afterthe Duke's

departure he thought more of his wife and of Burgo Fitzgerald than he did of Lord Brock and Mr Finespun.

But of this he was aware that he had forgiven his wife; that he had put his arm round her and embraced

her after the hearing of her confession and that she, mutely, with her eyes, had promised him that she

would do her best for him. Then something of an idea of love came across his heart, and he acknowledged to

himself that he had married without loving or without requiring love. Much of all this had been his own fault.

Indeed, had not the whole of it come from his own wrongdoing? He acknowledged that it was so. But now

now he loved her. He felt that he could not bear to part with her, even if there were no question of public

scandal, or of disgrace. He had been torn inwardly by that assertion that she loved another man. She had got

at his heartstrings at last. There are men who may love their wives, though they never can have been in love

When the Duke had been gone about an hour, and when, under ordinary circumstances, it would have been

his time to go down to the House, he took his hat and walked into the Park. He made his way across Hyde

Park, and into Kensington Gardens, and there he remained for an hour, walking up and down beneath the

elms. The quidnuncs of the town, who chanced to see him, and who had heard something of the political

movements of the day, thought, no doubt, that he was meditating his future ministerial career. But he had not

been there long before he had resolved that no ministerial career was at present open to him. "It has been my

own fault," he said, as he returned to his house, "and with God's help I will mend it, if it be possible."

But he was a slow man, and he did not go off instantly to the Duke. He had given himself to eight o'clock,

and he took the full time. He could not go down to the House of Commons because men would make

inquiries of him which he would find it difficult to answer. So he dined at home, alone. He had told his wife

that he would see her at nine, and before that hour he would not go to her. He sat alone till it was time for him

to get into his brougham, and thought it all over. That seat in the Cabinet and Chancellorship of the

Exchequer, which he had so infinitely desired, were already done with. There was no doubt about that. It

might have been better for him not to have married; but now that he was married, and that things had brought

him untowardly to this pass, he knew that his wife's safety was his first duty. "We will go through

Switzerland,"he said to himself, "to Baden, and then we will get on to Florence and to Rome. She has seen

nothing of all these things yet, and the new life will make a change in her. She shall have her own friend with

"Well, Palliser," said the Duke, when he had listened to him,"of course I cannot argue it with you any more. I

can only say that I am very sorry more sorry than perhaps you will believe. Indeed, it half breaks my

heart." The Duke's voice was very sad, and it might almost have been thought that he was going to shed a

tear. In truth he disliked Mr Finespun with the strongest political feeling of which he was capable, and had

attached himself to Mr Palliser almost as strongly. It was a thousand pities! How hard had he not worked to

bring about this arrangement, which was now to be upset because a woman had been foolish! "I never above

half liked her," said the Duke to himself, thinking perhaps a little of the Duchess's complaints of her. "I must

go to Brock at once," he said aloud, "and tell him. God knows what we must do now. Goodbye! goodbye!

No; I'm not angry. There shall be no quarrel. But I am very sorry." In this way the two politicians parted. We

may as well follow this political movement to its end. The Duke saw Lord Brock that night, and then those

two ministers sent for another minister another noble Lord, a man of great experience in Cabinets. These

three discussed the matter together, and on the following day Lord Brock got up in the House, and made a

strong speech in defence of his colleague, Mr Finespun. To the end of the Session, at any rate, Mr Finespun

kept his position, and held the seals of the Exchequer while all the quidnuncs of the nation, shaking their

heads, spoke of the wonderful power of Mr Finespun, and declared that Lord Brock did not dare to face the

In the meantime Mr Palliser had returned to his wife, and told her of his resolution with reference to their tour

abroad. "We may as well make up our minds to start at once," said he. "At any rate, there is nothing on my

Some ten or twelve days after George Vavasor's return to London from Westmoreland he appeared at Mr

Scruby's offices with four small slips of paper in his hand. Mr Scruby, as usual, was pressing for money. The

third election was coming on, and money was already being spent very freely among the men of the River

Bank. So, at least, Mr Scruby declared. Mr Grimes, of The Handsome Man, had shown signs of returning

allegiance. But Mr Grimes could not afford to be loyal without money. He had his little family to protect. Mr

Scruby, too, had his little family, and was not ashamed to use it on this occasion. "I'm a family man, Mr

Vavasor, and therefore I never run any risks. I never go a yard further than I can see my way back." This he

had said in answer to a proposition that he should take George's note of hand for the expenses of the next

election, payable in three months' time. "It is so very hard to realize," said George, "immediately upon a

death, when all the property left is real property." "Very hard indeed, said Mr Scruby, who had heard with

accuracy all the particulars of the old Squire's will. Vavasor understood the lawyer, cursed him inwardly, and

suggested to himself that some day he might murder Mr Scruby as well as John Grey and perhaps also a

few more of his enemies. Two days after the interview in which his own note of hand had been refused, he

again called in Great Marlborough Street. Upon this occasion he tendered to Mr Scruby for his approval the

four slips of paper which have been mentioned. Mr Scruby regarded them with attention, looking first at one

side horizontally, and then at the other side perpendicularly. But before we learn the judgment pronounced by

Mr Scruby as to these four slips of paper, we must go back to their earlier history. As they were still in their

One morning, at about eleven o'clock, the parlourmaid came upto Alice, as she sat alone in the

drawingroom in Queen Anne Street, and told her there was a "gentleman" in the hall waiting to be seen by

her. We all know the tone in which servants announce a gentleman when they know that the gentleman is not

Alice Vavasor had no desire to deny herself to any person but one. She was well aware that the gentleman in

the hall could not be her cousin George, and therefore she did not refuse to see him.

"Let him come up," she said. But I think, Jane, you ought to ask him his name." Jane did ask him his name,

This occurred immediately after the return of Mr John Vavasor from Westmoreland. He had reached home

late on the preceding evening, and at the moment of Mr Levy's call was in his dressingroom.

Alice got up to receive her visitor, and at once understood the tone of her maid's voice. Mr Levy was

certainly not a gentleman of the sort to which she had been most accustomed. He was a little dark man, with

sharp eyes, set very near to each other in his head, with a beaked nose, thick at the bridge, and a black

moustache, but no other beard. Alice did not at all like the look of Mr Levy, but she stood up to receive him,

Alice had thought it might be as well that Mr Levy should know that there was a gentleman in the house with

"I've called about a little bit of business, miss," said Mr Levy, when they were alone. "Nothing as you need

disturb yourself about. You'll find it all square, I think." Then he took a case out of his breast pocket, and

produced a note, which he handed to her. Alice took the note, and saw immediately that it was addressed to

her by her cousin George. "Yes, Mr George Vavasor," said Mr Levy. "I dare say you never saw me before,

After what passed between us when I last saw you I thought that on my return from Westmoreland I should

learn that you had paid in at my bankers' the money that I require. But I find that this is not so; and of course I

excuse you, because women so seldom know when or how to do that which business demands of them. You

have, no doubt, heard the injustice which my grandfather has done me, and will probably feel as indignant as

I do. I only mention this now, because the nature of his will makes it more than ever incumbent on you that

Till there shall be some ground for a better understanding between us and this I do not doubt will come

I think it wiser not to call, myself, at Queen Anne Street. I therefore send my confidential clerk with four

bills, each of five hundred pounds, drawn at fourteen days' date, across which I will get you to write your

name. Mr Levy will show you the way in which this should be done. Your name must come under the word

"accepted", and just above the name of Messrs Drummonds, where the money must be lying ready, at any

rate, not later than Monday fortnight. Indeed, the money must be there some time on the Saturday. They

know you so well at Drummonds' that you will not object to call on the Saturday afternoon, and ask if it is all

I have certainly been inconvenienced by not finding the money as I expected on my return to town. If these

bills are not properly provided for, the result will be very disastrous to me. I feel, however, sure that this will

The unparalleled impudence of this letter had the effect which the writer had intended. It made Alice think

immediately of her own remissness if she had been remiss rather than of the enormity of his claim

upon her. The decision with which he asked for her money, without any pretence at an excuse on his part, did

for the time induce her to believe that she had no alternative but to give it to him, and that she had been

wrong in delaying to give it. She had told him that he should have it, and she ought to have been as good as

her word. She should not have forced upon him the necessity of demanding it. But the idea of signing four

bills was terrible to her, and she felt sure that she ought not to put her name to orders for so large an amount

and then entrust them to such a man as Mr Levy. Her father was in the house, and she might have asked him.

The thought that she would do so of course occurred to her. But then it occurred to her also that were she to

speak to her father as to this advancing of money to her cousin to this giving of money, for she now well

understood that it would be a gift were she to consult her father in any way about it, he would hinder her,

not only from signing the bills for Mr Levy, but, as far as he could do so, from keeping the promise made to

her cousin. She was resolved that George should have the money, and she knew that she could give it to him

in spite of her father. But her father might probably be able to delay the gift, and thus rob it of its chief value.

If she were to sign the bills, the money must be made to be forthcoming. So much she understood.

Mr Levy had taken out the four bills from the same case, and had placed them on the table before him. "Mr

"And there is nothing else to trouble you with, I believe. If you will just write your name across them here, I

need not detain you by staying any longer." Mr Levy was very anxious to make his visit as short as possible,

But Alice hesitated. Two thousand pounds is a very serious sum of money. She had heard much of sharpers,

and thought that she ought to be cautious. What if this man, of whom she had never before heard, should steal

the bills after she had signed them? She looked again at her cousin's letter, chiefly with the object of gaining

"Well; not very well, miss. No doubt Mr Vavasor has explained it all; but the fact is, he must have them this

afternoon. He has got a heavy sum to put down on the nail about this here election, and if it ain't down today,

"But, sir, the money will not be payable today. If I understand it, they are not cheques."

"No, miss, no; they are not cheques. But your name, miss, at fourteen days, is the same as ready money; just

the same." She paused, and while she paused, he reached a pen for her from the writingtable, and then she

signed the four bills as he held them before her. She was quick enough at doing this when she had once

commenced the work. Her object, then, was that the man should be gone from the house before her father

These were the four bits of paper which George Vavasor tendered to Mr Scruby's notice on the occasion

which we have now in hand. In doing so, he made use of them after the manner of a grand capitalist, who

knows that he may assume certain airs as he allows the odours of the sweetness of his wealth to drop from

"You insisted on ready money, with your d suspicions," said he; "and there it is. You're not afraid of

"Fourteen days is neither here nor there," said Mr Scruby. "We can let our payments stand over as long as

that, without doing any harm. I'll send one of my men down to Grimes, and tell him I can't see him, till let

But this was not exactly what George Vavasor wanted. He was desirous that the bills should be immediately

turned into money, so that the necessity of forcing payments from Alice, should due provision for the bills

"We can wait till the 15th," said Scruby, as he handed the bits of paper back to his customer.

"Well no! I don't see the use of that. You had better collect them through your own banker, and let me

"No, I ain't. I'm not a bit suspicious. I don't deal in such articles; that's all!"

"What doubt can there be about such bills as those? Everybody knows that my cousin has a considerable

"The truth is, Mr Vavasor, that bills with ladies' names on them ladies who are no way connected with

"You take them into the City for discount, and see if the bankersdon't tell you the same. They may be done,

"I can explain to you the nature of the family arrangement, but I can't do that to a stranger. However, I don't

"Of course not. The time is so short that it does not signify. Have them collected through your own bankers,

and then, if it don't suit you to call, send me a cheque for a thousand pounds when the time is up." Then Mr

Scruby turned to some papers on his right hand, as though the interview had been long enough. Vavasor

looked at him angrily, opening his wound at him and cursing him inwardly. Mr Scruby went on with his

paper, by no means regarding either the wound or the unspoken curses. Thereupon Vavasor got up and went

As he walked along Great Marlborough Street, and through those unalluring streets which surround the Soho

district, and so on to the Strand and his own lodgings, he still continued to think of some wide scheme of

revenge of some scheme in which Mr Scruby might be included. There had appeared something latterly in

Mr Scruby's manner to him, something of mingled impatience and familiarity, which made him feel that he

had fallen in the attorney's estimation. It was not that the lawyer thought him to be less honourable, or less

clever, than he had before thought him; but that the man was like a rat, and knew a falling house by the

instinct that was in him. So George Vavasor cursed Mr Scruby, and calculated some method of murdering

The reader is not to suppose that the Member for the Chelsea Districts had, in truth, resolved to gratify his

revenge by murder by murdering any of those persons whom he hated so vigorously. He did not, himself,

think it probable that he would become a murderer. But he received some secret satisfaction in allowing his

mind to dwell upon the subject, and in making those calculations. He reflected that it would not do to take off

Scruby and John Grey at the same time, as it would be known that he was connected with both of them;

unless, indeed, he was to take off a third person at the same time a third person, as to the expediency of

ending whose career he made his calculations quite as often as he did in regard to any of those persons whom

he cursed so often. It need hardly be explained to the reader that this third person was the sitting Member for

As he was himself in want of instant ready money Mr Scruby's proposition that he should leave the four bills

at his own bankers', to be collected when they came to maturity, did not suit him. He doubted much, also,

whether at the end of the fourteen days the money would be forthcoming. Alice would be driven to tell her

father, in order that the money might be procured, and John Vavasor would probably succeed in putting

impediments in the way of the payment. He must take the bills into the City, and do the best there that he

could with them. He was too late for this today, and therefore he went to his lodgings, and then down to the

House. In the House he sat all the night with his hat over his eyes, making those little calculations of which I

"You have heard the news; haven't you?" said Mr Bott to him, whispering in his ear.

"Finespun has resigned, and Palliser is at this moment with the Duke of St Bungay in the Lords' library."

"They may both be at the bottom of the Lords' fishpond, for what I care," said Vavasor.

"That's nonsense, you know," said Bott. Still, you know Palliser is Chancellor of the Exchequer at this

moment. What a lucky fellow you are to have such a chance come to you directly you get in. As soon as he

"I'm safe enough," said Bott. It never hurts a man at elections to be closely connected with the Government."

George Vavasor was in the City by times the next morning, but he found that the City did not look with

favourable eyes on his four bills. The City took them up, first horizontally, and then, with a twist of its hand,

perpendicularly, and looked at them with distrustful eyes. The City repeated the name, Alice Vavasor, as

though it were not esteemed a good name on Change. The City suggested that as the time was so short, the

holder of the bills would be wise to hold them till he could collect the amount. It was very clear that the City

suspected something wrong in the transaction. The City, by one of its mouths, asserted plainly that ladies'

bills never meant business. George Vavasor cursed the City, and made his calculation about murdering it.

Might not a river of strychnine be turned on round the Exchange about luncheon time? Three of the bills he

left at last with his own bankers for collection, and retained the fourth in his breast pocket, intending on the

morrow to descend with it into those lower depths of the money market which he had not asyet visited.

Again, on the next day, he went to work and succeeded to some extent. Among those lower depths he found a

capitalist who was willing to advance him two hundred pounds, keeping that fourth bill in his possession as

security. The capitalist was to have forty pounds for the transaction, and George cursed him as he took his

cheque, George Vavasor knew quite enough of the commercial world to enable him to understand that a man

must be in a very bad condition when he consents to pay forty pounds for the use of two hundred for fourteen

days. He cursed the City. He cursed the House of Commons. He cursed his cousin Alice and his sister Kate.

Mr Levy had hardly left the house in Queen Anne Street, before Alice had told her father what she had done.

"The money must be forthcoming," said Alice. To this her father made no immediate reply, but turning

himself in his chair away from her with a sudden start, sat looking at the fire and shaking his head. "The

money must be made to be forthcoming," said Alice. "Papa, will you see that it is done?" This was very hard

upon poor John Vavasor, and so he felt it to be. "Papa, if you will not promise, I must go to Mr Round about

it myself, and must find out a broker to sell out for me. You would not wish that my name should be

"Never mind whether he is a rascal or not, papa. You must acknowledge that he has been treated harshly by

"I think that will was the wisest thing my father ever did. Had he left the estate to George, there wouldn't

"He would have raised all he could upon that, and it would have done him no good."

"At any rate, papa, he must have this two thousand pounds. You must promise me that."

"No; I do not think he will ask for more. At any rate, I do not think that I am bound to give him all that I

"I should think not. I should like to know how you can be bound to give him anything?"

"Because I promised it. I have signed the bills now, and it must be done." Still Mr Vavasor made no promise.

"Papa, if you will not say that you will do it, I must go down to Mr Round at once."

"I don't know that I can do it. I don't know that Mr Roundcan do it. Your money is chiefly on mortgage."

Then there was a pause for a moment in the conversation. "Upon my word, I never heard of such a thing in

my life," said Mr Vavasor; "I never did. Four thousand pounds given away to such a man as that, in three

"You suppose so! Things of that sort are so often over with you!" This was very cruel. Perhaps she had

deserved the reproach, but still it was very cruel. The blow struck her with such force that she staggered

under it. Tears came into her eyes, and she could hardly speak lest she should betray herself by sobbing.

"I know that I have behaved badly," she said at last; "but I am punished, and you might spare me now!"

"I didn't want to punish you," he said, getting up from his chair and walking about the room. "I don't want to

Mr Vavasor went on walking about the room, jingling the money in his trouser pockets, and pushing the

chairs about as he chanced to meet them. At last, he made a compromise with her. He would take a day to

think whether he would assist her in getting the money, and communicate his decision to her on the following

Mr Vavasor was at his wits' end about his daughter. She had put her name to four bills for five hundred

pounds each, and had demanded from him, almost without an apology his aid in obtaining money to meet

them. And she might put her name to any other number of bills, and for any amount! There was no knowing

how a man ought to behave to such a daughter. "I don't want her money," the father said to himself; "and if

she had got none of her own, I would make her as comfortable as I could with my own income. But to see her

throw her money away in such a fashion as this is enough to break a man's heart."

Mr Vavasor went to his office in Chancery Lane, but he did not go to the chambers of Mr Round, the lawyer.

Instead of calling on Mr Round he sent a note by a messenger to Suffolk Street, and the answer to the note

came in the person of Mr Grey. John Grey was living in town in these days, and was in the habit of seeing Mr

Vavasor frequently. Indeed, he had not left London since the memorable occasion on which he had pitched

his rival down the tailor's stairs at his lodgings. He had made himself pretty well conversant with George

Vavasor's career, and had often shuddered as he thought what might be the fate of any girl who might trust

He had been at home when Mr Vavasor's note had reached his lodgings, and had instantly walked off towards

Chancery Lane. He knew his way to Mr Vavasor's signingoffice very accurately, for he had acquired a habit

of calling there, and of talking to the father about his daughter. He was a patient, persevering man, confident

in himself, and apt to trust that he would accomplish those things which he attempted, though he was hardly

himself aware of any such aptitude. He had neverdespaired as to Alice. And though he had openly

acknowledged to himself that she had been very foolish or rather, that her judgment had failed her he

had never in truth been angry with her. He had looked upon her rejection of himself, and her subsequent

promise to her cousin, as the effects of a mental hallucination, very much to be lamented to be wept for,

perhaps, through a whole life, as a source of terrible sorrow to himself and to her. But he regarded it all as a

disease, of which the cure was yet possible as a disease which, though it might never leave the patient as

strong as she was before, might still leave her altogether. And as he would still have clung to his love had she

been attacked by any of those illnesses for which doctors have wellknown names, so would he cling to her

now that she was attacked by a malady for which no name was known. He had already heard from Mr

Vavasor that Alice had discovered how impossible it was that she should marry her cousin, and, in his quiet,

patient, enduring way, was beginning to feel confident that he would, at last, carry his mistress off with him

It was certainly a melancholy place, that signingoffice, in which Mr John Vavasor was doomed to spend

twelve hours a week, during every term time, of his existence. Whether any man could really pass an

existence of work in such a workshop, and not have gone mad could have endured to work there for seven

hours a day, every weekday of his life, I am not prepared to say. I doubt much whether any victims are so

doomed. I have so often wandered through those gloomy passages without finding a sign of humanity there

without hearing any slightest tick of the hammer of labour, that I am disposed to think that Lord

Chancellors have been anxious to save their subordinates from suicide, and have mercifully decreed that the

whole staff of labourers, down to the very message boys of the office, should be sent away to green fields or

The dismal set of chambers, in which the most dismal room had been assigned to Mr Vavasor, was not

actually in Chancery Lane. Opening off from Chancery Lane are various other small lanes, quiet, dingy

nooks, some of them in the guise of streets going no whither, some being thoroughfares to other dingy streets

beyond, in which sponginghouses abound, and others existing as the entrances to socalled Inns of Court

inns of which all knowledge has for years been lost to the outer world of the laity, and, as I believe, lost

almost equally to the inner world of the legal profession. Who has ever heard of Symonds' Inn? But an

ancestral Symonds, celebrated, no doubt, in his time, did found an inn, and there it is to this day. Of Staples'

Inn, who knowsthe purposes or use? Who are its members, and what do they do as such? And Staples' Inn is

an inn with pretensions, having a chapel of its own, or, at any rate, a building which, in its external

dimensions, is ecclesiastical, having a garden and architectural proportions; and a facade towards Holborn,

somewhat dingy, but respectable, with an old gateway, and with a decided character of its own.

The building in which Mr John Vavasor had a room and a desk was located in one of these side streets, and

had, in its infantine days, been regarded with complacency by its founder. It was stonefaced, and strong, and

though very ugly, had about it that air of importance which justifies a building in assuming a special name to

itself. This building was called the AccountantGeneral's Record Office, and very probably, in the gloom of

its dark cellars, may lie to this day the records of the expenditure of many a fair property which has got itself

into Chancery, and has never got itself out again. It was entered by a dark hall, the door of which was never

closed; and which, having another door at its further end leading into another lane, had become itself a

thoroughfare. But the passers through it were few in number. Now and then a boy might be seen there

carrying on his head or shoulders a huge mass of papers which you would presume to be accounts, or some

clerk employed in the purlieus of Chancery Lane who would know the shortest possible way from the

chambers of someone attorney to those of some other. But this hall, though open at both ends, was as dark as

Erebus; and any who lingered in it would soon find themselves to be growing damp, and would smell

mildew, and would become naturally affected by the exhalations arising from those Chancery records beneath

Up the stone stairs, from this hall, John Grey passed to Mr Vavasor's signingroom. The stairs were broad,

and almost of noble proportions, but the darkness and gloom which hung about the hall, hung also about them

a melancholy set of stairs, up and down which no man can walk with cheerful feet. Here he came upon a

long, broad passage, in which no sound was, at first, to be heard. There was no busy noise of doors slamming,

no rapid sound of shoes, no passing to and fro of men intent on their daily bread. Pausing for a moment, that

he might look round about him and realize the deathlike stillness of the whole, John Grey could just

distinguish the heavy breathing of a man, thereby learning that there was a captive in, at any rate, one of those

prisons on each side of him. Ashe drew near to the door of Mr Vavasors chamber he knew that the breathing

On the door there were words inscribed, which were just legible in the gloom "Signing Room. Mr

How John Vavasor did hate those words! It seemed to him that they had been placed there with the express

object of declaring his degradation aloud to the world. Since his father's will had been read to him he had

almost made up his mind to go down those melancholy stairs for the last time, to shake the dust off his feet as

he left the AccountantGeneral's Record Office for ever, and content himself with half his official income.

But how could he give up so many hundreds a year while his daughter was persisting in throwing away

John Grey entered the room and found Mr Vavasor sitting all alone in an armchair over the fire. I rather think

that that breathing had been the breathing of a man asleep. He was resting himself amidst the labours of his

signing. It was a large, dull room, which could not have been painted, I should think, within the memory of

man, looking out backwards into some court. The black wall of another building seemed to stand up close to

the window so close that no direct ray of the sun ever interrupted the signingclerk at his work. In the

middle of the room there was a large mahoganytable, on which lay a pile of huge papers. Across the top of

them there was placed a bit of blottingpaper, with a quill pen, the two only tools which were necessary to

the performance of the signingclerk's work. On the table there stood a row of official books, placed

lengthways on their edges; the "Post Office Directory," the Court Circular," a "Directory to the Inns of Court,

a dusty volume of Acts of Parliament, which had reference to Chancery accounts a volume which Mr

Vavasor never opened; and there were some others; but there was no book there in which any Christian man

or woman could take delight, either for amusement or for recreation. There were three or four chairs round

the wall, and there was the one armchair which the occupant of the chamber had dragged away from its

sacred place to the hearthrug. There was also an old Turkey carpet on the floor. Other furniture there was

none. Can it be a matter of surprise to any one that Mr Vavasor preferred his club to his place of business? He

was not left quite alone in this deathlike dungeon. Attached to his own large room there was a small closet, in

which sat the signingclerk's clerk a lad of perhaps seventeen years of age, who spent the greatest part of

his time in playing tittatto by himself upon official blottingpaper. Had I been Mr Vavasor I should have

sworn a bosom friendship with that lad, have told him all my secrets, and joined his youthful games.

"Come in!" Mr Vavasor had cried when John Grey disturbed his slumber by knocking at the door. "I'm glad

to see you very. Sit down; won't you? Did you ever see such a wretched fire? The coals they give you in

this place are the worst in all London. Did you ever see such coals?" And he gave a wicked poke at the fire.

It was now the 1st of May, and Grey, who had walked from Suffolk Street, was quite warm. "One hardly

"Oh; don't you?" said the signingclerk. If you had to sit here all day, you'd see if you didn't want a fire. It's

the coldest building I ever put my foot in. Sometimes in winter I have to sit here the whole day in a greatcoat.

I only wish I could shut old Sugden up here for a week or two, after Christmas." The great lawyer whom he

had named was the man whom he supposed to have inflicted on him the terrible injury of his life, and he was

"How is Alice?" said Grey, desiring to turn the subject from the tentimestold tale of his friend's wrongs.

"You'll hardly believe it when I tell you; and, indeed, I hardly know whether I ought to tell you or not."

"As you and I have gone so far together, I think that you ought to tell me anything that concerns her nearly."

"That's just it. It's about her money. Do you know, Grey, I'm beginning to think that I've been wrong in

"Because I foresee there'll be a difficulty about it. How are we to manage about the repayment?"

"But how if she never becomes your wife? I'm beginning to think she'll never do anything like any other

"I'm not quite sure that you understand her," said Grey; "though of course you ought to do so better than any

"Nobody can understand her," said the angry father. "She toldme the other day, as you know, that she was

"Has she has she become friends with him again?" said Grey. As he asked the question there came a red

"No; I believe not that is, certainly not in the way you mean. I think that she is beginning to know that he

"But would you believe it she has given him her name to bills for two thousand pounds, payable at two

weeks' sight? He sent to her only this morning a fellow that he called his clerk, and she has been fool enough

to accept them. Two thousand pounds! That comes of leaving money at a young woman's own disposal."

"But we expected that, you know," said Grey, who seemed to take the news with much composure.

"Of course we did. You yourself did not suppose that what he had before would have been the last."

"That would make no difference with her. She had promised him her money, and as it seems that he will be

"And give him everything! Not if I can help it. I'll expose him. I will indeed. Such a pitiful rascal as he is!"

"You will do nothing, Mr Vavasor, that will injure your daughter. I'm very sure of that."

"But, by heavens . Such sheer robbery as that! Two thousand pounds more in fourteen days!" The

shortness of the date at which the bills were drawn seemed to affect Mr Vavasor almost as keenly as the

amount. Then he described the whole transaction as accurately as he could do so, and also told how Alice had

declared her purpose of going to Mr Round the lawyer, if her father would not undertake to procure the

money for her by the time the bills should become due. "Mr Round, you know, has heard nothing about it,"

he continued. "He doesn't dream of any such thing. If she would take my advice, she would leave the bills,

and let them be dishonoured. As it is, I think I shall call at Drummonds', and explain the whole transaction."

"You must not do that," said Grey. I will call at Drummonds', instead, and see that the money is all right for

the bills. As far as they go, let him have his plunder." "And if she won't take you, at last, Grey? Upon my

word, I don't think she ever will. My belief is she'll never get married. She'll never do anything like any other

"The money won't be missed by me if I never get married," said Grey, with a smile. "If she does marry me, of

"No, by George! That won't do," said Vavasor. If she were your daughter you'd know that she could not take

"And I know it now, though she is not my daughter. I was only joking. As soon as I am certain finally

certain that she can never become my wife, I will take back my money. You need not be afraid. The

In this way it was settled; and on the following morning the father informed the daughter that he had done her

bidding, and that the money would be placed to her credit at the bankers' before the bills came due. On that

Saturday, the day which her cousin had named in his letter, she trudged down to Drummonds', and was

informed by a very courteous senior clerk in that establishment that due preparation for the bills had been

One morning, early in May, a full week before Alice's visit to the bankers' at Charing Cross, a servant in

grand livery, six feet high, got out of a cab at the door in Queen Anne Street, and sent up a note for Miss

Vavasor, declaring that he would wait in the cab for her answer. He had come from Lady Glencora, and had

been specially ordered to go in a cab and come back in a cab, and make himself as like a Mercury, with wings

to his feet, as may be possible to a London footman. Mr Palliser had arranged his plans with his wife that

morning or, I should more correctly say, had given her his orders, and she, in consequence, had sent away

her Mercury in hot pressing haste to Queen Anne Street. "Do come instantly if you can," the note said. "I

have so much to tell you, and so much to ask of you. If you can't come, when shall I find you, and where?"

Alice sent back a note, saying that she would be in Park Lane as soon as she could put on her bonnet and

Alice found her friend in the small breakfastroom upstairs, sitting close by the window. They had not as yet

met since the evening of Lady Monk's party, nor had Lady Glencora seen Alice in the mourning which she

now wore for her grandfather. "Oh dear, what a change it makes in you," she said. "I never thought of your

"I don't know what it is you want, but shan't I do in mourning as well as I would in colours?"

"You'll do in anything, dear. But I have so much to tell you, and I don't know how to begin. And I've so much

"No, I don't, dear. It is very seldom you will do anything for me. But I must tell you everything first. Do take

"Yes; and in getting your consent to what I want you to do. But I think I'll tell you that first. I'm to be taken

"Ah, you may well ask that. If you could know what questions I have asked myself on that head! I sometimes

say things to myself as though they were the most proper and reasonable things in the world, and then within

"Yes; you. When I have named so very respectable a chaperon for my youth, of course you will understand

"That's just it. He is to leave London at this time of the year. Don't look in that way, for it's all settled.

Whether you go with me or not, I've got to go. Today is Tuesday. We are to be off next Tuesday night, if you

can make yourself ready. We shall breakfast in Paris on Wednesday morning, and then it will be to us all just

as if we were in a new world. Mr Palliser will walk up and down the new court of the Louvre, and you will be

on his left arm, and I shall be on his right just like English people and it will be the most proper thing

that ever was seen in life. Then we shall go on to Basle' Alice shuddered as Basle was mentioned,

thinking of the balcony over the river "and so to Lucerne . But no; that was the first plan, and Mr

Palliser altered it. He spent a whole day up here with maps and Bradshaws and Murray's guidebooks, and he

scolded me so because I didn't care whether we went first to Baden or to some other place. How could I care?

told me I was heartless and I acknowledged that I was heartless. "I am heartless," I said. "Tell me

"I didn't choose to contradict my husband. Besides, it's true. Then he threw the Bradshaw away, and all the

maps flew about. So I picked them up again, and said we'd go to Switzerland first. I knew that would settle it,

and of course he decided on stopping atBaden. If he had said Jericho, it would have been the same thing to

"I've said nothing about that yet. But you have not told me half your story. Why is Mr Palliser going abroad

"Ah; now I must go back to the beginning. And indeed, Alice, I hardly know how to tell you; not that I mind

you knowing it, only there are some things that won't get themselves told. You can hardly guess what it is

that he is giving up. You must swear that you won't repeat what I'm going to tell you now?"

"What a woman you are for discretion! It is you that ought to be Chancellor of the Exchequer; you are so

"I do mind them, very much. But the secret is this. They have asked Mr Palliser to be Chancellor of the

"Because of me of me, and my folly, and wickedness, and abominations. Because he has been fool

enough to plague himself with a wife he who of all men ought to have kept himself free from such

troubles. Oh, he has been so good! It is almost impossible to make any one understand it. If you could know

how he has longed for this office how he has worked for it day and night, wearing his eyes out with

figures when everybody else has been asleep, shutting himself up with such creatures as Mr Bott when other

men have been shooting and hunting and flirting and spending their money. He has been a slave to it for years

all his life I believe in order that he might sit in the Cabinet, and be a minister and a Chancellor of the

Exchequer. He has hoped and feared, and has been, I believe, sometimes halfmad with expectation. This has

been his excitement what racing and gambling are to other men. At last, the place was there ready for him,

and they offered it to him. They begged him to take it, almost on their knees. The Duke of St Bungay was

here all one morning about it; but Mr Palliser sent him away, and refused the place. It's all over now, and the

"But why did he refuse it?" "I keep on telling you because of me. He found that I wanted looking after,

"If you knew all, you might well ask how I could. You remember about Lady Monk's ball, that you would not

go to as you ought to have done. If you had gone, Mr Palliser would have been Chancellor of the

Exchequer at this minute; he would, indeed. Only think of that! But though you did not go, other people did

who ought to have remained at home. I went for one and you know who was there for another."

"It might have made a great deal of difference. And, for the matter of that, so it did. Mr Palliser was there too,

but, of course, he went away immediately. I can't tell you all the trouble there had been about Mrs Marsham

whether I was to take her with me or not. However, I wouldn't take her, and didn't take her. The carriage

went for her first, and there she was when we got there; and Mr Bott was there too. I wonder whether I shall

"There they both were, watching me looking at me the whole evening; and, of course, I resolved that I

"I think, if I had been you, I would not have allowed their presence to make any difference to me."

"That is very easily said, my dear, but by no means so easily done. You can't make yourself unconscious of

eyes that are always looking at you. I dared them, at any rate, to do their worst, for I stood up to dance with

"Why shouldn't I? At any rate I did; and I waltzed with him for half an hour. Alice, I never will waltz again

never. I have done with dancing now. I don't think, even in my maddest days, I ever kept it up so long as I

did then. And I knew that everybody was looking at me. It was not only Mrs Marsham and Mr Bott, but

everybody there. I felt myself to be desperate mad, like a wild woman. There I was, going round and

round and round with the only man for whom I ever cared two straws. It seemed as though everything had

been a dream since the old days. Ah! how well I remember the first time I danced with him at his aunt's

house in Cavendish Square. They had only just brought me out in London then, and I thought that he was a

"I know well enough that he is no god now; some people say that he is a devil, but he was like Apollo to me

"I wish you could have seen him; but you will some day. I don't know whether you care for men being

handsome." Alice thought of John Grey, who was the handsomest man that she knew, but she made no

answer. "I do; or, rather, I used to do," continued Lady Glencora. "I don't think I care much about anything

now; but I don't see why handsome men should not be run after as much as handsome women."

"But you wouldn't have a girl run after any man, would you; whether handsome or ugly?"

"But they do, you know, When I saw him the other night he was just as handsome as ever the same look,

half wild and half tame, like an animal you cannot catch, but which you think would love you so if you could

catch him. In a little while it was just like the old time, and I had made up my mind to care nothing for the

"No, I don't. Yes, I do; that is, it wasn't right to care about dancing with him, but it was right to disregard all

the people gaping round. What was it to them? Why should they care who I danced with?"

"That is nonsense, dear, and you must know that it is so. If you were to see a woman misbehaving herself in

public, would not you look on and make your comments? Could you help doing so if you were to try?"

"Yes, Cora. I am only taking your own story. According to that, you were misbehaving in public."

Lady Glencora got up from her chair near the window, on which she had been crouching close to Alice's

knees, and walked away towards the fireplace. "What am I to say to you, or how am I to talk to you?" said

"Of all things in the world, I hate a prude the most," said Lady Glencora. "Cora, look here. If you consider it

prudery on my part to disapprove of your waltzing with Mr Fitzgerald in the manner you have described

or, indeed, in any other manner you and I must differ so totally about the meaning of words and the nature

"Alice, you are the unkindest creature that ever lived. You are as cold as stone. I sometimes think that you

"I don't mind your saying that. Whether I have a heart or not I will leave you to find out for yourself; but I

won't be called a prude by you. You know you were wrong to dance with that man. What has come of it?

What have you told me yourself this morning? In order to preserve you from misery and destruction, Mr

Palliser has given up all his dearest hopes. He has had to sacrifice himself that he might save you. That, I take

"I never said so." Now she had come back to her chair by the window, and was again sitting in that crouching

form. "I never said that I was not wrong. Of course I was wrong. I have been so wrong throughout that I have

never been right yet. Let me tell it on to the end, and then you can go away if you like, and tell me that I am

"But you will, I dare say, when I have done. Well; what do you think my senior duenna did the female

one, I mean? She took my own carriage, and posted off after Mr Palliser as hard as ever she could, leaving

the male duenna on the watch. I was dancing as hard as I could, but I knew what was going on all the time as

well as though I had heard them talking. Of course Mr Palliser came after me. I don't know what else he

could do, unless, indeed, he had left me to my fate. He came there, and behaved so well so much like a

perfect gentleman. Of course I went home, and I was prepared to tell him everything, if he spoke a word to

"Yes, and go with that other man whose name you won't let me mention. I had a letter from him in my pocket

asking me to go. He asked me a dozen times that night. I cannot think how it was that I did not consent."

"That I did not consent to go off with him anywhere. Of course it would have been my own destruction.

I'm not such afool as not to know that. Do you suppose I have never thought of it what it would be to be a

man's mistress instead of his wife? If I had not I should be a thing to be hated and despised, When once I had

done it I should hate and despise myself. I should feel myself to be loathsome, and, as it were, a beast among

women. But why did they not let me marry him, instead of driving me to this? And though I might have

destroyed myself, I should have saved the man who is still my husband. Do you know, I told him all that

told him that if I had gone away with Burgo Fitzgerald he would have another wife, and would have children,

"Yes; I told him everything. I told him that I dearly loved that poor fellow, for whom, as I believe, nobody

"I cannot tell you what he said, only that we are all to go to Baden together, and then to Italy. But he did not

seem a bit angry; he very seldom is angry, unless at some trumpery thing, as when he threw the book away.

And when I told him that he might have another wife and a child, he put his arm round me and whispered to

me that he did not care so much about it as I had imagined. I felt more like loving him at that moment than I

"He's fit to be a cabinet minister, which, I'm quite sure, he'd like much better. And now you know everything;

but no there is one thing you don't know yet. When I tell you that, you'll want to make him an archangel

""We'll go abroad," he said and remember, this was his own proposition, made long before I was able to

speak a word; "We'll go abroad, and you shall get your cousin Alice to go with us." That touched me more

"You're wrong there, Alice. There has been no question of liking or of disliking. He thought you would be a

kind of Mrs Marsham, and when you were not, but went out flirting among the ruins with Jeffrey Palliser,

"He did with you, which is all the same thing. And when Plantagenet knew of that for, of course, Mr Bott

"Mr Bott can't see everything." "Those men do. The worst is, they see more than everything. But, at any rate,

Mr Palliser has got over all that now. Come, Alice; the fact of the offer having come from himself should

disarm you of any such objection as that. As he has held out his hand to you, you have no alternative but to

"And for my sake you will go with us? He understands himself that I am not fit to be his companion, and to

have no companion but him. Now there is a spirit of wisdom about you that will do for him, and a spirit of

folly that will suit me. I can manage to put myself on a par with a girl who has played such a wild game with

Alice would give no promise then. Her first objection was that she had undertaken to go down to

Westmoreland and comfort Kate in the affliction of her broken arm. "And I must go," said Alice,

remembering how necessary it was that she should plead her own cause with George Vavasor's sister. But she

acknowledged that she had not intended to stay long in Westmoreland, probably nor more than a week, and it

was at last decided that the Pallisers should postpone their journey for four or five days, and that Alice should

"I have no objection," said her father, speaking with that voice of resignation which men use when they are

resolved to consider themselves injured whatever may be done. "I can get along in lodgings. I suppose we

had better leave the house, as you have given away so much of your own fortune?" Alice did not think it

worth her while to point out to him, in answer to this, that her contribution to their joint housekeeping should

still remain the same as ever. Such, however, she knew would be the fact, and she knew also that she would

find her father in the old house when she returned from her travels. To her, in her own great troubles, the

absence from London would be as serviceable as it could be to Lady Glencora. Indeed, she had already begun

to feel the impossibility of staying quietly at home. She could lecture her cousin, whose faults were open,

easy to be defined, and almost loud in their nature; but she was not on that account the less aware of her own.

She knew that she too had cause to be ashamed of herself. She was half afraid to show her face among her

friends, and wept grievously over her own follies. Those cruel words of her father rang in her ears constantly

"Things of that sort are so often over with you." Thereproach, though cruel, was true, and what reproach

more galling could be uttered to an unmarried girl such as was Alice Vavasor? She had felt from the first

moment in which the proposition was made to her, that it would be well that she should for a while leave her

home, and especially that drawingroom in Queen Anne Street, which told her so many tales that she would

Mr Palliser would not allow his wife to remain in London for the ten or twelve days which must yet elapse

before they started, nor would he send her into the country alone. He took her down to Matching Park, having

obtained leave to be absent from the House for the remainder of the Session, and remained with her there till

within two days of their departure. That week down at Matching, as she afterwards told Alice, was very

terrible. He never spoke a word to rebuke her. He never hinted that there had been aught in her conduct of

which he had cause to complain. He treated her with a respect that was perfect, and indeed with more

outward signs of affection than had ever been customary with him. "But," as Lady Glencora afterwards

expressed it, "he was always looking after me. I believe he thought that Burgo Fitzgerald had hidden himself

among the ruins," she said once to Alice, "He never suspected me, I am sure of that; but he thought that he

ought to look after me." And Lady Glencora in this had very nearly hit the truth. Mr Palliser had resolved,

from that hour in which he had walked out among the elms in Kensington Gardens, that he would neither

suspect his wife, nor treat her as though he suspected her. The blame had been his, perhaps, more than it had

been hers. So much he had acknowledged to himself, thinking of the confession she had made to him before

their marriage. But it was manifestly his imperative duty his duty of duties to save her from that pitfall

into which, as she herself had told him, she had been so ready to fall. For her sake and for his this must be

done. It was a duty so imperative, that in its performance he had found himself forced to abandon his

ambition. To have his wife taken from him would be terrible, but the having it said all over the world that

such a misfortune had come upon him would be almost more terrible even than that.

So he went with his wife hither and thither, down at Matching, allowing himself to be driven about behind

Dandy and Flirt. He himself proposed these little excursions. They were tedious to him, but doubly tedious to

his wife, who now found it more difficult thanever to talk to him. She snuggled to talk, and he struggled to

talk, but the very struggles themselves made the thing impossible. He sat with her in the mornings, and he sat

with her in the evenings; he breakfasted with her, lunched with her, and dined with her. He went to bed early,

having no figures which now claimed his attention. And so the week at last wore itself away. "I saw him

yawning sometimes," Lady Glencora said afterwards, "as though he would fall in pieces."

Alice was resolved that she would keep her promise to Kate, and pay her visit to Westmoreland before she

started with the Pallisers. Kate had written to her three lines with her left hand, begging her to come, and

those three lines had been more eloquent than anything she could have written had her right arm been

uninjured. Alice had learned something of the truth as to that accident from her father; or, rather, had heard

her father's surmises on the subject. She had heard, too, low her cousin George had borne himself when the

will was read, and how he had afterwards disappeared, never showing himself again at the Hall. After all that

had passed she felt that she owed Kate some sympathy. Sympathy may, no doubt, be conveyed by letter; but

there are things on which it is almost impossible for any writer to express himself with adequate feeling; and

there are things, too, which can be spoken, but which cannot be written. Therefore, though the journey must

be a hurried one, Alice sent word down to Westmoreland that she was to be expected there in a day or two.

On her return she was to go at once to Park Lane, and sleep there for the two nights which would intervene

On the day before she started for Westmoreland her father came to her in the middle of the day, and told her

To this Mr Vavasor made no reply, but stood for some minutes looking out of the window. Then he prepared

to leave the room, getting himself first as far as the table, where he lifted a book, and then on halfway to the

"Perhaps, papa, you and Mr Grey had better dine alone." "What do you mean by alone?"

"If I wanted that I should have asked him to dine at the club," said Mr Vavasor, and then he again attempted

"Well, my dear! If you mean to say that because of what has passed you object to meet Mr Grey, I can only

tell you it's nonsense confounded nonsense. If he chooses to come there can be no reason why you

"That's nonsense. I saw him yesterday, and I asked him to come. I saw him again today, and he said he would

"And if you run away you'll only make more of the thing than it's worth. Of course I can't make you dine with

Alice did not like it, but, after some consideration, she thought that she might be open to the imputation of

having made more of the thing than it was worth if she ran away, as her father called it. She was going to

leave the country for some six or eight months perhaps for a longer time than that, and it might be as well

that she should have an opportunity of telling her plans to Mr Grey. She could do it, she thought, in such a

way as to make him understand that her last quarrel with George Vavasor was not supposed to alter the

footing on which she stood with him. She did not doubt that her father had told everything to Mr Grey. She

knew well enough what her father's wishes still were. It was not odd that he should be asking John Grey to

his house, though such exercises of domestic hospitality were very unusual with him. But so she declared

to herself such little attempts on his part would be altogether thrown away. It was a pity that he had not

yet learned to know her better. She would receive Mr Grey as the mistress of her father's house now, for the

last time; and then, on her return in the following year, he would be at Nethercoats, and the whole thing

She dressed herself very plainly, simply changing one black frock for another, and then sat herself in her

drawingroom awaiting the two gentlemen. It was already past the hour of dinner before her father came

upstairs. She knew that he was in the house, and in her heart she accused him of keeping out of the way, in

order that John Grey might be alone with her. Whether or no she were right in her suspicions John Grey did

not take advantage of the opportunity offered to him. Her father came up first, and had seated himself silently

As Mr Grey entered the room Alice knew that she was flurried, but still she managed to carry herself with

some dignity. His bearing was perfect. But then, as she declared to herself afterwards, no possible position in

life would put him beside himself. He came up to her with his usual quiet smile a smile that was genial

even in its quietness, and took her hand. He took it fairly and fully into his; but there was no squeezing, no

special pressure, no lovemaking. And when he spoke to her he called her Alice, as though his doing so was

of all things the most simply a matter of course. There was no telltale hesitation in his voice. When did he

ever hesitate at anything? "I hear you are going abroad," he said, with your cousin, Lady Glencora Palliser."

"Yes," said Alice; I am going with them for a long tour. We shall not return, I fancy, till the end of next

"Plans of that sort are as easily broken as they are made," said her father. "You won't be your own mistress;

"If Mr Palliser changes his mind of course I shall come home," said Alice, with a little attempt at a smile.

"But all London is talking about his change of mind at this moment. They say at the clubs that he might have

been in the Cabinet if he would, but that he has taken up this idea of going abroad at the moment when he

"That's the worst of being in Parliament," said Grey. "A man can't do anything without giving a reason for it.

There must be men for public life, of course; but, upon my word, I think we ought to he very much obliged to

Alice, as she took her old lover's arm, and walked down with him to dinner, thought of all her former quarrels

with him on this very subject. On this very point she had left him. He had never argued the matter with her.

He had never asked her to argue with him. He had not condescended so far as that. Had he done so, she

thought that she would have brought herself to think as he thought. She would have striven, at any rate, to do

so. But she could not becomeunambitious, tranquil, fond of retirement, and philosophic, without an argument

on the matter without being allowed even the poor grace of owning herself to be convinced. If a man takes

a dog with him from the country up to town, the dog must live a town life without knowing the reason why

must live a town life or die a town death. But a woman should not be treated like a dog. "Had he deigned

to discuss it with me!" Alice had so often said. "But, no; he will read his books, and I am to go there to fetch

him his slippers, and make his tea for him." All this came upon her again as she walked downstairs by his

side; and with it there came a consciousness that she had been driven by this usage into the terrible

engagement which she had made with her cousin. That, no doubt, was now over. There was no longer to her

any question of her marrying George Vavasor. But the fact that she had been mad enough to think and talk of

such a marriage, had of itself been enough to ruin her. "Things of that sort are so often over with you!" After

such a speech as that to her from her father, Alice told herself that there could be no more "things of that sort"

for her. But all her misery had been brought about by this scornful superiority to the ordinary pursuits of the

world this looking down upon humanity. "It seems to me", she said, very quietly, while her hand was yet

upon his arm, "that your pity is hardly needed. I should think that no persons can be happier than those whom

"Ah!" said he, that is our old quarrel. He said it as though the quarrel had simply been an argument between

them, or a dozen arguments as arguments do come up between friends; not as though it had served to

separate for life two persons who had loved each other dearly. "It's the old story of the town mouse and the

country mouse as old as the hills. Mice may be civil for a while, and compliment each other; but when

they come to speak their minds freely, each likes his own life best." She said nothing more at the moment,

and the three sat down to their small dinnertable. It was astonishing to Alice that he should be able to talk in

this way, to hint at such things, to allude to their former hopes and present condition, without a quiver in his

"You don't encourage her, papa, by eating it often enough. And then you only told me at two o'clock today."

"Isn't it good?" said he. I won't say that it is, because I should be pretending to have an opinion; but I should

"At the old club, at the corner of Suffolk Street. It's the oldest club in London, I believe. I never belonged to

any other, and therefore can't compare them; but I can't imagine anything much nicer."

"You've an excellent cook," said Mr Vavasor, with great gravity; "one of the best secondclass cooks in

London. We were very nearly getting him, but you nicked him just in time. I know him well."

"It's a great deal more than I do, or hope to do. There's another branch of public life for which I'm quite

unfitted. I'd as soon be called on to choose a Prime Minister for the country, as I would a cook for a club."

"Of course you would," said Mr Vavasor. There may be as many as a dozen cooks about London to be looked

up, but there are never more than two possible Prime Ministers about. And as one of them must be going out

when the other is coming in, I don't see that there can be any difficulty. Moreover, nowadays, people do their

politics for themselves, but they expect to have their dinners cooked for them."

The little dinner went on quietly and very easily. Mr Vavasor found fault with nearly everything. But as, on

this occasion, the meat and the drink, with the manner of the eating and drinking, did not constitute the

difficulty, Alice was indifferent to her father's censures. The thing needed was that she and Mr Grey should

be able to sit together at the same table without apparent consciousness of their former ties. Alice felt that she

was succeeding indifferently well while she was putting in little mock defences for the cook. And as for John

Grey, he succeeded so well that his success almost made Alice angry with him. It required no effort with him

at all to be successful in this matter. "If he can forget all that has passed, so much the better," said Alice to

herself when she got up into the drawingroom. Then she sat herself down on the sofa, and cried. Oh! what

had she not lost! Had any woman ever been so mad, so reckless, so heartless as she had been! And she had

done it, knowing that she loved him! She cried bitterly, and then went away to wash her eyes, that she might

"Well no: how can she look well after what she has gone through? I sometimes think, that of all the

people I ever knew, she has been the most foolish. But, of course, it is not for me to say anything against my

"Nothing that you could say against her would make any difference to me. I sometimes fancy that I know her

"I cannot say that I think so. No one can venture to say whether or not such wounds as hers may be cured.

There are hearts and bodies so organised, that in them severe wounds are incurable, whereas in others no

injury seems to be fatal. But I can say that if she be not cured it shall not be from want of perseverance on my

"Of course it isn't. I know that well enough. And in the ordinary way of the world no father would think of

thanking a man for wanting to marry his daughter. But things have come to such a pass with us, that, by

George! I don't feel like any other father. I don't mind saying anything to you, you know. That claret isn't

"It's not just the thing. What's the use of my having good wine here, when nobody comes to drink it? But, as I

was saying about Alice, of course I've felt all this thing very much. I feel as though I were responsible, and

yet what could I do? She's her own mistress through it all. When she told me she was going to marry that

"It's very kind of you to say so very. I believe she's a good girl. I do, indeed, in spite of it all."

"I've no doubt of her being what you call a good girl none in the least. What she has done to me does not

impair her goodness. I don't think you have ever understood how much all this has been a matter of

"Conscience!" said the angry father. I hate such conscience. I like the conscience that makes a girl keep her

"I shall not think that I am disgraced," said Grey, quietly, "if she will come and be my wife. She has meant to

do right, and has endeavoured to take care of the happiness of other people rather than her own."

"I shall not be at all afraid to trust mine to her if she will let me do so. But she has been wounded sorely,

"And, in the meantime, what are we to do when she tells us that Mr George Vavasor wants another

"Oh, yes. I'll follow you. She'll think that I mean something if I leave you together."

From all this it will be seen that Alice's father and her lover still stood together on confidential terms. Not

easily had Mr Vavasor brought himself to speak of his daughter to John Grey in such language as he had now

used; but he had been forced by adverse circumstances to pass the Rubicon of parental delicacy; he had been

driven to tell his wishedfor soninlaw that he did wish to have him as a soninlaw; he had been

compelled to lay aside those little airs of reserve with which a father generally speaks of his daughter and

"And you really start tomorrow?" said Grey, as he stood close over Alice's worktable. Mr Vavasor had

followed him into the drawingroom, but had seated himself in an easy chair on the other side of the fire.

There was no tone of whispering in Grey's voice, but yet he spoke in a manner which showed that he did not

"I start for Westmoreland tomorrow. We do not leave London for the continent till the latter end of next

"And you will be away for many months?" "Mr Palliser talked of next Easter as the term of his return. He

mentioned Easter to Lady Glencora. I have not seen him myself since I agreed to go with him."

"What should you say if you met me somewhere in your travels?" He had now gently seated himself on the

sofa beside her not so close to her as to give her just cause to move away, but yet so near as to make his

"I think it is very likely. For myself, I hate surprises. I could not bring myself to fall in upon your track

unawares. I shall go abroad, but it will not be till the late autumn, when the summer heats are gone and I

"To find me, Mr Grey!" There was a quivering in her voice, as she spoke, which she could not prevent,

though she would have given worlds to prevent it. "I do not think that will be quite fair."

"It will not be unfair, I think, if I give you notice of my approach. I will not fall upon you and your friends

"And equally, of course! Or, rather, much more of course, you will not be glad to see me? That's what you

"I think differently, Alice quite differently. The more we meet the better that is what I think. But I will

not stop to trouble you now. Goodnight!" Then he got up and went away, and her father went with him. Mr

Vavasor, as he rose from his chair, declared that he would just walk through a couple of streets; but Alice

During these days Mrs Greenow was mistress of the old Hall down in Westmoreland, and was nursing Kate

assiduously through the calamity of her broken arm. There had come to be a considerable amount of

confidence between the aunt and the niece. Kate had acknowledged to her aunt that her brother had behaved

badly very badly; and the aunt had confessed to the niece that she regarded Captain Bellfield as a fit

"And he was violent to you, and broke your arm? I always knew it was so," Mrs Greenow had said, speaking

with reference to her nephew. But this Kate had denied. "No," said she; that was an accident. When he went

away and left me, he knew nothing about it. And if he had broken both my arms I should not have cared

much. I could have forgiven him that." But that which Kate could not forgive him was the fault which she

had herself committed. For his sake she had done her best to separate Alice and John Grey, and George had

shown himself to be unworthy of the kindness of her treachery. "I would give all I have in the world to bring

them together again," Kate said. "They'll come together fast enough if they like each other," said Mrs

Greenow. "Alice is young still, and they tell me she's as goodlooking as ever. A girl with her money won't

have far to seek for a husband, even if this paragon from Cambridgeshire should not turn up again,"

"No, I don't. But I know what young women are, and I know what young men are. All this nonsense about

her cousin George what difference will it make? A man like Mr Grey won't care about that especially

not if she tells him all about it. My belief is that a girl can have anything forgiven her, if she'll only tell it

But Kate preferred the other subject, and so, I think, did Mrs Greenow herself. "Of course, my dear," she

would say, "marriage with me, if I should marry again, would be a very different thing toyour marriage, or

that of any other young person. As for love, that has been all over for me since poor Greenow died. I have

known nothing of the softness of affection since I laid him in his cold grave, and never can again. "Captain

Bellfield," I said to him, "if you were to kneel at my feet for years, it would not make me care for you in the

"How am I to tell you what he said? He talked nonsense about my beauty, as all the men do. If a woman were

humpbacked, and had only one eye, they wouldn't be ashamed to tell her she was a Venus."

"Laws, my dear, as if I didn't understand all about it; as if I didn't know what makes a woman run after! It

isn't beauty and it isn't money altogether. I've seen women who had plenty of both, and not a man would

come nigh them. They didn't dare. There are some of them, a man would as soon think of putting his arm

round a poplar tree, they are so hard and so stiff. You know you're a little that way yourself, Kate, and I've

"Not at all, if you'll only set your wits to work and try. You've plenty of money now, and you're

goodlooking enough, too, when you take the trouble to get yourself up. But, as I said before, it isn't that

that's wanted. There's a standoff about some women what the men call a "nollimy tangere," that a man

must be quite a furious Orlando to attempt to get the better of it. They look as though matrimony itself were

improper, and as if they believed the little babies were found about in the hedges and ditches. They talk of

women being forward! There are some of them a deal too backward, according to my way of thinking."

"That's just what I want it to be. I want things to be comfortable. Why shouldn't things be nice about one

when's got the means? Nobody can say it's a pleasant thing to live alone. I always thought that man in the

song hit it off properly. You remember what he says? "The poker and tongs to each other belongs." So they

"Not so often as the people say, my dear. Men and women ain't like lumps of sugar. They don't melt because

the water is sometimes warm. Now, if I do take Bellfield and I really think I shall; but if I do, he'll give

me a deal of trouble. I know he will. He'll always be wanting my money, and, of course, he'll get more than

he ought. I'm not a Solomon, nor yet a Queen of Sheba, no more than anybody else. And he'll smoke too

many cigars, and perhaps drink more brandy and water than he ought. And he'll be making eyes, too, at some

"Dear me, aunt, if I thought all that ill of him, I'm sure I wouldn't marry him especially as you say you

"As for love, my dear, that's gone clear gone!" Whereupon Mrs Greenow put up her handkerchief to her

eyes. "Some women can love twice, but I am not one of them. I wish I could I wish I could!" These last

words were spoken in a tone of solemn regret, which, however, she contrived to change as quickly as she had

adopted it. "But, my dear, marriage is a comfortable thing. And then, though the Captain may be a little free, I

don't doubt but what I shall get the upper hand with him at last. I shan't stop his cigars and brandy and water,

you know. Why shouldn't a man smoke and have a glass, if he don't make a beast of himself? I like to see a

man enjoy himself. And then," she added, speaking tenderly of her absent lover, "I do think he's fond of me

"Poor Cheesy! I believe he was, though he did talk so much about money. I always like to believe the best I

can of them. But then there was no poetry about Cheesy. I don't care about saying it now, as you've quite

"Your grandfather's will does make a difference, you know. But, as I was saying, I do like a little romance

about them just a sniff, as I call it, of the rocks and valleys. One knows that it doesn't mean much; but it's

like artificial flowers it gives a little colour, and takes off the dowdiness. Of course, bread and cheese is

the real thing. The rocks and valleys are no good at all, if you haven't got that. But enough is as good as a

feast. Thanks to dear Greenow,' here the handkerchief was again used "Thanks to dear Greenow, I

shall never want. Of course I shan't let any of the money go into his hands the Captain's, I mean. I know a

trick worth two of that, my dear. But, lord love you! I've enough for him and me. What's the good of a

"And you think you'll really take him, aunt, and pay his washerwoman's bills for him? You remember what

"Oh, yes; I remember. And if he can't pay his own washerwoman, isn't that so much more of a reason that I

should do it for him? Well; yes; I think I will take him. That is, if he lets me take him just as I choose.

In this way the aunt and niece became very confidential, and Mrs Greenow whispered into Kate's ears her

belief that Captain Bellfield might possibly make his way across the country to Westmoreland. "There would

be no harm in offering him a bed, would there?" Mrs Greenow asked. "You see the inn at Shap is a long way

off for morning calls." Kate could not take upon herself to say that there would be any harm, but she did not

like the idea of having Captain Bellfield as a visitor. "After all, perhaps he mayn't come," said the widow. "I

don't see where he is to raise the money for such a journey, now that he has quarrelled with Mr Cheesacre."

"If Captain Bellfield must come to Vavasor Hall, at any rate let him not come till Alice's visit had been

completed." That was Kate's present wish, and so much she ventured to confide to her aunt. But there seemed

to be no way of stopping him. "I don't in the least know where he is, my dear; and as for writing to him, I

never did such a thing in my life, and I shouldn't know how to begin." Mrs Greenow declared that she had not

positively invited the Captain; but on this point Kate hardly gave full credit to her aunt's statement.

Alice arrived, and, for a day or two, the three ladies lived very pleasantly together. Kate still wore her arm in

a sling; but she was able to walk out, and would take long walks in spite of the doctor's prohibition. Of

course, they went up on the mountains. Indeed, all the walks from Vavasor Hall led to the mountains, unless

one chose to take the road to Shap. But they went up, across the beacon hill, as though by mutual consent.

There were no questions asked between them as to the route to be taken; and though they did not reach the

stone on which they had once sat looking over upon Hawes Water, they did reach the spot upon which Kate

had encountered her accident. "It was here I fell," she said; "and the last I saw of him was his back, as he

made his way down into the valley, there. When I got upon my legs I could still see him. It was one of those

evenings when the clouds are dark, but you can see all objects with a peculiar clearness through the air. I

stood here ever so long, holding my arm, and watching him; but he never once turned to look back at me. Do

"I can hardly tell you what I mean! He seemed to me to be going away from me, as though he went into

another world. His figure against the light was quite clear, and he walked quickly, and on he went, till the

slope of the hill hid him from me. Of course, I thought that he would return to the Hall. At one time I almost

feared that he would come upon me through the woods, as I went back myself. But yet, I had a feeling

"No; not a word. You must remember that he did not know that I had hurt myself. I am sure he will not write,

and I am sure, also, that I shall not. If he wanted money I would send it to him, but I would not write to him."

"I fear he will. If you could know what I suffered when he made me write that letter to you! But, of course, I

"It was a mean letter. The whole thing was mean! He should have starved in the street before he had taken

your money. He should have given up Parliament, and everything else! I had doubted much about him before,

but it was that which first turned my heart against him. I had begun to fear that he was not such a man as I

"Of course you did. But I had endeavoured to make you judge kindly. Alice, dear! We have both suffered for

him; you more than I, perhaps; but I, too, have given up everything for him. My whole life has been at his

service. I have been his creature, to do his bidding, just as he might tell me. He made me do things that I

knew to be wrong things that were foreign to my own nature; and yet I almost worshipped him. Even

"But he will never come back. He will never ask us to forgive him, or even wish it. He has no heart." "He has

"And yet how tender he could be in his manner when he chose it how soft he could make his words and

his looks! Do you remember how he behaved to us in Switzerland? Do you remember that balcony at Basle,

"So do I! So do I! Alice, I would give all I have in the world, if I could recall that journey to Switzerland."

"I do mean for your sake. It made no difference to me. Whether I stayed in Westmoreland or went abroad, I

must have found out that my god was made of bricks and clay instead of gold. But there was no need for you

"If you mean about Mr Grey, that would have happened just the same, whether I had gone abroad or

There was nothing more than this said between them about Mr Grey. Even to her cousin, Alice could not

bring herself to talk freely on that subject. She would never allow herself to think, for a moment, that she had

been persuaded by others to treat him as she had treated him. She was sure that she had acted on her own

convictions of what was right and wrong; and now, though she had begun to feel that she had been wrong,

They walked back, down the hill, to the Hall in silence for the greater part of the way. Once or twice Kate

repeated her conviction that she should never again see her brother. "I do not know what may happen to him,"

she said in answer to her cousin's questions; "but when he was passing out of my sight, into the valley, I felt

Then they walked on towards the house without further speech; but when they reached the end of the little

path which led out of the wood, on to the gravelled sweep before the front door, they wereboth arrested by a

sight that met their eyes. There was a man standing, with a cigar in his mouth, before them, swinging a little

cane, and looking about him up at the wood. He had on his head a jaunty little straw hat, and he wore a jacket

with brass buttons, and white trousers. It was now nearly the middle of May, but the summer does not come

to Westmoreland so early as that, and the man, as he stood there looking about him, seemed to be cold and

almost uncomfortable. He had not as yet seen the two girls, who stood at the end of the walk, arrested by the

"Captain Bellfield," said Kate, speaking with something very like dismay in her voice.

"Yes; Aunt Greenow's Captain. I have been fearing this, and now, what on earth are we to do with him? Look

The Captain began to move, just to move, as though it were necessary to do something to keep the life in his

limbs. He had finished his cigar, and looked at the end of it with manifest regret. As he threw it away among

a tuft of shrubs his eye fell upon the two ladies, and he uttered a little exclamation. Then he came forward,

waving his little straw hat in his hand, and made his salutation. "Miss Vavasor, I am delighted," he said. Miss

Alice Vavasor, if I am not mistaken? I have been commissioned by my dear friend Mrs Greenow to go out

and seek you, but, upon my word, the woods looked so black that I did not dare to venture and then, of

Kate put out her left hand, and then introduced her cousin to the Captain. Again he waved his little straw hat,

and strove to bear himself as though he were at home and comfortable. But he failed, and it was manifest that

he failed. He was not the Bellfield who had conquered Mr Cheesacre on the sands at Yarmouth, though he

wore the same jacket and waistcoat, and must now have enjoyed the internal satisfaction of feeling that his

future maintenance in life was assured to him. But he was not at his ease. His courage had sufficed to enable

him to follow his quarry into Westmoreland, but it did not suffice to make him comfortable while he was

there. Kate instantly perceived his condition, and wickedly resolved that she would make no effort to assist

him. She went through some ceremony of introduction, and then expressed her surprise at seeing him so far

"Well," said he; I am a little surprised myself I am, indeed! But I had nothing to do in Norwich

literally nothing; and your aunt had so often talked to me of the beauties of this place,' and he waved his

hand round at the old house and the dark trees "that I thought I'd take the liberty of paying you a flying

visit. I didn't mean to intrude in the way of sleeping; I didn't indeed, Miss Vavasor; only Mrs Greenow has

"We are so very far out of the world, Captain Bellfield, that we always give our visitors beds."

"I didn't intend it; I didn't indeed, miss!" Poor Captain Bellfield was becoming very uneasy in his agitation. "I

did just put my bag, with a change of things, into the gig, which brought me over, not knowing quite where I

"Mrs Greenow has been very kind very kind, indeed. She has asked me to stay till Saturday!"

Kate bit her lips in a momentary fit of anger. The house was her house, and not her aunt's. But she

remembered that her aunt had been kind to her at Norwich and at Yarmouth, and she allowed this feeling to

die away. "We shall be very glad to see you," she said. "We are three women together here, and I'm afraid

"Quite well very well, thank you. That is to say, I haven't seen him much lately. He and I did have a bit of

"I thought, perhaps, you had heard. He seemed to think that I was too particular in a certain quarter! Ha ha

They then went into the house, and the Captain straggled in after them. Mrs Greenow was in neither of the

two sittingrooms which they usually occupied. She, too, had been driven somewhat out of the ordinary

composure of her manner by the arrival of her lover even though she had expected it, and had retired to

her room, thinking that she had better see Kate in private before they met in the presence of the Captain. "I

"Oh dear, yes. I saw her, and she suggested that I had better walk out and find you. I did find you, you know,

"And have you seen your room?" "Yes yes. She was kind enough to show me my room. Very nice indeed,

thank you looking out into the front, and all that kind of thing." The poor fellow was no doubt thinking

how much better was his lot at Vavasor Hall than it had been at Oileymead. "I shan't stay long, Miss Vavasor

only just a night or so; but I did want to see your aunt again and you, too, upon my word."

He actually simpered simpered like a young girl who is half elated and half ashamed when her lover is

thrown in her teeth. He fidgeted with the things on the table, and moved himself about uneasily from one leg

to the other. Perhaps he was remembering that though he had contrived to bring himself to Vavasor Hall he

had not money enough left to take him back to Norwich. The two girls left him and went to their rooms. "I

"Oh, yes; she means to marry him, and the sooner the better now. I knew this was coming, but I did so hope it

would not be while you were here. It makes me feel so ashamed of myself that you should see it."

Kate boldly knocked at her aunt's door, and her aunt received her with a conscious smile. "I was waiting for

"Here I am, aunt; and, what is more to the purpose, there is Captain Bellfield in the drawingroom."

"Stupid man! I told him to take himself away about the place till dinnertime. I've half a mind to send him

"But he is such an oaf. I hope you understand, my dear, that I couldn't help it?"

"Well, Kate, I really think I do. Why shouldn't I? It's a lonely sort of life being by myself; and, upon my

"I am not saying anything against him; only in that case you can't very well turn him out of the house."

"Could not I, though? I could in a minute; and, if you wish it, you shall see if I can't do it."

"It's all very well for you to laugh, my dear. If laughing would break my bones I shouldn't be as whole as I

am now. I might have had Cheesacre if I liked, who is a substantial man, and could have kept a carriage for

me; but it was the rocks and valleys that prevented that and perhaps a little feeling that I might do some

good to a poor fellow who has nobody in the world to look after him." Mrs Greenow, as she said this, put her

handkerchief up to her eyes, and wiped away the springing moisture. Tears were always easy with her, but on

this occasion Kate almost respected her tears. "I'm sure I hope you'll be happy, aunt."

"If he makes me unhappy he shall pay for it;" and Mrs Greenow, having done with her tears, shook her head,

At dinner they were not very comfortable. Either the gloomy air of the place and the neighbourhood of the

black pines had depressed the Captain, or else the glorious richness of the prospects before him had made him

thoughtful. He had laid aside the jacket with the brass buttons, and had dressed himself for dinner very

soberly. And he behaved himself at dinner and after dinner with a wonderful sobriety, being very unlike the

Captain who had sat at the head of the table at Mrs Greenow's picnic. When left to himself after dinner he

barely swallowed two glasses of the old Squire's port wine before he sauntered out into the garden to join the

ladies, whom he had seen there; and when pressed by Kate to light a cigar he positively declined.

On the following morning Mrs Greenow had recovered her composure, but Captain Bellfield was still in a

rather disturbed state of mind. He knew that his efforts were to be crowned with success, and that he was sure

of his wife; but he did not know how the preliminary difficulties were to be overcome, and he did not know

what to do with himself at the Hall. After breakfast he fidgeted about in the parlour, being unable to contrive

for himself a mode of escape, and was absolutely thrown upon his beamends when the widow asked him

"If you mean my two nieces," said Mrs Greenow, I'm afraid you'll find they are engaged. But if I'm not too

old to walk with " The Captain assured her that she was just of the proper age for a walking companion, as

far as his taste went, and then attempted some apology for the awkwardness of his expression, at which the

three women laughed heartily. "Never mind, Captain," said MrsGreenow. "We'll have our walk all the same,

and won't mind those young girls. Come along." Then they started, not up towards the mountains, as Kate

always did when she walked in Westmoreland, but mildly and at a gentle place, as beseemed their years,

along the road towards Shap. The Captain politely opened the old gate for the widow, and then carefully

closed it again not allowing it to swing, as he would have done at Yarmouth. Then he tripped up to his

place beside her, suggested his arm, which she declined, and walked on for some paces in silence. What on

earth was he to say to her? He had done his lovemaking successfully, and what was he to do next?

"Well, Captain Bellfield," said she. They were walking very slowly, and he was cutting the weeds by the

roadside with his cane. He knew by her voice that something special was coming so he left the weeds and

ranged himself close up alongside of her. "Well, Captain Bellfield so I suppose I'm to be goodnatured;

"That's all fudge." She would have said all rocks and valleys," only he would not have understood her.

"It is the great thing that you should intend. Of course I am going to make a fool of myself."

"If I don't say it, all my friends will say it for me. It's lucky for you that I don't much care what people say."

"It is lucky I know that I'm lucky. The very first day I saw you I thought what a happy fellow I was to

"Upon my word, yes. Come, Arabella, as we are to be man and wife, you might as well." At this moment he

had got very close to her, and had recovered something of his usual elasticity; but she would not allow him

even to put his arm round her waist. "Out in the high road!" she said. "How can you be so impertinent and

"Captain Bellfield, I brought you out here not for such fooling as that, but in order that we might have a little

chat about business. If we are to be man and wife, as you say, we ought to understand on what footing we are

"Have you anything?" The Captain hesitated, and poked the ground with his cane. "Come, Captain Bellfield,

let us have the truth at once, and then we shall understand each other." The Captain still hesitated, and said

nothing. "You must have had something to live upon, I suppose?" suggested the widow. Then the Captain, by

degrees, told his story. He had a married sister by whom a guinea a week was allowed to him. That was all.

He had been obliged to sell out of the army, because he was unable to live on his pay as a lieutenant. The

price of his commission had gone to pay his debts, and now yes, it was too true now he was in debt

again. He owed �90 to Cheesacre, �32 10/to a tailor at Yarmouth, over �17 at his lodgings in Norwich. At

the present moment he had something under 30/in his pocket. The tailor at Yarmouth had lent him �3 in

order that he might make his journey into Westmoreland, and perhaps be enabled to pay his debts by getting a

rich wife. In the course of the crossexamination Mrs Greenow got much information out of him; and then,

when she was satisfied that she had learned, not exactly all the truth, but certain indications of the truth, she

"And now you will give a fellow a kiss, just one kiss," said the ecstatic Captain, in the height of his bliss.

"Hush!" said the widow, there's a carriage coming on the road close to us." Mrs Greenow, as she spoke

these words, drew back from the Captain's arms before the first kiss of permitted antenuptial love had been

exchanged. The scene was on the high road from Shap to Vavasor, and as she was still dressed in all the

sombre habiliments of early widowhood, and as neither he nor his sweetheart were under forty, perhaps it

was as well that they were not caught toying together in so very public a place. But they were only just in

time to escape the vigilant eyes of a new visitor. Round the corner of the road, at a sharp trot, came the Shap

posthorse, with the Shap gig behind him the same gig which had brought Bellfield to Vavasor on the

previous day and seated in the gig, looming large, with his eyes wide awake to everything round him, was

It was a sight terrible to the eyes of Captain Bellfield, and by no means welcome to those of Mrs Greenow.

As regarded her, her annoyance had chiefly reference to her two nieces, and especially to Alice. How was she

to account for this second lover? Kate, of course, knew all about it; but how could Alice be made to

understand that she, Mrs Greenow, was not to blame that she had, in sober truth, told this ardent

gentleman that there was no hope for him? And even as to Kate, Kate, whom her aunt had absurdly chosen to

regard as the object of Mr Cheesacre's pursuit what sort of a welcome would she extend to the owner of

Oileymead? Before the wheels had stopped, Mrs Greenow had begun to reflect whether it might be possible

that she should send Mr Cheesacre back without letting him go on to the Hall; but if Mrs Greenow was

dismayed, what were the feelings of the Captain? For he was aware that Cheesacre knew that of him which

he had not told. How ardently did he now wish that he had sailed nearer to the truth in giving in the schedule

of his debts to Mrs Greenow. "That man's wanted by the police," said Cheesacre, speaking while the gig was

still in motion. "He's wanted by the police, Mrs Greenow," and in his ardour he stood up in the gig and

pointed at Bellfield. Then the gig stopped suddenly, and he fell back into his seat in his effort to prevent his

falling forward. "He's wanted by the police," he shouted out again, as soon as he was able to recover his

Mrs Greenow turned pale beneath the widow's veil which she had dropped. What might not her Captain have

done? He might have procured things, to be sent to him, out of shops on false pretences; or, urged on by want

and famine, he might have committed forgery. "Oh, my!" she said, and dropped her hand from his arm,

Mrs Greenow cared little as to her lover being a swindler in Mr Cheesacre's estimation. Such accusations

from him she had heard before. But she did care very much as to this mission of the police against her

Captain. If that were true, the Captain could be her Captain no longer. "What is this I hear, Captain

"It's a lie and a slander. He merely wants to make a quarrel between us. What police are after me, Mr

"It's the police, or the sheriff's officer, or something of the kind," said Cheesacre.

"Oh, the sheriff's officers!" exclaimed Mrs Greenow, in a tone of voice which showed how great had been her

"Mr Cheesacre, you shouldn't come and say such things you shouldn't, indeed. Sheriff's officers can be

"Nonsense," said the widow. Don't you make a fool of yourself. When men can't pay their way they must put

up with having things like that said of them. Mr Cheesacre, where were you going?"

"Why, you haven't been and married him since yesterday? He only had twentyfour hours' start of me, I

He got out of the gig, and the three walked back towards the Hall together, while the boy drove on with Mr

Cheesacre's carpetbag. "I hardly know," said Mrs Greenow, whether we can welcome you. There are other

"I'm not one to intrude where I'm not wanted. You may be sure of that. If I can't get my supper for love, I can

get it for money. That's more than some people can say. I wonder when you're going to pay me what you owe

Nevertheless the widow had contrived to reconcile the two men before she reached the Hall. They had

actually shaken hands, and the lamb Cheesacre had agreed to lie down with the wolf Bellfield. Cheesacre,

moreover, had contrived to whisper into the widow's ears the true extent of his errand into Westmoreland.

This, however, he did not do altogether in Bellfield's hearing. When Mrs Greenow ascertained that there was

something to be said, she made no scruple in sending her betrothed away from her. "You won't throw a

fellow over, will you, now?" whispered Bellfield into her ear as he went. She merely frowned at him, and

bade him begone; so that the walk which Mrs Greenow began with one lover she ended in company with the

Bellfield, who was sent on to the house, found Alice and Kate surveying the newlyarrived carpetbag. "He

The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and admitted that it was hard. "And it's not of the slightest use," said he;

"Not enough of the rocks and valleys about him, was there, Captain Bellfield?" said Kate. But Captain

Bellfield understood nothing about the rocks and valleys, though he was regarded by certain eyes as being

In the meantime Cheesacre was telling his story. He first asked, in a melancholy tone, whether it was really

necessary that he must abandon all his hopes. "He wasn't going to say anything against the Captain," he said,

"Things are really fixed," said Mrs Greenow. He could, however, not keep himself from hinting that

Oileymead was a substantial home, and that Bellfield had not as much as a straw mattress to lie upon. In

answer to this Mrs Greenow told him that there was so much more reason why someone should provide the

poor man with a mattress. "If you look at it in that light, of course it's true," said Cheesacre, Mrs Greenow

told him that she did look at it in that light. "Then I've done about that," said Cheesacre; "and as to the little

bit of money he owes me, I must give him his time about it, I suppose." Mrs Greenow assured him that it

should be paid as soon as possible after the nuptial benediction had been said over them. She offered, indeed,

to pay it at once if he was in distress for it, but he answered contemptuously that he never was in distress for

After this he did not get away to his next subject quite so easily as he wished; and it must be admitted that

there was a difficulty. As he could not have Mrs Greenow he would be content to put up with Kate for his

wife. That was his next subject. Rumours as to the old Squire's will had no doubt reached him, and he was

now willing to take advantage of that assistance which Mrs Greenow had before offered him in this matter.

The time had come in which he ought to marry; of that he was aware. He had told many of his friends in

Norfolk that Kate Vavasor had thrown herself at his head, and very probably he had thought it true. In answer

to all his love speeches to herself, the aunt had always told him what an excellent wife her niece would make

him. So now he had come to Westmoreland with this second string to his bow. "You know you put it into my

"How different? I ain't different. There's Oileymead just where it always was, and the owner of it don't owe a

"And is that to make a change? Oh! Mrs Greenow, who would have thought to find you mercenary like that?

Mrs Greenow endeavoured to explain to him that her niece could hardly be said to have flung him over, and

at last pretended to become angry when he attempted to assert his position. "Why, Mr Cheesacre, I am quite

"But you always told me I might have her for the asking." "And now I tell you that you mayn't. It's of no use

your going on there to ask her, for she will only send you away with an answer you won't like. Look here, Mr

Cheesacre; you want to get married, and it's quite time you should. There's my dear friend Charlie Fairstairs.

"Charlie Fairstairs!" said Cheesacre, turning up his nose in disgust. "She hasn't got a penny, nor any one

belonging to her. The man who marries her will have to find the money for the smock she stands up in."

"Who's mercenary now, Mr Cheesacre? Do you go home and think of it; and if you'll marry Charlie, I'll go to

They were now close to the gate, and Cheesacre paused before he entered. "Do you think there's no chance at

"I can't say anything about that, but I know that she wouldn't take you. I like farming, you know, but she

He still paused at the gate. "I don't see what's the use of my going in," said he. To this she made him no

answer. "There's a pride about me," he continued, "that I don't choose to go where I'm not wanted."

"Then I'll go. Perhaps you'll be so good as to tell the boy with the gig to come after me? That's six pound ten

it will have cost me to come here and go back. Bellfield did it cheaper, of course; he travelled second class. I

To this he assented, and then took his leave, at first offering his hand to Mrs Greenow with an air of offended

dignity, but falling back almost into humility during the performance of his adieu. Before he was gone he had

invited her to bring the Captain to Oileymead when she was married, and had begged her to tell Miss Vavasor

how happy he should be to receive her. "And, MrCheesacre," said the widow, as he walked back along the

They were all standing at the front door of the house when Mrs Greenow reappeared Alice, Kate,

Captain Bellfield, the Shap boy, and the Shap horse and gig. "Where is he?" Kate asked in a low voice, and

everyone there felt how important was the question. "He has gone," said the widow. Bellfield was so relieved

that he could not restrain his joy, but took off his little straw hat and threw it up into the air. Kate's

satisfaction was almost as intense. "I am so glad," said she. What on earth should we have done with him?" "I

never was so disappointed in my life, said Alice. "I have heard so much of Mr Cheesacre, but have never seen

him." Kate suggested that she should get into the gig and drive after him. "He ain't a been and took hisself

off?" suggested the boy, whose face became very dismal as the terrible idea struck him. But, with juvenile

craft, he put his hand on the carpetbag, and finding that it did not contain stones, was comforted. "You drive

after him, young gentleman, and you'll find him on the road to Shap," said Mrs Greenow. "Mind you give

him my love," said the Captain in his glee, "and say I hope he'll get his turnips in well."

This little episode went far to break the day, and did more than anything else could have done to put Captain

Bellfield at his ease. It created a little jointstock fund of merriment between the whole party, which was

very much needed. The absence of such jointstock fund is always felt when a small party is thrown together

without such assistance. Some bond is necessary on these occasions, and no other bond is so easy or so

pleasant. Now, when the Captain found himself alone for a quarter of an hour with Alice, he had plenty of

subjects for smalltalk. "Yes, indeed. Old Cheesacre, in spite of his absurdities, is not a bad sort of fellow at

bottom awfully fond of his money, you know, Miss Vavasor, and always boasting about it." "That's not

pleasant, said Alice. No; the most unpleasant thing in the world. There's nothing I hate so much, Miss

Vavasor, as that kind of talking. My idea is this when a man has lots of money, let him make the best use

he can of it, and say nothing about it. Nobody ever heard me talking about my money." He knew that Alice

knew that he was a pauper; but, nevertheless, he had the satisfaction of speaking of himself as though he were

In this way the afternoon went very pleasantly. For an hour before dinner Captain Bellfield was had into the

drawingroom, and was talked to by his widow on matters of business; but he had of courseknown that this

was necessary. She scolded him soundly about those sheriff's officers. Why had he not told her? "As long as

there's anything kept back, I won't have you," said she. "I won't become your wife till I'm quite sure there's

not a penny owing that is not shown in the list." Then I think he did tell her all or nearly all. When all was

counted it was not so very much. Three or four hundred pounds would make him a new man, and what was

such a sum as that to his wealthy widow! Indeed, for a woman wanting a husband of that sort, Captain

Bellfield was a safer venture than would be a man of a higher standing among his creditors. It is true Bellfield

might have been a forger, or a thief, or a returned convict but then his debts could not be large. Let him

have done his best, he could not have obtained credit for a thousand pounds; whereas, no one could tell the

liabilities of a gentleman of high standing. Burgo Fitzgerald was a gentleman of high standing, and his

creditors would have swallowed up every shilling that Mrs Greenow possessed; but with Captain Bellfield

Upon the whole I think that she was lucky in her choice; or, perhaps, I might more truly say, that she had

chosen with prudence. He was no forger, or thief in the ordinary sense of the word; nor was he a returned

convict. He was simply an idle scamp, who had hung about the world for forty years, doing nothing, without

principle, shameless, accustomed to eat dirty puddings, and to be kicked morally kicked by such men

as Cheesacre. But he was moderate in his greediness, and possessed of a certain appreciation of the comfort

of a daily dinner, which might possibly suffice to keep him from straying very wide as long as his intended

wife should be able to keep the pursestrings altogether in her own hands. Therefore, I say that Mrs Greenow

"What, in Westmoreland!" said the Captain, with something of dismay in his tone. What on earth would he

"Yes, in Westmoreland. Why not in Westmoreland as well as anywhere else? If you don't like Westmoreland,

it's not too late yet, you know." In answer to this the poor Captain was obliged to declare that he had no

"I've been talking to my niece about it," continued Mrs Greenow, "and I find that such an arrangement can be

made very conveniently. The property is left between her and her uncle the father of my other niece, and

"We could go to Yarmouth, you know, in the autumn." Then the Captain's visage became somewhat bright

again. "And, perhaps, if you are not extravagant, we could manage a month or so in London during the

winter, just to see the plays and do a little shopping." Then the Captain's face became very bright. "That will

be delightful," said he. "And as for being dull, said the widow, "when people grow old they must be dull.

Dancing can't go on for ever." In answer to this the widow's Captain assured the widow that she was not at all

old; and now, on this occasion, that ceremony came off successfully which had been interrupted on the Shap

road by the noise of Mr Cheesacre's wheels. "There goes my cap," said she. What a goose you are! What will

"Bother Jeannette," said the Captain in his bliss. She can do another cap, and many more won't be wanted,"

Upon the whole the Captain's visit was satisfactory at any rate to the Captain. Everything was settled. He

was to go away on Saturday morning, and remain in lodgings at Penrith till the wedding, which they agreed

to have celebrated at Vavasor Church. Kate promised to be the solitary bridesmaid. There was some talk of

sending for Charlie Fairstairs, but the idea was abandoned. "We'll have her afterwards," said the widow to

Kate, "when you are gone, and we shall want her more. And I'll get Cheesacre here, and make him marry her.

There's no good in paying for two journeys." The Captain was to be allowed to come over from Penrith twice

a week previous to his marriage; or perhaps, I might more fairly say, that he was commanded to do so. I

wonder how he felt when Mrs Greenow gave him his first fivepound note, and told him that he must make it

do for a fortnight? whether it was all joy, or whether there was about his heart any touch of manly regret?

"Captain Bellfield, of Vavasor Hall, Westmoreland. It don't sound badly," he said to himself, as he travelled

On the night of Lady Monk's party, Burgo Fitzgerald disappeared; and when the guests were gone and the

rooms were empty, his aunt inquired for him in vain. The old butler and factotum of the house, who was

employed by Sir Cosmo to put out the lamps and to see that he was not robbed beyond a certain point on

these occasions of his wife's triumphs, was interrogated by his mistress, and said that he thought Mr Burgo

had left the house. Lady Monk herself knocked at her nephew's door, when she went upstairs, ascending an

additional flight of stairs with her weary old limbs in order that she might do so; she even opened the door

and saw the careless debris of his toilet about the room. But he was gone. "Perhaps, after all, he has arranged

But Burgo, as we know, had not "arranged it." It may be remembered that when Mr Palliser came back to his

wife in the supperroom at Lady Monk's, bringing with him the scarf which Lady Glencora had left upstairs,

Burgo was no longer with her. He had become well aware that he had no chance left, at any rate for that

night. The poor fool, acting upon his aunt's implied advice rather than his own hopes, had secured a

postchaise, and stationed it in Bruton Street, some five minutes' walk from his aunt's house. And he had

purchased feminine wrappings, cloaks, things that he thought might be necessary for his companion. He

had, too, ordered rooms at the new hotel near the Dover Station the London Bridge Station from

whence was to start on the following morning a train to catch the tidal boat for Boulogne. There was a

dressingbag there for which he had paid twentyfive guineas out of his aunt's money, not having been able

to induce the tradesman to grant it to him on credit; and there were other things slippers, collars,

stockings, handkerchiefs, and what else might, as he thought, under suchcircumstances be most necessary.

The butler was right. He did leave the house. He saw Lady Glencora taken to her carriage from some back

hidingplace in the hall, and then slipped out, unmindful of his shining boots, and dress coat and jewelled

studs. He took a Gibus hat his own, or that of some other unfortunate and slowly made his way down

to the place in Bruton Street. There was the carriage and pair of horses, all in readiness; and the driver, when

he had placed himself by the door of the vehicle, was not long in emerging from the neighbouring

publichouse. "All ready, your honour," said the man. I shan't want you tonight," said Burgo, hoarsely

"go away." "And about the things, your honour? Take them to the devil. No; stop. Take them back with you,

and ask somebody to keep them till I send for them. I shall want them and another carriage in a day or two,"

Then he gave the man half a sovereign, and went away, not looking at the little treasures which he had spent

so much of his money in selecting for his love. When he was gone, the waterman and the driver turned them

over with careful hands and gloating eyes. "It's a 'eiress, I'll go bail," said the waterman. Pretty dear! I

suppose her parints was too many for her," said the driver. But neither of them imagined the enormity which

Burgo from thence took his way back into Grosvenor Square, and from thence down Park Street, and through

a narrow passage and a mews which there are in those parts, into Park Lane. He had now passed the position

of Mr Palliser's house, having come out on Park Lane at a spot nearer to Piccadilly; but he retraced his steps,

walking along by the rails of the Park, till he found himself opposite to the house. Then he stood there,

leaning back upon the railings, and looking up at Lady Glencora's windows. What did he expect to see? Or

was he, in truth, moved by love of that kind which can take joy in watching the slightest shadow that is made

by the one loved object that may be made by her, or, by some violent conjecture of the mind, may be

supposed to have been so made? Such love as that is, I think, always innocent. Burgo Fitzgerald did not love

like that. I almost doubt whether he can be said to have loved at all. There was in his breast a mixed, feverish

desire, which he took no trouble to analyse. He wanted money. He wanted the thing of which this Palliser had

robbed him. He wanted revenge though his desire for that was not a burning desire. And among other

things, he wanted the woman's beauty of the woman whom hecoveted. He wanted to kiss her again as he had

once kissed her, and to feel that she was soft, and lovely, and loving for him. But as for seeing her shadow,

unless its movement indicated some purpose in his favour I do not think that he cared much about that.

And why then was he there? Because in his unreasoning folly he did not know what step to take, or what step

not to take. There are men whose energies hardly ever carry them beyond looking for the thing they want.

She might see him from the window, and come to him. I do not say that he thought that it would be so. I

fancy that he never thought at all about that or about anything. If you lie under a tree, and open your mouth, a

plum may fall into it. It was probably an undefined idea of some such chance as this which brought him

against the railings in the front of Mr Palliser's house; that, and a feeling made up partly of despair and partly

of lingering romance that he was better there, out in the night air, under the gaslamps, than he could be

elsewhere. There he stood and looked, and cursed his illluck. But his curses had none of the bitterness of

those which George Vavasor was always uttering. Through it all there remained about Burgo one honest

feeling one conviction that was true a feeling that it all served him right, and that he had better,

perhaps, go to the devil at once, and give nobody any more trouble. If he loved no one sincerely, neither did

he hate any one; and whenever he made any selfinquiry into his own circumstances, he always told himself

that it was all his own fault. When he cursed his fate, he only did so because cursing is so easy. George

Vavasor would have ground his victims up to powder if he knew how; but Burgo Fitzgerald desired to hurt

There he stood till he was cold, and then, as the plum did not drop into his mouth, he moved on. He went up

into Oxford Street, and walked along it the whole distance to the corner of Bond Street, passing by Grosvenor

Square, to which he intended to return. At the corner of Bond Street, a girl took hold of him, and looked up

into his face. "Ah!" she said, I saw you once before.' "Then you saw the most miserable devil alive," said

Burgo. "You can't be miserable," said the girl. "What makes you miserable? You've plenty of money.' "I

wish I had," said Burgo. "And plenty to eat and drink," exclaimed the girl; and you are so handsome! I

remember you. You gave me supper one night when I was starving. I ain't hungry now. Will you give me a

kiss?' "I'll give you a shilling, and that's better," said Burgo. "But give me a kiss too," said the girl. He

gave her first the kiss, and then the shilling, and after that he lefther and passed on. "I'm d d if I wouldn't

change with her!" he said to himself. "I wonder whether anything really ails him?" thought the girl "He said

Burgo went on, and made his way into the house in Grosvenor Square, by some means probably unknown to

his aunt, and certainly unknown to his uncle. He emptied his pockets as he got into bed, and counted a roll of

notes which he had kept in one of them. There were still a hundred and thirty pounds left. Lady Glencora had

promised that she would see him again. She had said as much as that quite distinctly. But what use would

there be in that if all his money should then be gone? He knew that the keeping of money in his pocket was to

him quite an impossibility. Then he thought of his aunt. What should he say to his aunt if he saw her in the

course of the coming day? Might it not be as well for him to avoid his aunt altogether?

He breakfasted upstairs in his bedroom in his bed, indeed, eating a small pate de foie gras from the

suppertable, as he read a French novel. There he was still reading his French novel in bed when his aunt's

maid came to him, saying that his aunt wished to see him before she went out. "Tell me, Lucy," said he, "how

"She's as cross as cross, Mr Burgo. Indeed, I shan't not a minute longer. Don't, now; will you? I tell you

she's waiting for me." From which it may be seen that Lucy shared the general feminine feeling in favour of

poor Burgo. Thus summoned Burgo applied himself to his toilet; but as he did so, he recruited his energies

from time to time by a few pages of the French novel, and also by small doses from a bottle of curacoa which

he had in his bedroom. He was utterly a pauper. There was no pauper poorer than he in London that day. But,

nevertheless, he breakfasted on pate de foie gras and curacoa, and regarded those dainties very much as other

But though he was dressing at the summons of his aunt, he had by no means made up his mind that he would

go to her. Why should he go to her? What good would it do him? She would not give him more money. She

would only scold him for his misconduct. She might, perhaps, turn him out of the house if he did not obey her

or attempt to do so; but she would be much more likely to do this when he had made her angry by

contradicting her. In neither case would he leave the house, even though its furtheruse were positively

forbidden him, because his remaining there was convenient; but as he could gain nothing by seeing "the old

girl," as he had called her, he resolved to escape to his club without attending to her summons.

But his aunt, who was a better general than he, outmanoeuvred him. He crept down the back stairs; but as he

could not quite condescend to escape through the area, he was forced to emerge upon the hall, and here his

aunt pounced upon him, coming out of the breakfastparlour. "Did not Lucy tell you that I wanted to see

Burgo replied, with perfect ease, that he was going out just to have his hair washed and brushed. He would

have been back in twenty minutes. There was no energy about the poor fellow, unless, perhaps, when he was

hunting; but he possessed a readiness which enabled him to lie at a moment's notice with the most perfect

ease. Lady Monk did not believe him; but she could not confute him, and therefore she let the lie pass,

"Never mind your hair now," she said. I want to speak to you. Come in here for a few minutes."

As there was no way of escape left to him, he followed his aunt into the breakfastparlour,

"Burgo," she said, when she had seated herself, and had made him sit in a chair opposite to her, "I don't think

"You can't stay here in this house. Sir Cosmo was speaking to me about you only yesterday morning."

"I shall be quite willing to go down to Monkshade, if Sir Cosmo likes it better that is, when the season is a

"He won't have you at Monkshade. He won't let you go there again. And he won't have you here. You know

"Yes, you are you know you are. You are the most ungrateful, heartless creature I ever met. You must

"I don't suppose he does the least in the world," said Burgo, opening his eyes, and stretching his nostrils,

But the turning of Burgo out of the house was not Lady Monk's immediate purpose. She knew that he would

hang on there till the season was over. After that he must not be allowed to return again, unless he should

have succeeded in a certain enterprise. She had now caught him in order that she might learn whether there

was any possible remaining chance of success as to that enterprise. So she received his indignation in silence,

and began upon another subject. "What a fool you made of yourself last night, Burgo!"

"I believe that you will never be serious about anything. Why did you go on waltzing in that way when every

"Look here, aunt; I'm not going to sit here and be abused. I couldn't take her in my arms, and fly away with

"You! you haven't spirit to do that, or anything else. You are like a child that is just able to amuse itself for

the moment, and never can think of anything further. You simply disgraced yourself last night, and me too

"Of course he came back. Of course he came back, when they sent him word how you and she were going on.

And now he will have forgiven her, and after that, of course, the thing will be all over."

"I tell you what, aunt; she would go if she knew how. When I was forced to leave her last night, she promised

to see me again. And as for being idle, and not doing anything why, I was out in Park Lane last night,

"It didn't do any good, as it happened. But a fellow can only try. I believe, after all, it would be easier down

in the country especially now that he has taken it into his head to look after her."

Lady Monk sat silent for a few moments, and then she said in a low voice, "What did she say to you when

you were parting? What were her exact words?" She, at any rate, was not deficient in energy. She was

anxious enough to see her purpose accomplished. She would have conducted the matter with discretion, if the

running away with Mr Palliser's wife could, in very fact, have been done by herself.

"I had asked her half a dozen times, and she did not once refuse. I know she means it, if she knew how to

get away. She hates him I'm sure of it. A woman, you know, wouldn't absolutely say that she would go,

"I don't think she could have told me plainer. She said she would see me again. She said that twice over."

Again Lady Monk sat silent. She had a plan in her head a plan that might, as she thought, give to her

nephew one more chance. But she hesitated before she could bring herself to explain it in detail. At first she

had lent a little aid to this desired abduction of Mr Palliser's wife, but in lending it had said no word upon the

subject. During the last season she had succeeded in getting Lady Glencora to her house in London, and had

taken care that Burgo should meet her there. Then a hint or two had been spoken, and Lady Glencora had

been asked to Monkshade. Lady Glencora, as we know, did not go to Monkshade, and Lady Monk had then

been baffled. But she did not therefore give up the game. Having now thought of it so much, she began to

speak of it more boldly, and had procured money for her nephew that he might thereby be enabled to carry

off the woman. But though this had been well understood between them, though words had been spoken

which were sufficiently explicit, the plan had not been openly discussed. Lady Monk had known nothing of

the mode in which Lady Glencora was to have been carried off after her party, nor whither she was to have

been taken. But now now she must arrange it herself, and have a scheme of her own, or else the thing

must fail absolutely. Even she was almost reluctant to speak out plainly to her nephew on such a subject.

What if he should be false to her, and tell of her? But when a woman has made such schemes, nothing

distresses her so sadly as their failure. She would risk all rather than that Mr Palliser should keep his wife. "I

will try and help you," she said at last, speaking hoarsely, almost in a whisper, "if you have courage to make

"Courage!" said he. What is it you think I am afraid of? Mr Palliser? I'd fight him or all the Pallisers, one

"Fighting! There's no fighting wanted, as you know well enough. Men don't fight nowadays. Look here! If

you can get her to call here some day say on Thursday, at three o'clock I will be here to receive her;

and instead of going back into her carriage, you can have a cab for her somewhere near. She can come, as it

"There is a train to Southampton at four, and the boat sails for Jersey at half past six; you will be in Jersey the

next morning, and there is a boat goes on to St Malo, almost at once. You can go direct from one boat to the

other that is, if she has strength and courage." After that, who will say that Lady Monk was not a devoted

"She will have a difficulty in getting away from me, out of the house. Of course I shall say nothing about it,

and shall know nothing about it. She had better tell her coachman to drive somewhere to pick someone up,

and to return out somewhere to Tyburnia, or down to Pimlico. Then she can leave me, and go out on foot,

to where you have the cab. She can tell the hallporter that she will walk to her carriage. Do you

"You must call on her, and make your way in, and see her, and arrange all this. It must be a Thursday,

because of the boats." Then she made inquiry about his money, and took from him the notes which he had,

promising to return them, with something added, on the Thursday morning; but he asked, with a little whine,

for a fivepound note, and got it. Burgo then told her about the travellingbags and the stockings, and they

were quite pleasant and confidential. "Bid her come in a stout travelling dress," said Lady Monk. "She can

wear some lace or something over it, so that the servants won't observe it. I will take no notice of it." Was

After this, Burgo left his aunt, and went away to his club, in a state of most happy excitement.

Alice, on her return from Westmoreland, went direct to Park Lane, whither Lady Glencora and Mr Palliser

had also returned before her. She was to remain with them in London one entire day, and on the morning

after that they were to start for Paris. She found Mr Palliser in close attendance upon his wife. Not that there

was anything in his manner which at all implied that he was keeping watch over her, or that he was more with

her, or closer to her than a loving husband might wish to be with a young wife; but the mode of life was very

On her arrival Mr Palliser himself received her in the hall, and took her up to his wife before she had taken

off her travelling hat. "We are so much obliged to you, Miss Vavasor," he said. I feel it quite as deeply as

He merely smiled, and shook his head, and then took her upstairs. On the stairs he said one other word to her:

"You must forgive me if I was cross to you that night she went out among the ruins." Alice muttered

something some little fib of courtesy as to the matter having been forgotten, or never borne in mind; and

then they went on to Lady Glencora's room. It seemed to Alice that he was not so big or so much to be

dreaded as when she had seen him at Matching. His descent from an expectant, or more than an expectant,

Chancellor of the Exchequer, down to a simple, attentive husband, seemed to affect his gait, his voice, and all

his demeanour. When he received Alice at the Priory he certainly loomed before her as something great,

whereas now his greatness seemed to have fallen from him. We must own that this was hard upon him, seeing

that the deed by which he had divested himself of his greatness had been so pure and good!

"Dear Alice, this is so good of you! I am all in the midstof packing, and Plantagenet is helping me."

Plantagenet winced a little under this, as the hero of old must have winced when he was found with the

distaff. Mr Palliser had relinquished his sword of state for the distaff which he had assumed, and could take

no glory in the change. There was, too, in his wife's voice the slightest hint of mockery, which, slight as it

was, he perhaps thought she might have spared. "You have nothing left to pack," continued Glencora, "and I

"But we have so very nearly done. I think we shall have to pull all the things out, and put them up again, or

we shall never get through tomorrow. We couldn't start tomorrow could we, Plantagenet?"

"As if we couldn't find rooms at every inn on the road. Men are so particular. Now in travelling I should like

never to order rooms never to know where I was going or when I was going, and to carry everything I

wanted in a marketbasket." Alice, who by this time had followed her friend along the passage to her

bedroom, and had seen how widely the packages were spread about, bethought herself that the marketbasket

should be a large one. "And I would never travel among Christians. Christians are so slow, and they wear

chimneypot hats everywhere. The further one goes from London among Christians, the more they wear

"I don't think that would be fair to Miss Vavasor," said Mr Palliser, who had followed them.

"Don't put the blame on her head," said Lady Glencora. "Women have always pluck for anything. Wouldn't

"Nor I. I have not the remotest idea of the way to the Kurds. You see my joke, don't you, though Plantagenet

doesn't? But one knows that they are Eastern, and the East is such a grand idea!"

"I think we'll content ourselves with Rome, or perhaps Naples, on this occasion," said Mr Palliser.

The notion of Lady Glencora packing anything for herself was as good a joke as that other one of the Kurds

and whey. But she went flitting about from room to room, declaring that this thing must be taken, and that

other, till the marketbasket would have become very large indeed. Alice was astonished at the extent of the

preparations, and the sort of equipage with which they were about to travel. Lady Glencora was taking her

own carriage. "Not that I shall ever use it," she said to Alice, "but he insists upon it, to show that I am not

"And so dull!" said Lady Glencora. But I fancy that all husbands are dull from the nature of their position. If I

were a young woman's husband, I shouldn't know what to say to her that wasn't dull."

Two women and two men servants were to be taken. Alice had received permission to bring her own maid

"or a dozen, if you want them," Lady Glencora had said. "Mr Palliser in his present mood would think

nothing too much to do for you. If you were to ask him to go among the Kurds, he'd go at once or on to

Crim Tartary, if you made a point of it." But as both Lady Glencora's servants spoke French, and as her own

did not, Alice trusted herself in that respect to her cousin. "You shall have one all to yourself," said Lady

Glencora. "I only take two for the same reason that I take the carriage just as you let a child go out in her

When Alice asked why it was supposed that Mr Palliser was so specially devoted to her, the thing was

explained to her. "You see, my dear, I have told him everything. I always do tell everything. Nobody can say

I am not candid. He knows about your not letting me come to your house in the old days. Oh, Alice! you

were wrong then; I shall always say that. But it's done and gone; and things that are done and gone shall be

done and gone for me. And I told him all that you said about you know what. I have had nothing else to

do but make confessions for the last ten days, and when a woman once begins, the more she confesses the

"I did indeed, and he likes you the better for that. I think he'd let Jeffrey marry you now if you both wished it

"But you must, my dear. You can't escape now. At any rate, you can't when we once get to Paris. Oh dear!

you shouldn't grudge me my little naughtinesses. I have been so proper for the last ten days. Do you know I

got into a way of driving Dandy and Flirt at the rate of six miles an hour, till I'm sure the poor beasts

thoughtthey were always going to a funeral. Poor Dandy and poor Flirt! I shan't see them now for another

On the following morning they breakfasted early, because Mr Palliser had got into an early habit. He had said

that early hours would be good for them. "But he never tells me why," said Lady Glencora. "I think it is

pleasant when people are travelling," said Alice. "It isn't that," her cousin answered; but we are all to be such

particularly good children. It's hardly fair, because he went to sleep last night after dinner while you and I

kept ourselves awake: but we needn't do that another night, to be sure." After breakfast they all three went to

work to do nothing. It was ludicrous and almost painful to see Mr Palliser wandering about and counting the

boxes, as though he could do any good by that. At this special crisis of his life he hated his papers and figures

and statistics, and could not apply himself to them. He, whose application had been so unremitting, could

apply himself now to nothing. His world had been brought to an abrupt end, and he was awkward at making a

new beginning. I believe that they all three were reading novels before one o'clock. Lady Glencora and Alice

had determined that they would not leave the house throughout the day. "Nothing has been said about it, but I

regard it as part of the bond that I'm not to go out anywhere. Who knows but what I might be found in

Gloucester Square?" There was, however, no absolute necessity that Mr Palliser should remain with them;

and, at about three, he prepared himself for a solitary walk. He would not go down to the House. All interest

in the House was over with him for the present. He had the Speaker's leave to absent himself for the season.

Nor would he call on any one. All his friends knew, or believed they knew, that he had left town. His death

and burial had been already chronicled, and were he now to reappear, he could reappear only as a ghost. He

was being talked of as the departed one or rather, such talk on all sides had now come nearly to an end.

The poor Duke of St Bungay still thought of him with regret when more than ordinarily annoyed by some

special grievance coming to him from Mr Finespun; but even the Duke had become almost reconciled to the

present order of things. Mr Palliser knew better than to disturb all this by showing himself again in public;

and prepared himself, therefore, to take another walk under the elms in Kensington Gardens.

He had his hat on his head in the hall, and was in the act of putting on his gloves, when there came a knock at

the front door. The hall porter was there, a stout, plethoric personage, not givento many words, who was at

this moment standing with his master's umbrella in his hand, looking as though he would fain be of some use

to somebody, if any such utility were compatible with the purposes of his existence. Now had come this

knock at the door, while the umbrella was still in his hand, and the nature of his visage changed, and it was

easy to see that he was oppressed by the temporary multiplicity of his duties. "Give me the umbrella, John,"

said Mr Palliser. John gave up the umbrella, and opening the door disclosed Burgo Fitzgerald standing upon

the doorstep. "Is Lady Glencora at home?" asked Burgo, before he had seen the husband. John turned a

dismayed face upon his master, as though he knew that the comer ought not to be making a morning call at

that house as no doubt he did know very well and made no instant reply. "I am not sure," said Mr

Palliser, making his way out as he had originally purposed. "The servant will find out for you." Then he went

on his way across Park Lane and into the Park, never once turning back his face to see whether Burgo had

effected an entrance into the house. Nor did he return a minute earlier than he would otherwise have done.

"Yes; Lady Glencora was at home," said the porter, not stirring to make any further inquiry. It was no

business of his if Mr Palliser chose to receive such a guest. He had not been desired to say that her ladyship

was not at home. Burgo was therefore admitted and shown direct up into the room in which Lady Glencora

was sitting. As chance would have it, she was alone. Alice had left her and was in her own chamber, and

Lady Glencora was sitting at the window of the small room upstairs that overlooked the Park. She was seated

on a footstool with her face between her hands when Burgo was admitted, thinking of him, and of what the

world might have been to her had "they left her alone," as she was in the habit of saying to Alice and to

She rose quickly, so that he saw her only as she was rising. "Ask Miss Vavasor to come to me," she said, as

"Cora," he said, dashing at once into his subject hopelessly, but still with a resolve to do as he had said

"Do not answer me in that way, without a moment's thought. Everything is arranged "

"Yes, everything is arranged," she said. Mr Fitzgerald, let me ask you to leave me alone, and to behave to me

with generosity. Everything is arranged. You can see that my boxes are all prepared for going. Mr Palliser

and I, and my friend, are starting tomorrow. Wish me Godspeed and go, and be generous."

"And is this to be the end of everything?" He was standing close to her, but hitherto he had only touched her

"No I will never give you my hand again. You should be generous to me and go. This is to be the end of

"Yes; I did love you. But we were separated, and there was no room for love left between us."

"You are as dear to me now dearer than ever you were. Do not look at me like that. Did you not tell me

when we last parted that I might come to you again? Are we children, that others should come between us

"Yes, Burgo; we are children. Here is my cousin coming. You must leave me now." As she spoke the door

was opened and Alice entered the room. "Miss Vavasor, Mr Fitzgerald," said Lady Glencora. "I have told him

Alice was dumbfounded, and knew not how to speak either to him or to her; but she stood with her eyes

riveted on the face of the man of whom she had heard so much. Yes; certainly he was very beautiful. She had

never before seen man's beauty such as that. She found it quite impossible to speak a word to him then at

the spur of the moment, but she acknowledged the introduction with a slight inclination of the head, and then

Poor Burgo also found it difficult enough to speak. What could he say? His cause was one which certainly

did not admit of being pleaded in the presence of a strange lady; and he might have known from the moment

in which he heard Glencora's request that a third person should be summoned to their meeting and

probably did know, that there was no longer any hope for him. It was not on the cards that he should win. But

there remained one thing that he must do. He must get himself out of that room; and how was he to effect

"I had hoped," said he, looking at Alice, though he addressed Lady Glencora "I had hoped to be allowed

"No, Mr Fitzgerald; it cannot be so. Alice, do not go. I sent for my cousin when I saw you, because I did not

"Then, Mr Fitzgerald," said Alice, why do you not do as Lady Glencora has asked you? You know you

"Alice," said Lady Glencora, we will leave Mr Fitzgerald here, since he drives us from the room."

In such contests, a woman has ever the best of it at all points. The man plays with a button to his foil, while

the woman uses a weapon that can really wound. Burgo knew that he must go felt that he must skulk away

as best he might, and perhaps hear a low titter of halfsuppressed laughter as he went. Even that might be

possible. "No, Lady Glencora," he said, I will not drive you from the room. As one must be driven out, it

shall be I. I own I did think that you would at any rate have been less hard to me." He then turned to go,

He was on the threshold of the door before Glencora's voice recalled him. "Oh my God!" she said, I am hard

harder than flint. I am cruel. Burgo!" And he was back with her in a moment, and had taken her by the

"Glencora," said Alice, pray pray let him go. Mr Fitzgerald, if you are a man, do not take advantage of her

"I will speak to him," said Lady Glencora. I will speak to him, and then he shall leave me." She was holding

him by the hand now and turning to him, away from Alice, who had taken her by the arm. "Burgo," she said,

repeating his name twice again, with all the passion that she could throw into the word "Burgo, no good

can come of this. Now, you must leave me. You must go. I shall stay with my husband as I am bound to do.

Because I have wronged you, I will not wrong him also. I loved you you know I loved you." She still held

him by the hand, and was now gazing up into his face, while the tears were streaming from her eyes. "Sir,"

said Alice, you have heard from her all that you can care to hear. If you have any feeling of honour in you,

"Yes, Burgo, you will you must! I shall never tell you that again, never. Do as she bids you. Go, and leave

"Because I am a man's wife, and because I care for his honour, if not for my own. Alice, let us go."

He still held her, but she would have been gone from him had he not stooped over her, and put his arm round

her waist. In doing this, I doubt whether he was quicker than she would have been had she chosen to resist

him. As it was, he pressed her to his bosom, and, stooping over her, kissed her lips. Then he left her, and

making his way out of the room, and down the stairs, got himself out into the street.

"Have I? I did not know that I had ever gained anything, as yet. The only human being to whom I have ever

yet given my whole heart the only thing that I have ever really loved, has just gone from me for ever, and

you bid me thank God that I have lost him. There is no room for thankfulness in any of it; either in the love or

"At any rate, he understands now that you meant it when you told him to leave you."

"Of course I meant it. I am beginning to know myself by degrees. As for running away with him, I have not

the courage to do it. I can think of it, scheme for it, wish for it but as for doing it, that is beyond me. Mr

Alice knew that it was useless to argue with her, so she came and sat over her for Lady Glencora had

again placed herself on the stool by the window and tried to soothe her by smoothing her hair, and nursing

"Of course I know that I ought to stay where I am," she said, breaking out, almost with rage, and speaking

with quick, eager voice. "I am not such a fool as to mistake what I should be if I leftmy husband, and went to

live with that man as his mistress. You don't suppose that I should think that sort of life very blessed. But

why have I been brought to such a pass as this? And as for female purity! Ah! What was their idea of purity

when they forced me, like ogres, to marry a man for whom they knew I never cared? Had I gone with him

had I now eloped with that man who ought to have been my husband whom would a just God have

punished worst me, or those two old women and my uncle, who tortured me into this marriage?"

"I won't be silent! You have had the making of your own lot. You have done what you liked, and no one has

interfered with you. You have suffered, too; but you, at any rate, can respect yourself."

"How when he kissed me, and I could hardly restrain myself from giving him back his kiss tenfold, could

I respect myself? But it is all sin. I sin towards my husband, feigning that I love him; and I sin in loving that

other man, who should have been my husband. There I hear Mr Palliser at the door. Come away with me;

or rather, stay, for he will come up here, and you can keep him in talk while I try to recover myself."

Mr Palliser did at once as his wife had said, and came upstairs to the little front room, as soon as he had

deposited his hat in the hall. Alice was, in fact, in doubt what she should do as to mentioning, or omitting to

mention, Mr Fitzgerald's name. In an ordinary way, it would be natural that she should name any visitor who

had called, and she specially disliked the idea of remaining silent because that visitor had come as the lover

of her host's wife. But, on the other hand, she owed much to Lady Glencora; and there was no imperative

reason, as things had gone, why she should make mischief. There was no further danger to be apprehended.

But Mr Palliser at once put an end to her doubts. "You have had a visitor here?" said he.

"I saw him as I went out," said Mr Palliser. Indeed, I met him at the hall door. He, of course, was wrong to

come here so wrong, that he deserves punishment, if there were any punishment for such offences."

"But as for Glencora," continued Mr Palliser, without any apparent notice of what Alice had said, "I thought

it better that she should see him or not, as she should herself decide." "She had no choice in the matter. As it

turned out, he was shown up here at once. She sent for me, and I think she was right to do that."

"I have no questions to ask about it," said Mr Palliser, after waiting for a few moments. He had probably

thought that Alice would say something further. "I am very glad that you were within reach of her, as

otherwise her position might have been painful. For her, and for me perhaps, it may be as well that he has

been here. As for him, I can only say, that I am forced to suppose him to be a villain. What a man does when

driven by passion, I can forgive; but that he should deliberately plan schemes to ruin both her and me, is what

I can hardly understand." As he made this little speech I wonder whether his conscience said anything to him

about Lady Dumbello, and a certain evening in his own life, on which he had ventured to call that lady

The little party of three dined together very quietly, and after dinner they all went to work with their novels.

Before long Alice saw that Mr Palliser was yawning, and she began to understand how much he had given up

in order that his wife might be secure. It was then, when he had left the room for a few minutes, in order that

he might wake himself by walking about the house, that Glencora told Alice of his yawning down at

Matching. "I used to think that he would fall in pieces. What are we to do about it?"

"That's all very well," said the other; but he'll set us off yawning as bad as himself, and then he'll notice it. He

has given himself up to politics, till nothing else has any salt in it left for him. I cannot think why such a man

"I wish you were his wife, with all my heart. But, of course, I know why he got married. And I ought to feel

for him as he has been so grievously disappointed." Then Mr Palliser having walked off his sleep, returned to

Burgo Fitzgerald, when he left the house, turned back into Grosvenor Square, not knowing, at first, whither

he was going. He took himself as far as his uncle's door, and then, having paused there for a moment, hurried

on. For half an hour, or thereabouts, something like true feeling was at work within his heart. He had once

more pressed to his bosom the woman he had, at any rate, thought that he had loved. He had had his arm

round her, and had kissed her, and the tone with which she had called him by his name was still ringing in his

ears. "Burgo!" He repeated his own name audibly to himself, as though in this way he could recall her voice.

He comforted himself for a minute with the conviction that she loved him. He felt for a moment that

he could live on such consolation as that! But among mortals there could, in truth, hardly be one with whom

such consolation would go a shorter way. He was a man who required to have such comfort backed by pates

and curacoa to a very large extent, and now it might be doubted whether the amount of pates and curacoa at

He would not go in and tell his aunt at once of his failure, as he could gain nothing by doing so. Indeed, he

thought that he would not tell his aunt at all. So he turned back from Grosvenor Square, and went down to his

club in St James's Street, feeling that billiards and brandy and water might, for the present, be the best

restorative. But, as he went back, he blamed himself very greatly in the matter of those banknotes which he

had allowed Lady Monk to take from him. How had it come to pass that he had been such a dupe in her

hands? When he entered his club in St James's Street his mind had left Lady Glencora, and was hard at work

considering how he might best contrive to get that spoil out of his aunt's possession.

On the following morning everybody was stirring by times at Mr Palliser's house in Park Lane, and the

master of that house yawned no more. There is some life in starting for a long journey, and the life is the

stronger and the fuller if the things and people to be carried are numerous and troublesome. Lady Glencora

was a little troublesome, and would not come down to breakfast in time. When rebuked on account of this

manifest breach of engagement, she asserted that the next train would do just as well; and when Mr Palliser

proved to her, with much trouble, that the next train could not enable them to reach Paris on that day, she

declared that it would be much more comfortable to take a week in going than to hurry over the ground in one

"If that is the case, why did not you tell me so before?" said Mr Palliser, in his gravest voice. "Richard and

"If Richard and the carriage are already on board the packet," said Lady Glencora, "of course we must follow

them, and we must put off the glories of Folkestone till we come back. Alice, haven't you observed that, in

travelling, you are always driven on by some Richard or some carriage, till you feel that you are a slave?"

All this was trying to Mr Palliser; but I think that he enjoyed it, nevertheless, and that he was happy when he

found that he did get his freight off from the Pimlico Station in the proper train.

Of course Lady Glencora and Alice were very ill crossing the Channel; of course the two maids were worse

than their mistresses; of course the men kept out of their master's way when they were wanted, and drank

brandy and water with the steward downstairs; and of course Lady Glencora declared that she would not

allow herself to be carried beyond Boulogne that day but, nevertheless, they did get on to Paris. Had Mr

Palliser become Chancellor ofthe Exchequer, as he had once hoped, he could hardly have worked harder than

he did work. It was he who found out which carriage had been taken for them, and who put, with his own

hands, the ladies' dressingcases and cloaks on to the seats who laid out the novels, which, of course,

were not read by the road and made preparations as though this stage of their journey was to take them a

"Since we got out of that horrid boat I have done pretty well. Why do they make the boats so nasty? I'm sure

"Never mind; we shan't have any more of it for twelve months, at any rate. We can get to the Kurds, Alice,

without getting into a packet again. That, to my way of thinking, is the great comfort of the Continent. One

Mr Palliser said nothing, but he sighed as he thought of being absent for a whole year. He had said that such

was his intention, and would not at once go back from what he himself had said. But how was he to live for

twelve months out of the House of Commons? What was he to do with himself, with his intellect and his

energy, during all these coming dreary days? And then he might have been Chancellor of the Exchequer!

He might even now, at this very moment, have been upon his legs, making a financial statement of six hours'

duration, to the delight of onehalf of the House, and bewilderment of the other, instead of dragging cloaks

across that dingy, dull, dirty waitingroom at the Paris Station, in which British subjects are kept in prison

"I suppose we must bear it, Alice?" said Lady Glencora as she got into the carriage that was waiting for her.

Alice thought of the last time in which she had been in that room when George and Kate had been with

her and the two girls had been quite content to wait patiently while their trunks were being examined. But

Alice was now travelling with great people with people who never spoke of their wealth, or seemed ever

to think of it, but who showed their consciousness of it at every turn of their lives. "After all," Alice had said

to herself more than once, "I doubt whether the burden is not greater than the pleasure."

They stayed in Paris for a week, and during that time Alice found that she became very intimate with Mr

Palliser. At Matching she had, in truth, seen but little of him, and had known nothing. Now she began to

understand his character, and learned how to talk to him. She allowed him to tell her of things in which Lady

Glencora resolutely persisted in taking no interest. She delighted him by writing down in a little pocketbook

the number of eggs that were consumed in Paris every day, whereas Glencora protested that the information

was worth nothing unless her husband could tell her how many of the eggs were good, and how many bad.

And Alice was glad to find that a hundred and fifty thousand female operatives were employed in Paris, while

Lady Glencora said it was a great shame, and that they ought all to have husbands. When Mr Palliser

explained that that was impossible, because of the redundancy of the female population, she angered him

very much by asserting that she saw a great many men walking about who, she was quite sure, had not wives

"I do so wish you had married him!" Glencora said to Alice that evening. "You would always have had a

pocketbook ready to write down the figures, and you would have pretended to care about the eggs, and the

bottles of wine, and the rest of it. As for me, I can't do it. If I see an hungry woman, I can give her my money;

or if she be a sick woman, I can nurse her; or if I hear of a very wicked man, I can hate him but I cannot

take up poverty and crime in the lump. I never believe it all. My mind isn't big enough."

They went into no society at Paris, and at the end of a week were all glad to leave it.

"I don't know that Baden will be any better," Lady Glencora said; "but, you know, we can leave that again

To this, Mr Palliser demurred. "I think we had better make up our mind to stay a month at Baden."

"But why should we make up our minds at all?" his wife pleaded. "I like to have a plan," said Mr Palliser.

"There's nothing I hate so much as not carrying out my intentions," said Mr Palliser.

Upon this, Lady Glencora shrugged her shoulders, and made a mock grimace to her cousin. All this her

husband bore for a while meekly, and it must be acknowledged that he behaved very well. But, then, he had

his own way in everything. Lady Glencora did not behave very well contradicting her husband, and not

considering, as, perhaps, she ought to have done, the sacrifice he was making on her behalf. But, then, she

She had her own way in almost nothing; but on one point she did conquer her husband. He was minded to go

from Paris back to Cologne, and so down the Rhine to Baden. Lady Glencora declared that she hated the

Rhine that, of all rivers, it was the most distasteful to her; that, of all scenery, the scenery of the Rhine was

the most overpraised; and that she would be wretched all the time if she were carried that way. Upon this,

Mr Palliser referred the matter to Alice; and she, who had last been upon the Rhine with her cousins Kate and

"Everything is alike horrid to you, I think," said her husband. "You are determined not to be contented, so

They got on to Baden with very little delay at Strasbourg, and found half an hotel prepared for their

reception. Here the carriage was brought into use for the first time, and the mistress of the carriage talked of

sending home for Dandy and Flirt. Mr Palliser, when he heard the proposition, calmly assured his wife that

the horses would not bear the journey. "They would be so out of condition," he said, "as not to be worth

"I only meant to ask for them if they could come in a balloon," said Lady Glencora.

This angered Mr Palliser, who had really, for a few minutes, thought of pacifying his wife by sending for the

"Alice," she asked, one morning, how many eggs are eaten in Baden every morning before ten o'clock?" Mr

Palliser, who at the moment was in the act of eating one, threw down his spoon, and pushed his plate from

"I declare I didn't know that I had done anything wrong," said Lady Glencora. "Alice, do you understand

"Of course she understands," said Mr Palliser. How can she help it? And, indeed, Miss Vavasor, I am more

unhappy than I can express myself, to think that your comfort should be disturbed in this way."

"Upon my word I think Alice is doing very well," said Lady Glencora. "What is there to hurt her comfort?

Nobody scolds her. Nobody tells her that she is a fool. She never jokes, or does anything wicked, and, of

Mr Palliser, as he wandered that day alone through the gamblingrooms at the great Assembly House,

thought that, after all, it might have been better for him to have remained in London, to have become

"I wonder whether it would be any harm if I were to put a few pieces of money on the table, just once?" Lady

Glencora said to her cousin, on the evening of the same day, in one of those gambling salons. There had been

some music on that evening in one side of the building, and the Pallisers had gone to the rooms. But as

neither of the two ladies would dance, they had strayed away into the other apartments.

"The greatest harm in the world!" said Alice; and what on earth could you gain by it? You don't really want

"I'll tell you what I want something to live for some excitement. Is it not a shame that I see around me

so many people getting amusement, and that I can get none? I'd go and sit out there, and drink beer and hear

the music, only Plantagenet wouldn't let me. I think I'll throw one piece on to the table to see what becomes

"You are such a prude! It seems to me as if it must have been my special fate my good fate, I mean

that has thrown me so much with you. You look after me quite as carefully as Mr Bott and Mrs Marsham

ever did; but as I chose you myself, I can't very well complain, and I can't very well get rid of you." "Do you

"Sometimes. Do you know, there are moments when I almost make up my mind to go headlong to the devil

when I think it is the best thing to be done. It's a hard thing for a woman to do, because she has to undergo

so much obloquy before she gets used to it. A man can take to drinking, and gambling and all the rest of it,

and nobody despises him a bit. The domestic old fogies give him lectures if they can catch him, but he isn't

fool enough for that. All he wants is money, and he goes away and has his fling. Now I have plenty of money

or, at any rate, I had and I never got my fling yet. I do feel so tempted to rebel, and go ahead, and care

"You think I should be like the wild beast that has tasted blood, and can't be controlled. Look at all these

people here. There are husbands gambling, and their wives don't know it; and wives gambling, and their

husbands don't know it. I wonder whether Plantagenet ever has a fling? What a joke it would be to come and

"Afraid! I should like him all the better for it. If he came to me, some morning, and told me that he had lost a

"None the least. He'd make a calculation that the chances were nine to seven against him, and then the

"Of course not. It would be a very vulgar kind of thing then. Look there's an opening there. I'll just put on

"You shall not. If you do, I'll leave you at once. Look at the women who are playing. Is there one there whom

it would not disgrace you to touch? Look what they are. Look at their cheeks, and their eyes, and their hands.

Those men who rake about the money are bad enough, but the women look like fiends."

"You're not going to frighten me in that hobgoblin sort of way, you know. I don't see anything the matter with

"What do you think of that young woman who has just got a handful of money from the man next to her?"

"I think she is very happy. I never get money given to me by handfuls, and the man to whom I belong gives

me no encouragement when I want to amuse myself." They were now standing near to one end of the table,

and suddenly there came to be an opening through the crowd up to the table itself. Lady Glencora, leaving

Alice's side, at once stepped up and deposited a piece of gold on one of the marked compartments. As soon as

she placed it she retreated again with flushed face, and took hold of Alice's arm. "There," she said, "I have

done it." Alice, in her dismay, did not know what step to take. She could not scold her friend now, as the eyes

of many were turned upon them, nor could she, of course, leave her, as she had threatened. Lady Glencora

laughed with her peculiar little low laughter, and stood her ground. "I was determined you shouldn't frighten

One of the ministers at the table had in the meantime gone on with the cards, and had called the game; and

another minister had gently pushed three or four more pieces of gold up to that which Lady Glencora had

flung down, and had then cunningly caught her eye, and, with all the courtesy of which he was master, had

pushed them further on towards her. She had supposed herself to be unknown there in the salon, but no doubt

all the croupiers and half the company knew well enough who was the new customer at the table. There was

still the space open, near to which she stood, and then someone motioned to her to come and take up the

money which she had won. She hesitated, and then the croupier asked her, in that low, indifferent voice

which these men always use, whether she desired that her money should remain. She nodded her head to him,

and he at once drew the money back again to the spot on which she had placed the first Napoleon. Again the

cards were turned up softly, again the game was called, and again she won. The money was dealt out to her

on this occasion with a full hand. There were lying there between twenty and thirty napoleons, of which

she was the mistress. Her face had flushed before, but now it became very red. She caught hold of Alice, who

was literally trembling beside her, and tried to laugh again. But there was that in her eye which told Alice that

she was really frightened. Some one then placed a chair for her at the table, and in her confusion, not

knowing what she was to do, she seated herself. "Come away," said Alice, taking hold of her, and

disregarding everything but her own purpose, in the agony of the moment. "You must come away! You shall

not sit there!" "I must get rid of that money, said Glencora, trying to whisper her words, "and then I will come

away." The croupier again asked her if themoney was to remain, and she again nodded her head. Everybody

at the table was now looking at her. The women especially were staring at her those horrid women with

vermilion cheeks, and loud bonnets half off their heads, and hard, shameless eyes, and white gloves, which,

when taken off in the ardour of the game, disclosed dirty hands. They stared at her with that fixed stare which

Again she won. "Leave it," said Alice, and come away." "I can't leave it, said Glencora. If I do, there'll be a

fuss. I'll go the next time." What she said was, of course, in English, and was probably understood by no one

near her; but it was easy to be seen that she was troubled, and, of course, those around her looked at her the

more because of her trouble. Again that little question and answer went on between her and the croupier, and

on this occasion the money was piled up on the compartment a heap of gold which made envious the

hearts of many who stood around there. Alice had now both her hands on the back of the chair, needing

support. If the devil should persist, and increase that stock of gold again, she must go and seek for Mr

Palliser. She knew not what else to do. She understood nothing of the table, or of its laws; but she supposed

all those ministers of the game to be thieves, and believed that all villanous contrivances were within their

capacity. She thought that they might go on adding to that heap so long as Lady Glencora would sit there,

presuming that they might thus get her into their clutches. Of course, she did not sift her suspicions. Who

does at such moments? "Come away at once, and leave it," she said, "or I shall go." At that moment the

croupier raked it all up, and carried it all away; but Alice did not see that this had been done. A hand had been

placed on her shoulder, and as she turned round her face her eyes met those of Mr Palliser.

"It is all gone," said Glencora, laughing. And now she, turning round, also saw her husband. "I am so glad

that you are come," said Alice. "Why did you bring her here? said Mr Palliser. There was anger in his tone,

and anger in his eye. He took his wife's arm upon his own, and walked away quickly, while Alice followed

them alone. He went off at once, down the front steps of the building, towards the hotel. What he said to his

wife, Alice did not hear; but her heart was swelling with the illusage to which she herself was subjected.

Though she might have to go back alone to England, she would tell him that he was illtreating her. She

followed him on, up into their drawingroom, and there he stood with the door open in his hand for her,

while Lady Glencora threw herself upon a sofa, and burst out into affected laughter. "Here's a piece of work,"

"Yes, an accident. You don't suppose that I sat down there meaning to win all that money?" Whereupon he

"Mr Palliser," said Alice, you have treated me this evening in a manner I did not expect from you. It is clear

"No; you have not said a word. You know well how to show your anger without speaking. As I do not choose

"Alice! Alice!" said Glencora, jumping up, that is nonsense! What is all this trumpery thing about? Leave me,

"Is it nothing that I find my wife playing at a common gamblingtable, surrounded by all that is wretched and

"You wrong me, Plantagenet," said Glencora. There was only one heap, and that did not remain long. Did it,

"I certainly don't like being ashamed," she answered; "and don't feel any necessity on this occasion."

"If you don't object, Mr Palliser," said Alice. I will go to bed. You can think over all this at night and so

can I. Goodnight, Glencora." Then Alice took her candle, and marched off to her own room, with all the

The second week in July saw Mr Palliser's party, carriage and all, established at Lucerne, in Switzerland, safe

beyond the reach of the German gamblingtables. Alice Vavasor was still with them; and the reader will

therefore understand that that quarrel about Lady Glencora's wickedness had been settled without any

rupture. It had been settled amicably, and by the time that they had reached Lucerne, Alice was inclined to

acknowledge that the whole thing was not worth notice; but for many days her anger against Mr Palliser had

not been removed, and her intimacy with him had been much checked. It was now a month since the

occurrence of that little scene in the salon at Baden, which was described in the last chapter since Mr

Palliser had marched off with his wife, leaving Alice to follow as she best could by herself. After that, as the

reader may remember, he had almost told her that she was to be blamed because of his wife's indiscretion;

and when she had declared her intention of leaving him, and making her way home to England by herself, he

had answered her not at all, and had allowed her to go off to her own room under the full ban of his

displeasure. Since that he had made no apology to her; he had not, in so many words, acknowledged that he

had wronged her; but Alice had become aware that he intended to apologise by his conduct, and she had been

content so far to indulge his obstinacy as to accept this conduct on his part in lieu of any outspoken petition

for pardon. The acknowledgment of a mistake and the asking for grace is almost too much for any woman to

Early on the morning after the scene in question, Lady Glencora had gone into Alice's bedroom, and had

found her cousin in her dressinggown, packing up her things, or looking as though she intended to do so.

"You are not such a fool," she said, "as to think anything of what occurred yesterday?" Alice assured her that,

whether fool or not, she did think a great deal of it. "In point of fact,"said Alice, I can't stand it. He expects

me to take care of you, and chooses to show himself offended if you don't do just what he thinks proper;

whereas, as you know well enough, I have not the slightest influence over you." All these positions Lady

Glencora contradicted vigorously. Of course, Mr Palliser had been wrong in walking out of the Assembly

Rooms as he had done, leaving Alice behind him. So much Lady Glencora admitted. But this had come of his

intense anxiety. "And you know what a man he is," said his wife "how stiff and hard, and unpleasant he

can be without meaning it.' "There is no reason why I should bear his unpleasantness," said Alice. "Yes,

there is great reason. You are to do it for the sake of friendship. And as for my not doing what you tell me,

"Of course you did, and of course I was naughty; but that was only once. Alice, I want you more than I ever

Alice consented to come down to breakfast without any immediate continuance of her active preparations for

going, and at last, of course, she stayed. When she entered the breakfast room Mr Palliser came up to her, and

offered her his hand. She had no alternative but to take it, and then seated herself. That there was an intended

apology in the manner in which he offered her toast and butter, she was convinced; and the special courtesy

with which he handed her to the carriage, when she and Lady Glencora went out for their drive, after dinner,

was almost as good as a petition for pardon. So the thing went on, and by degrees Mr Palliser and Miss

But Alice never knew in what way the matter was settled between Mr Palliser and his wife, or whether there

was any such settling. Probably there was none. "Of course, he understands that it didn't mean anything,"

Lady Glencora had said. "He knows that I don't want to gamble." But let that be as it might, their sojourn at

Baden was curtailed, and none of the party went up again to the Assembly Rooms before their departure.

Before establishing themselves at Lucerne they made a little tour round by the Falls of the Rhine and Zurich.

In their preparations for this journey, Alice made a struggle, but a struggle in vain, to avoid a passage through

Basle. It was only too clear to her that Mr Palliser was determined to go by Basle. She could not bring herself

to say that she had recollections connected with that place whichwould make a return to it unpleasant to her.

If she could have said as much, even to Glencora, Mr Palliser would no doubt have gone round round by

any more distant route that might have been necessary to avoid that eternal gateway into Switzerland. But she

could not say it. She was very averse to talking about herself and her own affairs, even with her cousin. Of

course Lady Glencora knew the whole story of Mr John Grey and his rejection and knew much also of

that other story of Mr George Vavasor. And, of course, like all Alice's friends, she hated George Vavasor,

and was prepared to receive Mr John Grey with open arms, if there were any possibility that her cousin would

open her arms to him also. But Alice was so stubborn about her own affairs that her friend found it almost

impossible to speak of them. "It is not that you trouble me," Alice once said, "but that you trouble yourself

about that which is of no use. It is all done and over; and though I know that I have behaved badly very

badly yet I believe that everything has been done for the best. I am inclined to think that I can live alone,

"Perhaps so; but, at any rate, I mean to try. We Vavasors don't seem to be good at marrying."

"You want someone to break your heart for you; that's what you want," said Lady Glencora. In saying this

she knew but little of the state of her friend's head, and perhaps was hardly capable of understanding it. With

all the fuss that Lady Glencora made to herself with all the tears that she had shed about her lost lover,

and was so often shedding with all her continual thinking of the matter, she had never loved Burgo

Fitzgerald as Alice Vavasor had loved Mr Grey. But her nature was altogether different to that of Alice. Love

with her had in it a gleam of poetry, a spice of fun, a touch of selfdevotion, something even of

heroworship; but with it all there was a dash of devilry, and an aptitude almost for wickedness. She knew

Burgo Fitzgerald to be a scapegrace, and she liked him the better on that account. She despised her husband

because he had no vices. She would have given everything she had to Burgo pouring her wealth upon him

with a total disregard of herself, had she been allowed to do so. She would have forgiven him sin after sin,

and might perhaps have brought him round, at last, to some life not absolutely reckless and wretched. But in

all that she might have done, there would have been no thoughtfulness notrue care either for him or for

herself. And now that she was married there was no thoughtfulness, or care either for herself or for her

husband. She was ready to sacrifice herself for him, if any sacrifice might be required of her. She believed

herself to be unfit for him, and would have submitted to be divorced or smothered out of the way, for the

matter of that if the laws of the land would have permitted it. But she had never for a moment given to

herself the task of thinking what conduct on her part might be the best for his welfare.

But Alice's love had been altogether of another kind and I am by no means sure that it was better suited

for the work of this work a day world than that of her cousin. It was too thoughtful. I will not say that there

was no poetry in it, but I will say that it lacked romance. Its poetry was too hard for romance. There was

certainly in it neither fun nor wickedness; nor was there, I fear, so large a proportion of heroworship as there

always should be in a girl's heart when she gives it away. But there was in it an amount of selfdevotion

which none of those near to her had hitherto understood unless it were that one to whom the

understanding of it was of the most importance. In all the troubles of her love, of her engagements, and her

broken promises, she had thought more of others than of herself and, indeed, those troubles had chiefly

come from that selfdevotion. She had left John Grey because she feared that she would do him no good as

his wife that she would not make him happy; and she had afterwards betrothed herself for a second time to

her cousin, because she believed that she could serve him by marrying him. Of course she had been wrong.

She had been very wrong to give up the man she did love, and more wrong again in suggesting to herself the

possibility of marrying the man she did not love. She knew that she had been wrong in both, and was

undergoing repentance with very bitter inward sackcloth. But she said little of all this even to her cousin.

They went to Lucerne by Basle, and put up at the big hotel with the balcony over the Rhine, which Alice

remembered so well. On the first evening of her arrival she found herself again looking down upon the river,

as though it might have been from the same spot which she had occupied together with George and Kate. But,

in truth, that house is very large, and has many bedrooms over the water. Who has ever been through Basle,

and not stood in one of them, looking down upon the father of waters? Here, on this very spot, in one of these

balconies, was brought to her a letter fromher cousin Kate, which was filled with tidings respecting her

cousin George. Mr Palliser brought it to her with his own hands, and she had no other alternative but to read

it in his presence. "George has lost his election," the letter began. For one moment Alice thought of her

money, and the vain struggle in which it had been wasted. For one moment, something like regret for the

futility of the effort she had made came upon her. But it passed away at once. "It was worth our while to try

it," she said to herself, and then went on with her letter. "I and Aunt Greenow are up in London [the letter

went on to say "and have just heard the news. Though I have been here for three days, and have twice sent

word to him to say so, he has not been near me. Perhaps it is best that he should stay away, as I do not know

how any words could pass between us that would be pleasant. The poll was finished this afternoon, and he

lost his election by a large majority. There were five candidates altogether for the two seats three Liberals,

and two Conservatives. The other two Liberals were seated, and he was the last of the five. I continue to hear

tidings about him from day to day or rather, my aunt hears them and tells them to me which fill me full

of fears as to his future career. I believe that he has abandoned his business, and that he has now no source of

income. I would willingly share what I have with him; or I would do more than that. After keeping back

enough to repay you gradually what he owes you, I would give him all my share of the income out of the

estate. But I cannot do this while we are presumed to be enemies. I am up here to see a lawyer as to some

steps which he is taking to upset Grandpapa's will. The lawyer says that it is all nonsense, and that George's

lawyer is not really in earnest; but I cannot do anything till the matter is settled. Dear Alice, though so much

of your money is for a time gone, I am bound to congratulate you on your safety on what I may more truly

call your escape. You will understand what my own feelings must be in writing this, after all that I did to

bring you and him together after all my hopes and ambition respecting him. As for the money, it shall be

repaid. I do not think I shall ever dare to indulge in any strong desire again. I think you will forgive me the

"I am here to see the London lawyer but not only for that. Aunt Greenow is buying her wedding clothes,

and Captain Bellfield is in lodgings near to us, also buying his trousseau; or, as I should more properly say,

having it bought for him. I am hardly in a mood for much mirth, but it is impossible not to laugh inwardly

whenshe discusses before me the state of his wardrobe, and proposes economical arrangements greatly to

his disgust. At present, she holds him very tightly in hand, and makes him account for all his hours as well as

all his money. "Of course, he'll run wild directly he's married," she said to me, yesterday; "and, of course,

there'll always be a fight about it; but the more I do to tame him now, the less wild he'll be by and by. And

though I dare say, I shall scold him sometimes, I shall never quarrel with him." I have no doubt all that is

true; but what a fool she is to trouble herself with such a man. She says she does it for an occupation. I took

courage to tell her once that a caged tiger would give her as much to do, and be less dangerous. She was

angry at this, and answered me very sharply. I had tried my hand on a tiger, she said, and had felt his claws.

She chose to sacrifice herself if a sacrifice it were to be when some good result might be possible. I

had nothing further to say; and from that time to this we have been on the pleasantest terms possible as to the

Captain. They have settled with your father to take Vavasor Hall for three years, and I suppose I shall stay

with them till your return. What I may do then will depend entirely upon your doings. I feel myself to be a

desolate, solitary being, without any tie to any person, or to any place. I never thought that I should feel the

death of my grandfather to be such a loss to me as it has been. Except you, I have nothing left to me; and, as

regards you, I have the pleasant feeling that I have for years been endeavouring to do you the worst possible

injury, and that you must regard me as an enemy from whom you have escaped indeed, but not without

Alice was always angered by any assumption that her conduct to Mr Grey had been affected by the advice or

influence of her cousin Kate. But this very feeling seemed to preserve Kate from the worse anger, which

might have been aroused against her, had Alice acknowledged the injury which her cousin had in truth done

to her. It was undoubtedly true that had Alice neither seen nor heard from Kate during the progress of John

Grey's courtship, John Grey would not have lost his wife. But against this truth Alice was always protesting

within her own breast. She had been weak, foolish, irresolute and had finally acted with false judgment.

So much she now admitted to herself. But she would not admit that any other woman had persuaded her to

such weakness. "She mistakes me," Alice thought, as she put up her letter. "She is not the enemy who has

Mr Palliser, who had brought her the letter, was seated in the same balcony, and while Alice had been

reading, had almost buried himself in newspapers which conveyed intelligence as to the general elections

then in progress. He was now seated with a sheet of The Times in his hand, opened to its full extent for he

had been too impatient to cut the paper and as he held it up in his hands before his eyes, was completely

hidden beneath it. Five or six other open papers were around him, and he had not spoken a word since he had

commenced his present occupation. Lady Glencora was standing on the other side of him, and she also had

received letters. "Iphy tells me that you are returned for Silverbridge," she said at last.

"Who? I! yes; I'm returned," said Mr Palliser, speaking with something like disdain in his voice as to the

possibility of anybody having stood with a chance of success against him in his own family borough. For a

full appreciation of the advantages of a private seat in the House of Commons let us always go to those great

Whig families who were mainly instrumental in carrying the Reform Bill. The house of Omnium had been

very great on that occasion. It had given up much, and had retained for family use simply the single seat at

Silverbridge. But that that seat should be seriously disputed hardly suggested itself as possible to the mind of

any Palliser. The Pallisers and the other great Whig families have been right in this. They have kept in their

hands, as rewards for their own services to the country, no more than the country is manifestly willing to give

them. "Yes; I have been returned," said Mr Palliser. I'm sorry to see, Miss Vavasor, that your cousin has not

"Ah! I suppose so. Those Metropolitan elections cost so much trouble and so much money, and under the

most favourable circumstances, are so doubtful. A man is never sure there till he has fought for his seat three

"Dear, dear," said Mr Palliser, who himself knew nothing of such misfortunes. "I have always thought that

those seats should be left to rich commercial men who can afford to spend money upon them. Instead of that,

they are generally contested by men of moderate means. Another of my friends in the House has been thrown

"Mr Bott out!" exclaimed Lady Glencora. Mr Bott thrown out! I am so glad. Alice, are you not glad? The

redhaired man,that used to stand about, you know, at Matching he has lost his seat in Parliament. I

A very indiscreet woman was poor Lady Glencora. Mr Palliser's face became black beneath The Times

newspaper. "I did not know," said he, "that my friend Mr Bott and Miss Vavasor were enemies."

"Enemies! I don't suppose they were enemies," said Glencora. "But he was a man whom no one could help

"He was a man I specially disliked," said Alice, with great courage. "He may be very well in Parliament; but I

never met a man who could make himself so disagreeable in society, I really did feel myself constrained to be

"I hope he did nothing at Matching, to to to ," began Mr Palliser, apologetically.

"Nothing especially to offend me, Mr Palliser except that he had a way that I especially dislike of trying to

"Of course he did," said Lady Glencora; and he had a habit of rubbing his head against the papers in the

Mr Palliser was effectually talked down, and felt himself constrained to abandon his political ally. Perhaps he

did this the easier as the loss which Mr Bott had just suffered would materially interfere with his political

"Let us hope he will," said Lady Glencora and that his own people will appreciate the advantage of his

It was evening, and while they were still sitting among their letters and newspapers, there came a shout along

the water, and the noise of many voices from the bridge. Suddenly, there shot down before them in the swift

running stream the heads of many swimmers in the river, and with the swimmers came boats carrying their

clothes. They went by almost like a glance of light upon the waters, so rapid was the course of the current.

There was the shout of the voices the quick passage of the boats the uprising, some half a dozen times,

of the men's hands above the surface; and then they were gone down the river, out of sight like morsels of

"It seems to be very dangerous," said Mr Palliser. I don't know how they can stop themselves."

"Why should they want to stop themselves?" said Lady Glencora. "Think how cool the water must be; and

how beautiful to be carried along so quickly; and to go on, and on, and on! I suppose we couldn't try it?"

As no encouragement was given to this proposition, Lady Glencora did not repeat it; but stood leaning on the

rail of the balcony, and looking enviously down upon the water. Alice was, of course, thinking of that other

evening, when perhaps the same swimmers had come down under the bridge and before the balcony, and

when George Vavasor was sitting in her presence. It was, I think, on that evening, that she made up her mind

On the day after that, Mr Palliser and his party went on to Lucerne, making that journey, as I have said, by

slow stages; taking Schaffhausen and Zurich in their way. At Lucerne, they established themselves for some

time, occupying nearly a dozen rooms in the great hotel which overlooks the lake. Here there came to them a

I am inclined to think that Mr Palliser did not much enjoy this part of his tour abroad. When he first reached

Lucerne there was no one there with whom he could associate pleasantly, nor had he any occupation capable

of making his time run easily. He did not care for scenery. Close at his elbow was the finest to be had in

Europe; but it was nothing to him. Had he been simply journeying through Lucerne at the proper time of the

year for such a journey, when the business of the Session was over, and a little change of air needed, he could

have enjoyed the thing in a moderate way, looking about him, passing on, and knowing that it was good for

him to be there at that moment. But he had none of that passion for mountains and lakes, none of that positive

joy in the heather, which would have compensated many another man for the loss of all that Mr Palliser was

losing. His mind was ever at home in the House of Commons, or in that august assembly which men call the

Cabinet, and of the meetings of which he read from week to week the simple records. Therein were

mentioned the names of those heroes to whom Fortune had been so much kinder than she had been to him;

and he envied them. He took short, solitary walks, about the town, over the bridges, and along the rivers,

making to himself the speeches which he would have made to full houses, had not his wife brought ruin upon

all his hopes. And as he pictured to himself the glorious successes which probably never would have been his

had he remained in London, so did he prophesy to himself an absolute and irremediable downfall from all

political power as the result of his absence having, in truth, no sufficient cause for such despair. As yet, he

was barely thirty, and had he been able to judge his own case as keenly as he could have judged the case of

another, he would have known that a short absence might probably raise his value in the estimation of others

rather than lower it. But his personal annoyance was too great to allow of his making such calculations aright.

So hebecame fretful and unhappy; and though he spoke no word of rebuke to his wife, though he never hinted

that she had robbed him of his glories, he made her conscious by his manner that she had brought him to this

Lady Glencora herself had a love for the mountains and lakes, but it was a love of that kind which requires to

be stimulated by society, and which is keenest among cold chickens, picnic pies, and the flying of champagne

corks. When they first entered Switzerland she was very enthusiastic, and declared her intention of climbing

up all the mountains, and going through all the passes. She endeavoured to induce her husband to promise

that she should be taken up Mont Blanc. And I think she would have carried this on, and would have been

taken up Mont Blanc, had Mr Palliser's aspirations been congenial. But they were not congenial, and Lady

Glencora soon lost all her enthusiasm. By the time that they were settled at Lucerne she had voted the

mountains to be bores, and had almost learned to hate the lake, which she declared always made her wet

through when she got into a small boat, and seasick when she put her foot in a large one. At Lucerne they

made no acquaintances, Mr Palliser being a man not apt to new friendships. They did not even dine at the

public table, though Lady Glencora had expressed a wish to do so. Mr Palliser did not like it, and of course

Lady Glencora gave way. There were, moreover, some marital passages which were not pleasant to a third

person. They did not scold each other; but Lady Glencora would make little speeches of which her husband

disapproved. She would purposely irritate him by continuing her tone of badinage, and then Mr Palliser

would become fretful, and would look as though the cares of the world were too many for him. I cannot,

therefore, say that Alice had much to make the first period of her sojourn at Lucerne a period of enjoyment.

But when they had been there about a fortnight, a stranger arrived, whose coming at any rate lent the grace of

some excitement to their lives. Their custom was to breakfast at nine or as near nine as Lady Glencora

could be induced to appear and then Mr Palliser would read till three. At that hour he would walk forth by

himself, after having handed the two ladies into their carriage, and they would be driven about for two hours.

"How I do hate this carriage," Lady Glencora said one day. "I do so wish it would come to grief, and be

broken to pieces. I wonder whether the Swiss people think that we are going to be driven about here for

ever." There were moments, however, which seemed to indicate that Lady Glencorahad something to tell her

cousin, which, if told, would alter the monotony of their lives. Alice, however, would not press her for her

"So you tell me very often," Alice replied; and it is not complimentary. But hard or soft, I won't make a

petition for your confidence." Then Lady Glencora said something savage, and the subject was dropped for a

But we must go back to the stranger. Mr Palliser had put the ladies into their carriage, and was standing

between the front door of the hotel and the lake on a certain day, doubting whether he would walk up the hill

to the left or turn into the town on the right, when he was accosted by an English gentleman, who, raising his

"I am Mr Palliser," said our friend, very courteously, returning the salute, and smiling as he spoke. But

though he smiled, and though he was courteous, and though he raised his hat, there was something in his look

and voice which would not have encouraged any ordinary stranger to persevere. Mr Palliser was not a man

Then the smile was dropped, the look of extreme courtesy disappeared, the tone of Mr Palliser's voice was

altered, and he put out his hand. He knew enough of Mr John Grey's history to be aware that Mr John Grey

was a man with whom he might permit himself to become acquainted. After the interchange of a very few

"Perhaps you don't wish to meet the carriage?" said Mr Palliser. "If so, we had better go through the town and

They went through the town, and up the river, and when Mr Palliser, on his return, was seen by Alice and

Lady Glencora, he was alone. They dined together, and nothing was said. Together they sauntered out in the

evening, and together came in and drank their tea; but still nothing was said. At last, Alice and her cousin

took their candles from Mr Palliser's hands and left the sittingroom for the night.

"Alice," said Lady Glencora, as soon as they were in the passage together, "I have been dying for this time to

come. I could not speak before, or I should have made blunders, and so would you. Let us go into your room

at once. Who do you think is here, at Lucerne, in this house, at this very moment?"

Alice knew at once who it was. She knew, immediately, that Mr Grey had followed her, though no word had

been written to her or spoken to her on the subject since that day on which he himself had told her that they

would meet abroad. But though she was quite sure, she did not mention his name. "Who is it, Glencora?" she

"Then it is not your cousin Kate. And I don't believe you or else you're a fool."

Alice was accustomed to Lady Glencora's mode of talking, and therefore did not think much of this. "Perhaps

"Only I know you are not. But I am not at all so sure as to your being no hypocrite. The person I mean is a

gentleman, of course. Why don't you show a little excitement, at any rate? When Plantagenet told me, just

before dinner, I almost jumped out of my shoes. He was going to tell you himself after dinner, in the politest

way in the world, no doubt, and just as the servants were carrying away the apples. I thought it best to save

you from that; but, I declare, I believe I might have left him to do it; it would have had no effect upon you.

"Yes, Mr John Grey has come. He is here in this house at this minute or, more probably, waiting outside

by the lake till he shall see a light in your bedroom." Then Lady Glencora paused for a moment, waiting that

Alice might say something. But Alice said nothing. "Well?" said Lady Glencora, rising up from her chair.

"No; not exactly the same. I am quite alive to the importance of Mr Grey's arrival, and shall probably lie

awake all night thinking about it if it will do you any good to know that; but I don't feel that I have much

"I wish I had let Mr Palliser tell you, in an ordinary way, before all the servants. I do indeed."

"It would not have made much difference." "Not the least, I believe. I wonder whether you ever did care for

anybody in your life for him, or for that other one, or for anybody. For nobody, I believe except your

cousin Kate. Still waters, they say, run deep; and sometimes I think your waters run too deep for me to

"What do you want me to say? Of course I know why he has come here. He told me he should come."

"He told me he should come, and I thought it better not to say a word about it. He might change his mind, or

anything might happen. I told him not to come; and it would have been much better that he should have

"No good! It seems to me impossible but that it should do all the good in the world. Look here, Alice. If you

do not altogether make it up with him before tomorrow evening, I shall believe you to be utterly heartless.

Had I been you I should have been in his arms before this. I'll go now, and leave you to lie awake, as you say

you will." Then she left the room, but returned in a moment to ask another question. "What is Plantagenet to

say to him about seeing you tomorrow? Of course he has asked permission to come and call?"

"He may come if he pleases. You don't think I have quarrelled with him, or would refuse to see him!"

"And make up a picnic, and all the rest of it. In fact, he is to be regarded as only an ordinary person. Well

It may be doubted whether Alice understood herself. As soon as her friend was gone, she put out her candle

and seated herself at the open window of her room, looking out upon the moonlight as it played upon the

lake. Would he be there, thinking of her, looking up, perhaps, as Glencora had hinted, to see if he could

distinguish her light among the hundred that would be flickering across the long front of the house? If it were

so, at any rate he should not see her; so she drew the curtain, and sat there watching the lake. It was a pity that

he should have come, and yet she loved him dearly for coming. It was a pity that he should have come, as his

coming could lead to no good result. Of this she assured herself over and overagain, and yet she hardly knew

why she was so sure of it. Glencora had called her hard; but her conviction on that matter had not come from

hardness. Now that she was alone, her head was full of love, of the soft romance of love towards this man;

and yet she felt that she ought not to marry him, even though he might still be willing to take her. That he was

still willing to take her, that he desired to have her for his wife in spite of all the injury she had done him,

there could be no doubt. Why else had he followed her to Switzerland? And she remembered, now at this

moment, how he had told her at Cheltenham that he would never consider her to be lost to him, unless she

should, in truth, become the wife of another man. Why, then, should it not be as he wished it?

She asked herself the question, and did not answer it; but still she felt that it might not be so. She had no right

to such happiness after the evil that she had done. She had been driven by a frenzy to do that which she

herself could not pardon; and having done it, she could not bring herself to accept the position which should

have been the reward of good conduct. She could not analyse the causes which made her feel that she must

still refuse the love that was proffered to her; she could not clearly read her own thoughts; but the causes

were as I have said, and such was the true reading of her thoughts. Had she simply refused his hand after she

had once accepted it had she refused it, and then again changed her mind, she could have brought herself

to ask him to forgive her. But she had done so much more than this, and so much worse! She had affianced

herself to another man since she had belonged to him since she had been his, as his future wife. What

must he not think of her, and what not suspect? Then she remembered those interviews which she had had

with her cousin since she had written to him, accepting his offer. When he had been with her in Queen Anne

Street she had shrunk from all outward signs of a love which she did not feel. There had been no caress

between them. She had not allowed him to touch her with his lips. But it was impossible that the nature of

that mad engagement between her and her cousin George should ever be made known to Mr Grey. She sat

there wiping the tears from her eyes as she looked for his figure among the figures by the lakeside; but, as she

sat there, she promised herself no happiness from his coming. Oh! reader, can you forgive her in that she had

sinned against the softness of her feminine nature? I think that she may be forgiven, in that she had never

If he were there, by the lakeside, she did not see him. I think we may say that John Grey was not a man to

console himself in his love by looking up at his lady's candle. He was one who was capable of doing as much

as most men in the pursuit of his love as he proved to be the case when he followed Alice to Cheltenham,

and again to London, and now again to Lucerne; but I doubt whether a glimmer from her bedroom window,

had it been unmistakably her own glimmer, and not that of some ugly old French woman who might chance

to sleep next to her, would have done him much good. He had come to Lucerne with a purpose, which

purpose, if it might be possible, he meant to carry out; but I think he was already in bed, being tired with long

At breakfast the next morning nothing was said for awhile about the new arrival. At last Mr Palliser ventured

to speak. "Glencora has told you, I think, that Mr Grey is here? Mr Grey is an old friend of yours, I believe?"

Alice, keeping her countenance as well as she was able, said Mr Grey had been, and, indeed, was, a very dear

friend of hers. Mr Palliser knew the whole story, and what was the use of any little attempt at dissimulation?

"Glencora suggests that we should ask him to dinner," said Mr Palliser; and then that matter was settled.

But Mr Grey did not wait till dinnertime to see Alice. Early in the morning his card was brought up, and

"Indeed I shall go," said her ladyship. I know what's proper on these occasions, if you don't."

So she went, whisking herself along the passages with a little run; and Mr Grey, as he was shown into her

ladyship's usual sittingroom, saw the skirt of her ladyship's dress as she whisked herself off towards her

"I told you I should come," he said, with his ordinary sweet smile. "I told you that I should follow you, and

He took her hand, and held it, pressing it warmly. She hardly knew with what words first to address him, or

"Well you hope what?" "I hope you have had some better cause for travelling than a desire to see me?"

"No, dearest; no. I have had no better cause, and, indeed, none other. I have come on purpose to see you; and

had Mr Palliser taken you off to Asia or Africa, I think I should have felt myself compelled to follow him.

"Because I love you. You see what a plainspoken John Bull I am, and how I come to the point at once. I

want you to be my wife; and they say that perseverance is the best way when a man has such a want as that."

"You ought not to want it," she said, whispering the words as though she were unable to speak them out loud.

"I am the best judge of that, Alice. You have to make up your mind whether I am fit to be your husband."

"You would be disgraced if you were to take me, after all that has passed after what I have done. What

"Other men, I hope, would be just enough to say, that when I had made up my mind, I was tolerably constant

"As far as the forgiveness goes, they would tell the truth. But, indeed, Alice, I don't very much care what men

"But I care, Mr Grey and though you may forgive me, I cannot forgive myself. Indeed I know now, as I

have known all along, that I am not fit to be your wife. I am not good enough. And I have done that which

makes me feel that I have no right to marry any one." These words she said, jerking out the different

sentences almost in convulsions; and when she had come to the end of them, the tears were streaming down

her cheeks. "I have thought about it, and I will not. I will not. After what has passed, I know that it will be

Soon after that she left him, not, however, till she had told him that she would meet him again at dinner, and

had begged him to treat her simply as a friend. "In spite of everything, I hope that we may always be friends

dear friends," she said, "I hope we may," he answered the very dearest." And then he left her.

In the afternoon he again encountered Mr Palliser, and having thought over the matter since his interview

with Alice, he resolved to tell his whole story to his new acquaintance not in order that he might ask for

counsel from him, for in this matter he wanted no man's advice but that he might get some assistance. So

the two men walked off together, up the banks of the clearflowing Reuss, and Mr Palliser felt the comfort of

"I have always liked her," said Mr Palliser, though, to tell the truth, I have twice been very angry with her."

"And my anger was in both instances unjust. You may imagine how great is my confidence in her, when I

have thought she was the best companion my wife could have for a long journey, taken under circumstances

So great had been the desolation of Mr Palliser's life since his banishment from London that he almost felt

tempted to tell the story of his troubles to this absolute stranger. But he bethought himself of the blood of the

Pallisers, and refrained. There are comforts which royalty may never enjoy, and luxuries in which such men

"About her and her character I have no doubt in the world," said Grey. "In all that she has done I think that I

have seen her motives; and though I have not approved of them, I have always known them to be pure and

unselfish. She has done nothing that I did not forgive as soon as it was done. Had she married that man, I

should have forgiven her even that though I should have known that all her future life was destroyed, and

much of mine also. I think I can make her happy if she will marry me, but she must first be taught to forgive

herself. Living as she is with you, and with your wife, she may, perhaps, just now be more under your

influence and your wife's than she can possibly be under mine." Whereupon, Mr Palliser promised that he

Mr Palliser said that he was sure she did, though what ground he had for such assurance I am quite unable to

surmise. He was probably desirous of saying the most civil thing which occurred to him.

The little dinnerparty that evening was pleasant enough, and nothing more was said about love. Lady

Glencora talked nonsense to Mr Grey, and Mr Palliser contradicted all the nonsense which his wife talked.

But this was all done in such a way that the evening passed away pleasantly. It was tacitly admitted among

them that Mr Grey was to be allowed to come among them as a friend, and Lady Glencora managed to say

one word to him aside, in which she promised to give him her most cordial cooperation.

We must go back for a few pages to scenes which happened in London during this summer, so that the reader

may understand Mr Grey's position when he reached Lucerne. He had undergone another quarrel with George

It has been already said that George Vavasor lost his election for the Chelsea Districts, after all the money

which he had spent money which he had been so ill able to spend, and on which he had laid his hands in a

manner so disreputable! He had received two thousand pounds from the bills which Alice had executed on his

behalf or rather, had received the full value of three out of the four bills, and a part of the value of the

fourth, on which he had been driven to raise what immediate money he had wanted by means of a Jew

billdiscounter. One thousand pounds he had paid over at once into the hands of Mr Scruby, his

Parliamentary election agent, towards the expenses of his election; and when the day of polling arrived had

exactly in his hands the sum of five hundred pounds. Where he was to get more when this was gone he did

not know. If he were successful if the enlightened constituents of the Chelsea Districts, contented with his

efforts on behalf of the River Bank, should again send him to Parliament, he thought that he might still carry

on the war. A sum of ready money he would have in hand; and, as to his debts, he would be grandly

indifferent to any consideration of them. Then there might be pickings in the way of a Member of Parliament

of his calibre. Companies mercantile companies would be glad to have him as a director, paying him a

guinea a day, or perhaps more, for his hour's attendance. Railways in want of vicechairmen might bid for his

services; and in the City he might turn that "M.P." which belonged to him to good accountin various ways.

With such a knowledge of the City world as he possessed, he thought that he could pick up a living in

But what was he to do if he could not retain it? No sooner had Mr Scruby got the thousand pounds into his

clutches than he pressed for still more money. George Vavasor, with some show of justice on his side,

pointed out to this alldevouring agent that the sum demanded had already been paid. This Mr Scruby

admitted, declaring that he was quite prepared to go on without any further immediate remittance, although

by doing so he might subject himself to considerable risk. But another five hundred pounds, paid at once,

would add greatly to the safety of the seat; whereas eight hundred judiciously thrown in at the present

moment would make the thing quite secure. But Vavasor swore to himself that he would not part with

another shilling. Never had he felt such love for money as he did for that five hundred pounds which he now

held in his pocket. "It's no use," he said to Mr Scruby. "I have done what you asked, and would have done

more had you asked for more at that time. As it is, I cannot make another payment before the election." Mr

Scruby shrugged his shoulders, and said that he would do his best. But George Vavasor soon knew that the

man was not doing his best that the man had, in truth, abandoned his cause. The landlord of The

Handsome Man jeered him when he went there canvassing. "Laws, Mr Vavasor!" said the landlord of The

Handsome Man, "you're not at all the fellow for us chaps along the river you ain't. You're afraid to come

down with the stumpy that's what you are." George put his hand upon his purse, and acknowledged to

For the last five days of the affair George Vavasor knew that his chance was gone. Mr Scruby's face, manner,

and words, told the result of the election as plainly as any subsequent figures could do. He would be absent

when Vavasor called, or the clerk would say that he was absent. He would answer in very few words,

constantly shrugging his shoulders. He would even go away and leave the anxious candidate while he was in

the middle of some discussion as to his plans. It was easy to see that Mr Scruby no longer regarded him as a

successful man, and the day of the poll showed very plainly how right Mr Scruby had been.

George Vavasor was rejected, but he still had his five hundred pounds in his pocket. Of course he was subject

to that mortification which a man feels when he reflects that some little additional outlay would have secured

his object. Whether it might have been so, or not, who can say? But there he was, with the gateway between

the lamps barred against him, exMember of Parliament for the Chelsea Districts, with five hundred pounds

in his pocket, and little or nothing else that he could call his own. What was he to do with himself?

After trying to make himself heard upon the hustings when he was rejected, and pledging himself to stand

again at the next election, he went home to his lodgings in Cecil Street, and endeavoured to consider calmly

his position in the world. He had lost his inheritance. He had abandoned one profession after another, and was

now beyond the pale of another chance in that direction. His ambition had betrayed him, and there were no

longer possible to him any hopes of political activity. He had estranged from himself every friend that he had

ever possessed. He had driven from him with violence the devotion even of his sister. He had robbed the girl

whom he intended to marry of her money, and had so insulted her that no feeling of amity between them was

any longer possible. He had nothing now but himself and that five hundred pounds, which he still held in his

pocket. What should he do with himself and his money? He thought over it all with outer calmness for

From the moment in which he had first become convinced that the election would go against him, and that he

was therefore ruined on all sides, he had resolved that he would be calm amidst his ruin. Sometimes he

assumed a little smile, as though he were laughing at his own position. Mr Bott's day of rejection had come

before his own, and he had written to Mr Bott a drolling note of consolation and mock sympathy. He had

shaken hands with Mr Scruby, and had poked his fun at the agent, bidding him be sure to send in his little bill

soon. To all who accosted him, he replied in a subrisive tone; and he bantered Calder Jones, whose seat was

quite sure, till Calder Jones began to have fears that were quite unnecessary. And now, as he sat himself

down, intending to come to some final decision as to what he would do, he maintained the same calmness. He

smiled in the same way, though there was no one there to see the smile. He laughed even audibly once or

twice, as he vainly endeavoured to persuade himself that he was able to regard the world and all that

There came to him a moment in which he laughed out very audibly. "Ha! ha!" he shouted, rising up from his

chair, and he walked about the room, holding a large paperknife in his hand. "Ha! ha!" Then he threw the

knife away from him, and thrusting his hands into his trouserpockets, laughed again "Ha! ha!" He stood

still in the centre of the room, and the laughter was very plainly visible on his face, had there been anybody

But suddenly there was a change upon his face, as he stood there all alone, and his eyes became fierce, and

the cicatrice that marred his countenance grew to be red and ghastly, and he grinned with his teeth, and he

clenched his fists as he still held them within his pockets. "Curse him!" he said out loud. Curse him, now and

for ever!" He had broken down in his calmness, when he thought of that old man who had opposed him

during his life, and had ruined him at his death. "May all the evils which the dead can feel cling to him for

ever and ever!" His laughter was all gone, and his assumed tranquillity had deserted him. Walking across the

room, he struck his foot against a chair; upon this, he took the chair in his hands, and threw it across the

room. But he hardly arrested the torrent of his male dictions as he did so. What good was it that he should lie

to himself by that mock tranquillity, or that false laughter? He lied to himself no longer, but uttered a song of

despair that was true enough. What should he do? Where should he go? From what fountain should he

attempt to draw such small draughts of the water of comfort as might support him at the present moment?

Unless a man have some such fountain to which he can turn, the burden of life cannot be borne. For the

moment, Vavasor tried to find such fountain in a bottle of brandy which stood near him. He halffilled a

tumbler, and then, dashing some water on it, swallowed it greedily. "By !" he said, "I believe it is the best

But where was he to go? to whom was he to turn himself? He went to a high desk which stood in one corner

of the room, and unlocking it, took out a revolving pistol, and for a while carried it about with him in his

hand. He turned it up, and looked at it, and tried the lock, and snapped it without caps, to see that the barrel

went round fairly. "It's a beggarly thing to do," he said, and then he turned the pistol down again; "and if I do

do it, I'll use it first for another purpose." Then he poured out for himself more brandy and water, and having

But he did not sleep, and by and by there came a slight single knock at the door, which he instantly answered.

But he did not answer it in the usual way by bidding the comer to come in. "Who'sthere?" he said. Then the

comer attempted to enter, turning the handle of the door. But the door had been locked, and the key was on

Vavasor's side. "Who's there?" he asked again, speaking out loudly, but in an angry voice. "It is I," said a

The woman heard him, but she made no sign of having heard him. She simply remained standing where she

was till something further should be done within. She knew the man well, and knew that she must bide his

time. She was very patient and for the time was meek, though it might be that there would come an end to

her meekness. Vavasor, when he had heard her voice, and knew who was there, had again thrown himself on

to the sofa. There flashed across his mind another thought or two as to his future career another idea about

the pistol, which still lay upon the table. Why should he let the intruder in, and undergo the nuisance of a

disagreeable interview, if the end of all things might come in time to save him from such trouble? There he

lay for ten minutes thinking, and then the low single knock was heard again. He jumped upon his feet, and his

eyes were full of fire. He knew that it was useless to bid her go and leave him. She would sit there, if it were

through the whole night. Should he open the door and strangle her, and pass out over her with the pistol in his

hand, so that he might make that other reckoning which he desired to accomplish, and then never come back

He took a turn through the room, and then walked gently up to the door, and undid the lock. He did not open

the door, nor did he bid his visitor enter, but having made the way easy for her if she chose to come in, he

walked back to the sofa and threw himself on it again. As he did so, he passed his hand across the table so as

to bring the pistol near to himself at the place where he would be lying. She paused a moment after she had

heard the sound of the key, and then she made her way into the room. He did not at first speak to her. She

closed the door very gently, and then, looking around, came up to the foot of the sofa. She paused a moment,

waiting for him to address her; but as he said nothing, but lay there looking at her, she was the first to speak.

She was a woman of about thirty years of age, dressed poorly, in old garments, but still with decency, and

with some attempt at feminine prettiness. There were flowers in the bonnet on her head, though the bonnet

had that unmistakable look of age which is quite as distressing to bonnets as it is to women, and the flowers

themselveswere battered and faded. She had long black ringlets on each cheek, hanging down much below

her face, and brought forward so as to hide in some degree the hollowness of her jaws. Her eyes had a

peculiar brightness, but now they left on those who looked at her cursorily no special impression as to their

colour. They had been blue that dark violet blue, which is so rare, but is sometimes so lovely. Her

forehead was narrow, her mouth was small, and her lips were thin; but her nose was perfect in its shape, and,

by the delicacy of its modelling, had given a peculiar grace to her face in the days when things had gone well

with her, when her cheeks had been full with youth and good living, and had been dimpled by the softness of

love and mirth. There were no dimples there now, and all the softness which still remained was that softness

which sorrow and continual melancholy give to suffering women. On her shoulders she wore a light shawl,

which was fastened on her bosom with a large clasp brooch. Her faded dress was supported by a wide

crinoline, but the under garment had lost all the grace of its ancient shape, and now told that woman's tale of

poverty and taste for dress which is to be read in the outward garb of so many of Eve's daughters. The whole

story was told so that those who ran might read it. When she had left her home this afternoon, she had

struggled hard to dress herself so that something of the charm of apparel might be left to her; but she had

known of her own failure at every twist that she had given to her gown, and at every jerk with which she had

settled her shawl. She had despaired at every push she had given to her old flowers, vainly striving to bring

them back to their old forms; but still she had persevered. With long tedious care she had mended the old

gloves which would hardly hold her fingers. She had carefully hidden the rags of her sleeves. She had washed

her little shrivelled collar, and had smoothed it out painfully. It had been a separate grief to her that she could

find no cuffs to put round her wrists and yet she knew that no cuffs could have availed her anything.

Nothing could avail her now. She expected nothing from her visit; yet she had come forth anxiously, and

would have waited there throughout the whole night had access to his room been debarred to her. "George,"

As he lay there with his face turned towards her, the windows were at her back, and he could see her very

plainly. He saw and appreciated the little struggles she had made to create by her appearance some

reminiscence of her former self. He saw the shining coarseness of the long ringlets which had once been

softer than silk. He saw the sixpenny brooch on her bosom where he had once placed a jewel, the price of

which would now have been important to him. He saw it all, and lay there for a while, silently reading it.

"That's all very well, George. I know you don't want me to stand here. I know you don't want to see me ever

"I know it. Of course I know it. But what am I to do? Where am I to go for money? Even you would not wish

"That's true, too. I certainly would not wish it. I should be delighted to hear that you had plenty to eat and

plenty to drink, and plenty of clothes to wear. I believe that's what you care for the most, after all."

"Well I did like it; but that has come to an end, as have all my other likings. You know very well that I

can do nothing more for you. What good do you do yourself by coming here to annoy me? Have I not told

you over and over again that you were never to look for me here? It is likely that I should give you money

"Why should you have found me at all? I don't want you to find me. I shall give you nothing not a penny.

You know very well that we've had all that out before. When I put you into business I told you that we were

"Business!" she said. I never could make enough out of the shop to feed a bird."

"That wasn't my fault. Putting you there cost me over a hundred pounds, and you consented to take the

"I didn't consent. I was obliged to go there because you took my other home away from me."

"Have it as you like, my dear. That was all I could do for you and more than most men would have done,

when all things are considered." Then he got up from the sofa, and stood himself on the hearthrug, with his

"At any rate, you may be sure of this, Jane that I shall do nothing more. You have come here to torment

"I have nothing for you. Now go;" and he pointed to the door.Nevertheless, for more than three years of his

life this woman had been his closest companion, his nearest friend, the being with whom he was most

familiar. He had loved her according to his fashion of loving, and certainly she had loved him. "Go," he said,

repeating the word very angrily. "Do as I bid you, or it will be the worse for you."

"No I will give you nothing. I have desired you not to come to me here, and I will not pay you for

"Then I will not go;" and the woman sat down upon a chair at the foot of the table. "I will not go till you have

given me something to buy food. You may put me out of the room if you can, but I will lie at the door of the

"Let them. It has come to that with me, that I care for nothing. Out of this I will not go till you give me

And for this she had dressed herself with so much care, mending her gloves, and darning her little fragments

of finery! He stood looking at her, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets looking at her and thinking

what he had better do to rid himself of her presence. If he even quite resolved to take that little final journey

of which we have spoken, with the pistol in his hand, why should he not go and leave her there? Or, for the

matter of that, why should he not make her his heir to all remainder of his wealth? What he still had left was

sufficient to place her in a seventh heaven of the earth. He cared but little for her, and was at this moment

angry with her; but there was no one for whom he cared more, and no friend with whom he was less angry.

But then his mind was not quite made up as to that final journey. Therefore he desired to rid himself and his

room of the nuisance of her presence. "Jane," he said, looking at her again with that assumed tranquillity of

"Perhaps it may be a comfort to you in your troubles to know that I am, at any rate, as badly off as you are? I

won't say that I am starving, because I could get food to eat at this moment if I wanted it; but I am utterly

ruined. My property what should have been mine has been left away from me. I have lost the trumpery

seat in Parliament for which I have paid so much. All my relations have turned their backs upon me "

"Are you not going to be married?" said she, rising quickly from her chair and coming close to him.

"Married! No but I am going to blow my brains out. Look at that pistol, my girl. Of course you won't

She looked up into his face piteously. "Oh! George," she said, "you won't do that?"

"But I shall do that. There is nothing else left for me to do. You talk to me about starving. I tell you that I

should have no objection to be starved, and so be put an end to in that way. It's not so bad as some other ways

when it comes gradually. You and I, Jane, have not played our cards very well. We have staked all that we

had, and we've been beaten. It's no good whimpering after what's lost. We'd better go somewhere else and

"George," she said, I'll go anywhere with you. If what you say is true if you're not going to be married,

and will let me come to you, I will work for you like a slave. I will indeed. I know I'm poorly looking now

"My girl, where I'm going, I shall not want any slave; and as for your looks when you go there too

"Wherever people do go when their brains are knocked out of them; or, rather, when they have knocked out

"George,' she came up to him now, and took hold of him by the front of his coat, and for the moment he

allowed her to do so "George, you frighten me. Do not do that. Say that you will not do that!"

"I have, my poor girl. I don't know much about your wickedness. I've been like Topsy indeed I am a kind

"It isn't over; it isn't over at any rate for you." "I wish I knew how I could begin again. But all this is

"I don't suppose I shall do it tonight or, perhaps, not tomorrow. Very probably I may allow myself a week,

so that your staying here can do no good. I merely wanted to make you understand that you are not the only

"Yes; I think you'd better go now." Then she rose and went, and he let her leave the room without giving her

a shilling! His bantering tone, in speaking of his own position, had been successful. It had caused her to take

herself off quietly. She knew enough of his usual manner to be aware that his threats of selfdestruction were

probably unreal; but, nevertheless, what he had said had created some feeling in her heart which had induced

It was nearly seven o'clock in the evening a hot, July evening when the woman went from Vavasor's

room, and left him there alone. It was necessary that he should immediately do something. In the first place

he must dine, unless he meant to carry out his threat, and shoot himself at once. But he had no such intention

as that, although he stood for some minutes with the pistol in his hand. He was thinking then of shooting

someone else. But he resolved that, if he did so at all he would not do it on that evening, and he locked up

the pistol again in the standing desk. After that, he took up some papers, referring to steam packets, which

were lying on his table. They contained the programmes of different companies, and showed how one vessel

went on one day to New York, and another on another day would take out a load of emigrants for New

Zealand and Australia. "That's a good line," said he, as he read a certain prospectus. "They generally go to the

bottom, and save a man from any further trouble on his own account." Then he dressed himself, putting on

London was still fairly full that is to say, the West End was not deserted, although Parliament had been

broken up two months earlier than usual, in preparation for the new elections. Many men who had gone down

into the country were now back again in town, and the diningroom at the club was crowded. Men came up

to him condoling with him, telling him that he was well rid of a great nuisance, that the present Members for

the Chelsea Districts would not sit long, or that there would be another general election in a year or two. To

all these little speeches he made cheerful replies, and was declared by his acquaintance to bear his

disappointment well. Calder Jones came to him and talked hunting talk, and Vavasor expressedhis intention

of being at Roebury in November. "You had better join our club," said Calder Jones. In answer to which

Vavasor said that he thought he would join the club. He remained in the smokingroom till nearly eleven;

then he took himself home, and remained up half the night destroying papers. Every written document on

which he could lay his hands he destroyed. All the pigeonholes of his desk were emptied out, and their

contents thrown into the flames. At first he looked at the papers before he burned them; but the trouble of

doing so soon tired him, and he condemned them all, as he came to them, without examination. Then he

selected a considerable amount of his clothes, and packed up two portmanteaus, folding his coats with care,

and inspecting his boots narrowly, so that he might see which, out of the large number before him, it might be

best worth his while to take with him. When that was done, he took from his desk a bag of sovereigns, and,

pouring them out upon the table, he counted them out into parcels of twentyfive each, and made them up

carefully into rouleaus with paper. These, when complete, he divided among the two portmanteaus and a

dressingbag which he also packed and a travelling desk, which he filled with papers, pens, and the like. But

he put into it no written document. He carefully looked through his linen, and anything that had been marked

with more than his initials he rejected. Then he took out a bundle of printed cards, and furnished a cardcase

with them. On these cards was inscribed the name of Gregory Vance. When all was finished, he stood for

awhile with his back to the fireplace contemplating his work. "After all," he said to himself, "I know that I

shall never start; and, if I do, nobody can hinder me, and my own name would be as good as any other. As for

a man with such a face as mine not being known, that is out of the question." But still he liked the

arrangements which he had made, and when he had looked at them for awhile he went to bed.

He was up early the next morning, and had some coffee brought to him by the servant of the house, and as he

drank it he had an interview with his landlady. "He was going," he said "going that very day." It might be

possible that he would change his mind; but as he would desire to start without delay, if he did go, he would

pay her then what he owed her, and what would be due for her lodgings under a week's notice. The woman

stared, and curtseyed, and took her money. Vavasor, though he had lately been much pressed for money, had

never been so foolish as to owe debts where he lived. "There will be some things left about, Mrs Bunsby," he

said, "and I will get you to keep them till I call or send." Mrs Bunsby said that she would, and then looked her

When he was left alone he put on a rough morning coat, and taking up the pistol, placed it carefully in his

pocket, and sallied forth. It was manifest enough that he had some decided scheme in his head, for he turned

quickly towards the West when he reached the Strand, went across Trafalgar Square to Pall Mall East, and

then turned up Suffolk Street. Just as he reached the clubhouse at the corner he paused and looked back,

facing first one way and then the other. "The chances are that I shall never see anything of it again," he said

to himself. Then he laughed in his own silent way, shook his head slightly, and turning again quickly on his

heel, walked up the street till he reached the house of Mr Jones, the pugilistic tailor. The reader, no doubt, has

forgotten all he ever knew of Mr Jones, the pugilistic tailor. It can soon be told again. At Mr Jones's house

Vavasor rang the bell, and as soon as the servant came he went quickly into the house, and passed her in the

passage. "Mr Grey is at home," he said. "I will go up to him. The girl said that Mr Grey was at home, but

suggested that she had better announce the gentleman. But Vavasor was already halfway up the stairs, and

before the girl had reached the first landingplace, he had entered Mr Grey's room and closed the door behind

Grey was sitting near the open window, in a dressinggown, and was reading. The breakfast things were on

the table, but he had not as yet breakfasted. As soon as he saw George Vavasor, he rose from his chair

quickly, and put down his book. "Mr Vavasor," he said, I hardly expected to see you in my lodgings again!"

"I dare say not," said Vavasor; but, nevertheless, here I am." He kept his right hand in the pocket which held

"I intend to tell you, at any rate, whether you ask me or not. I have come here to declare in your own hearing

as I am in the habit of doing occasionally behind your back that you are a blackguard to spit in your

face, and defy you." As he said this he suited his action to his words, but without any serious result. "I have

come here to see if you are man enough to resent any insult that I can offer you; but I doubt whether you are."

"Nothing that you can say to me, Mr Vavasor, will have any effect upon me except that you can, of

"Look here, Mr Grey. You managed to worm yourself into an intimacy with my cousin, Miss Vavasor, and to

become engaged to her. When she found out what you were, how paltry, and mean, and vile, she changed her

"Then, sir, you think wrong. I am at this moment her affianced husband; and I find that, in spite of all that she

has said to you which was enough, I should have thought, to keep any man of spirit out of her presence

you still persecute her by going to her house, and forcing yourself upon her presence. Now, I give you two

alternatives. You shall either give me your written promise never to go near her again, or you shall fight me."

"Stop till I have done, sir. If you have courage enough to fight me, I will meet you in any country. I will fight

you here in London, or, if you are afraid of that, I will go over to France, or to America, if that will suit you

"Nothing of the kind will suit me at all. I don't want to have anything to do with you."

"You are a coward, and a liar, and a blackguard. I have given you the option of behaving like a gentleman,

and you have refused it. Now, look here. I have come here with arms, and I do not intend to leave this room

without using them, unless you will promise to give me the meeting that I have proposed." And he took the

"Do you mean that you are going to murder me?" Grey asked. There were two windows in the room, and he

had been sitting near to that which was furthest removed from the fireplace, and consequently furthest

removed from the bell, and his visitor wasnow standing immediately between him and the door. He had to

think what steps he might best take, and to act upon his decision instantly. He was by no means a timid man,

and was one, moreover, very little prone to believe in extravagant action. He did not think, even now, that

this disappointed, ruined man had come there with any intention of killing him. But he knew that a pistol in

the hands of an angry man is dangerous, and that it behoved him to do his best to rid himself of the nuisance

which now encumbered him. "Do you mean that you are going to murder me?" he had said.

"I mean that you shall not leave this room alive unless you promise to meet me, and fight it out." Upon

hearing this, Grey turned himself towards the bell, "If you move a step, I will fire at you," said Vavasor. Grey

"Don't think that you will frighten me by ugly words," said Vavasor, "I am beyond that."

Grey had stopped for a moment to fix his eyes on the other man's face; but it was only for a moment, and then

he went on to the bell. He had seen that the pistol was pointed at himself, and had once thought of rushing

across the room at his adversary, calculating that a shot fired at him as he did so might miss him, and that he

would then have a fair chance of disarming the madman. But his chief object was to avoid any personal

conflict, to escape the indignity of a scramble for the pistol and especially to escape the necessity of a

consequent appearance at some police office, where he would have to justify himself, and answer the

questions of a lawyer hired to crossquestion him. He made, therefore, towards the bell, trusting that Vavasor

would not fire at him, but having some little thought also as to the danger of the moment. It might be that

everything was over for him now that the fatal hour had come, and that eternity was close upon him.

Something of the spirit of a prayer flashed across his mind as he moved. Then he heard the click of the

pistol's hammer as it fell, and was aware that his eyes were dazzled, though he was unconscious of seeing any

flame. He felt something in the air, and knew that the pistol had been fired but he did not know whether

the shot had struck him or had missed him. His hand was out for the bellhandle, and he had pulled it, before

"D ation!" exclaimed the murderer. But he did not pull the trigger again. Though the weapon had of late

been so often in hishands, he forgot, in the agitation of the moment, that his missing once was but of small

matter if he chose to go on with his purpose. Were there not five other barrels for him, each making itself

ready by the discharge of the other? But he had paused, forgetting, in his excitement, the use of his weapon,

and before he had bethought himself that the man was still in his power, he heard the sound of the bell. "D

ation!" he exclaimed. Then he turned round, left the room, hurried down the stairs, and made his way out into

Grey, when he perceived that his enemy was gone, turned round to look for the bullet or its mark. He soon

found the little hole in the windowshutter, and probing it with the point of his pencil, came upon the morsel

of lead which might now just as readily have been within his own brain. There he left it for the time, and then

made some not inaccurate calculation as to the narrowness of his own escape. He had been standing directly

between Vavasor and the shutter, and he found, from the height of the hole, that the shot must have passed

close beneath his ear. He remembered to have heard the click of the hammer, but he could not remember the

sound of the report, and when the girl entered the room, he perceived at once from her manner that she was

"Has that gentleman left the house?" Grey asked. The girl said that he had left the house. "Don't admit him

again," said he "that is, if you can avoid it. I believe he is not in his right senses." Then he asked for Mr

During those few minutes he had been called upon to resolve what he would do now. Would he put the police

at once upon the track of the murderer, who was, as he remembered too well, the first cousin of the woman

whom he still desired to make his wife? That crossexamination which he would have to undergo at the

police office, and again probably in an assize court, in which all his relations with the Vavasor family would

be made public, was very vivid to his imagination. That he was called upon by duty to do something he felt

almost assured. The man who had been allowed to make such an attempt once with impunity, might probably

make it again. But he resolved that he need not now say anything about the pistol to the pugilistic tailor,

"Mr Jones," he said, that man whom I had to put out of the room once before, has been here again." "Has

"No nothing of that kind. But we must take some steps to prevent his getting in again, if we can help it."

Jones promised his aid, and offered to go at once to the police. To this, however, Mr Grey demurred, saying

that he should himself seek assistance from some magistrate, Jones promised to be very vigilant as to

watching the door; and then John Grey sat down to his breakfast. Of course he thought much of what had

occurred. It was impossible that he should not think much of so narrow an escape. He had probably been as

near death as a man may well be without receiving any injury; and the more he thought of it, the more

strongly he was convinced that he could not allow the thing to pass by without some notice, or some

precaution as to the future. At eleven o'clock he went to Scotland Yard, and saw some officer great in power

over policemen, and told him all the circumstances confidentially. The powerful officer recommended an

equally confidential reference to a magistrate; and towards evening a very confidential policeman in plain

clothes paid a visit to Vavasor's lodgings in Cecil Street. But Vavasor lodged there no longer. Mrs Bunsby,

who was also very confidential and at her wits' end because she could not learn the special business of the

stranger who called stated that Mr George Vavasor left her house in a cab at ten o'clock that morning,

having taken with him such luggage as he had packed, and having gone, "she was afraid, for good," as Mrs

He had gone for good, and at the moment in which the policeman was making the inquiry in Cecil Street, was

leaning over the side of an American steamer which had just got up her steam and weighed her anchor in the

Mersey. He was on board at six o'clock, and it was not till the next day that the cabman was traced who had

carried him to the Euston Square Station. Of course, it was soon known that he had gone to America, but it

was not thought worth while to take any further steps towards arresting him. Mr Grey himself was decidedly

opposed to any such attempt, declaring his opinion that his own evidence would be insufficient to obtain a

conviction. The big men in Scotland Yard were loath to let the matter drop. Their mouths watered after the

job, and they had very numerous and very confidential interviews with John Grey. But it was decided that

nothing should be done. "Pity!" said one enterprising superintendent, in answer to the condolings of a brother

superintendent. "Pity's no name for it. It's the greatest shame as ever I knew since I joined the force. A man as

was a Member of Parliament only last Session as belongs to no end of swell clubs, a gent as well known

in London as any gent about the town! And I'd have had him back in three months, as sure as my name's

Walker." And that superintendent felt that his profession and his country were alike disgraced.

And now George Vavasor vanishes from our pages, and will be heard of no more. Roebury knew him no

longer, nor Pall Mall, nor the Chelsea Districts. His disappearance was a nine days' wonder, but the world at

large knew nothing of the circumstances of that attempt in Suffolk Street. Mr Grey himself told the story to

no one, till he told it to Mr Palliser at Lucerne. Mr Scruby complained bitterly of the way in which Vavasor

had robbed him; but I doubt whether Scruby, in truth, lost much by the transaction. To Kate, down in

Westmoreland, no tidings came of her brother, and her sojourn in London with her aunt had nearly come to

an end before she knew that he was gone. Even then the rumour reached her through Captain Bellfield, and

"He was always mysterious," said Mrs Greenow, and now he has vanished. I hate mysteries, and, as for

myself, I think it will be much better that he should not come back again." Perhaps Kate was of the same

It was not till they had been for a day or two together at Lucerne that Mr Grey told Mr Palliser the story of

George Vavasor's visit to him in Suffolk Street. Having begun the history of his connection with Alice, he

found himself obliged to go with it to the end, and as he described the way in which the man had vanished

from the sight of all who had known him,that he had in truth gone, so as no longer to be a cause of dread, he

could not without dissimulation keep back the story of that last scene. "And he tried to murder you!" said Mr

Palliser. He should be caught and and " Mr Palliser hesitated, not liking to say boldly that the first

"He actually walked into your rooms in the day time, and fired a pistol at you as you were sitting at your

breakfast! He did that in London, and then walked off and went abroad, as though he had nothing to fear!"

Mr Palliser began to think that something ought to be done to make life more secure in the metropolis of the

world. Had he not known Mr Grey, or been accustomed to see the other man in Parliament, he would not

have thought so much about it. But it was almost too much for him when he reflected that one man whom he

now called his friend had been nearly murdered in daylight, in the heart of his own part of London, by

another man whom he had reckoned among his Parliamentary supporters. "And he has got your money too!"

said Palliser, putting all the circumstances of the case together. In answer to this Mr Grey said that he hoped

the loss might eventually be his own; but that he was bound to regard the money which had been taken as part

of Miss Vavasor's fortune. "He is simply the greatest miscreant of whom I ever heard in my life," said Mr

Palliser. "The wonder is that Miss Vavasor should ever have brought herself to to like him." Then Mr

Grey apologised for Alice, explaining that her love for her cousin had come from her early years; that the

man himself was clever and capable of assuming pleasant ways, and that he had not been wholly bad till ruin

had come upon him. "He attempted public life and made himself miserable by failing, as most men do who

make that attempt," said Grey. This was a statement which Mr Palliser could not allow to pass without notice.

Whereupon the two men got away from George Vavasor and their own individual interests, and went on

seriously discussing the merits and demerits of public life. "The end of it all is," said Grey at last, "that public

men in England should be rich like you, and not poor like that miserable wretch, who has now lost everything

They continued to live at Lucerne in this way for a fortnight. Mr Grey, though he was not infrequently alone

with Alice, did not plead his suit in direct words; but continued to live with her on terms of close and easy

friendship. He had told her that her cousin had left England that he had gone to America immediately after

his disappointment in regard to the seat in Parliament, and that he would probably not return. "Poor George!"

"He is a man very much to be pitied," Grey had replied. After that, nothing more was said between them

about George Vavasor. From Lady Glencora, Alice did hear something; but Lady Glencora herself had not

heard the whole story. "I believe he misbehaved himself, my dear," Lady Glencora said; "but then, you know,

he always does that. I believe that he saw Mr Grey and insulted him. Perhaps you had better not ask anything

about it till by and by. You'll be able to get anything out of him then." In answer to this Alice made her usual

I am inclined to think that Mr Grey knew what he was about. Lady Glencora once scolded him very

vehemently for not bringing the affair to an end. "We shall be going on to Italy before it's settled," she said;

"and I don't suppose you can go with us, unless it is settled." Mr Grey protested that he had no intention of

"Then it will be put off for another year or two, and you are both of you as old as Adam and Eve already."

"If I were you I would go to her and tell her, roundly, that she should marry me, and then I would shake her.

If you were to scold her, till she did not know whether she stood on her head or her heels, she would come to

"I can't. It's she that always scolds me as you will her, when she's your wife. You and Mr Palliser are very

much alike. You're both of you so very virtuous that no woman would have a chance of picking a hole in

But Lady Glencora was wrong. Alice would, no doubt, have submitted herself patiently to her lover's

rebukes, and would have confessed her own sins towards him with any amount of selfaccusation that he

might have required; but she would not, on that account, have been more willing to obey him in that one

point, as to which he now required present obedience. He understood that she must be taught to forgive

herself for the evil she had done to forgive herself, at any rate in part before she could be induced to

return to her old allegiance to him. Thus they went on together at Lucerne, passing quiet, idle days with

some pretence of reading, with a considerable amount of letterwriting, with boat excursions and pony

excursions till the pony excursions came to a sudden end by means of a violent edict, as to which, and the

cause of it, a word or two must be said just now. During these days of the boats and the ponies, the carriage

which Lady Glencora hated so vehemently was shut up in limbo, and things went very pleasantly with her.

Mr Palliser received political letters from England, which made his mouth water sadly, and was often very

fidgety. Parliament was not now sitting, and the Government would, of course, remain intact till next

February. Might it not be possible that when the rent came in the Cabinet, he might yet be present at the

darning? He was a constant man, and had once declared his intention of being absent for a year. He continued

to speak to Grey of his coming travels, as though it was impossible that they should be over until after the

next Easter. But he was sighing for Westminster, and regretting the blue books which were accumulating

themselves at Matching till on a sudden, there came to him tidings which upset all his plans which routed

the ponies, which made everything impossible, which made the Alps impassable and the railways dangerous,

which drove Burgo Fitzgerald out of Mr Palliser's head, and so confused him that he could no longer

calculate the blunders of the present Chancellor ofthe Exchequer. All the Palliser world was about to be

moved from its lowest depths, to the summits of its highest mountains, Lady Glencora had whispered into her

husband's ear that she thought it probable ; she wasn't sure she didn't know. And then she burst out into

He was beside himself when he left her, which he did with the primary intention of telegraphing to London

for half a dozen leading physicians. He went out by the lakeside, and walked there alone for ten minutes in a

state of almost unconscious exaltation. He did not quite remember where he was, or what he was doing. The

one thing in the world which he had lacked; the one joy which he had wanted so much, and which is so

common among men, was coming to him also. In a few minutes it was to him as though each hand already

rested on the fair head of a little male Palliser, of whom one should rule in the halls at Gatherum, and the

other be eloquent among the Commons of England. Hitherto for the last eight or nine months, since his

first hopes had begun to fade he had been a man degraded in his own sight amidst all his honours. What

good was all the world to him if he had nothing of his own to come after him? We must give him his due, too,

when we speak of this. He had not had wit enough to hide his grief from his wife; his knowledge of women

and of men in social life had not been sufficient to teach him how this should be done; but he had wished to

do it. He had never willingly rebuked her for his disappointment, either by a glance of his eye, or a tone of his

voice; and now he had already forgiven everything. Burgo Fitzgerald was a myth. Mrs Marsham should never

again come near her. Mr Bott was, of course, a thing abolished he had not even had the sense to keep his

seat in Parliament. Dandy and Flirt should feed on gilded corn, and there should be an artificial moon always

ready in the ruins. If only those d able saddleponies of Lucerne had not come across his wife's path! He

went at once into the yard and ordered that the ponies should be abolished sent away, one and all, to the

furthest confines of the canton; and then he himself inspected the cushions of the carriage. Were they dry? As

it was August in those days, and August at Lucerne is a warm month, it may be presumed that they were dry.

He then remembered that he had promised to send Alice up to his wife, and he hurried back into the house.

She was alone in the breakfastroom, waiting for him and for his wife. In these days, Mr Grey would usually

join them at dinner; but he seldom saw them before eleven or twelve o'clock in the day. Then he

wouldsaunter in and join Mr Palliser, and they would all be together till the evening. When the expectant

father of embryo dukes entered the room, Alice perceived at once that some matter was astir. His manner was

altogether changed, and he showed by his eye that he was eager and moved beyond his wont. "Alice," he

said, would you mind going up to Glencora's room? She wishes to speak to you." He had never called her

Alice before, and as soon as the word was spoken, he remembered himself and blushed,

"No she isn't ill. At least I think she had better not get up quite yet. Don't let her excite herself, if you can

"You called me Alice just now, Mr Palliser, and I took it as a great compliment."

He blushed again. "Did I? Very well. Then I'll do it again if you'll let me. But, if you please, do be as calm

with her as you can. She is so easily excited, you know. Of course, if there's anything she fancies, we'll take

care to get it for her; but she must be kept quiet." Upon this Alice left him, having had no moment of time to

guess what had happened, or was about to happen; and he was again alone, contemplating the future glories

of his house. Had he a thought for his poor cousin Jeffrey, whose nose was now so terribly out of joint? No,

indeed. His thoughts were all of himself, and the good things that were coming to him of the new world of

interest that was being opened for him. It would be better to him, this, than being Chancellor of the

Exchequer. He would rather have it in store for him to be father of the next Duke of Omnium, than make half

a dozen consecutive annual speeches in Parliament as to the ways and means, and expenditure of the British

nation! Could it be possible that this foreign tour had produced for him this good fortune? If so, how luckily

had things turned out! He would remember even that ball at Lady Monk's with gratitude. Perhaps a residence

abroad would be best for Lady Glencora at this particular period of her life. If so, abroad she should certainly

live. Before resolving, however, on anything permanently on this head, he thought that he might judiciously

consult those six firstrate London physicians, whom, in the first moment of his excitement, he had been

In the meantime Alice had gone up to the bedroom of the lady who was now to be the subject of so much

anxious thought. When she entered the room, her friend was up and in her dressinggown, lying on a sofa

which stood at the foot of the bed. "Oh, Alice, I'm so glad you've come," said Lady Glencora. "I do so want to

"He hasn't told you? But of course he wouldn't. How could he? But, Alice, how did he look? Did you observe

"I did observe something, and I think he was pleased. But what is it? He called me Alice. And seemed to be

quite unlike himself. But what is it? He told me that I was to come to you instantly."

"Oh, Alice, can't you guess?" Then suddenly Alice did guess the secret, and whispered her guess into Lady

Glencora's ear. "I suppose it is so," said Lady Glencora. "I know what they'll do. They'll kill me by fussing

over me. If I could go about my work like a washerwoman, I should be all right."

"I am so happy," she said, some two or three hours afterwards. "I won't deny that I am very happy. It seemed

as though I were destined to bring nothing but misery to everybody, and I used to wish myself dead so often.

"He says so but he seems to think that I oughtn't to travel above a mile and a half a day. When I talked of

going down the Rhine in one of the steamers, I thought he would have gone into a fit. When I asked him why,

he gave me such a look. I know he'll make a goose of himself and he'll make geese of us, too; which is

On that afternoon, as they were walking together, Mr Palliser told the important secret to his new friend, Mr

Grey. He could not deny himself the pleasure of talking about this great event. "It is a matter, you see, of such

"Indeed, it is," said Grey. Every man feels that when a child is about to be born to him." But this did not at all

"Yes," said he. That's of course. It is an important thing to everybody very important, no doubt. But, when

a man . You see, Grey, I don't think a man is a bit better because he is rich, or because he has a title; nor

do I think he is likely to be in any degree the happier. I am quite sure that he has no right to be in the slightest

"Men usually are very proud of such advantages," said Grey. "I don't think that I am; I don't, indeed. I am

proud of some things. Whenever I can manage to carry a point in the House, I feel very proud of it. I don't

think I ever knocked under to any one, and I am proud of that." Perhaps, Mr Palliser was thinking of a certain

time when his uncle the Duke had threatened him, and he had not given way to the Duke's threats. "But I

"But I do feel that a son to me is of more importance than it is to most men. A strong anxiety on the subject,

is, I think, more excusable in me than it might be in another. I don't know whether I quite make myself

"Oh, yes! When there's a dukedom and heaven knows how many thousands a year to be disposed of, the

"This property is so much more interesting to one, if one feels that all one does to it is done for one's own

"And yet," said Grey, of all the great plunderers of property throughout Europe, the Popes have been the most

From all this it may be seen that Mr Palliser and Mr Grey had become very intimate. Had chance brought

them together in London they might have met a score of times before Mr Palliser would have thought of

doing more than bowing to such an acquaintance. Mr Grey might have spent weeks at Matching, without

having achieved anything like intimacy with its noble owner. But things of that kind progress more quickly

abroad than they do at home. The deck of an ocean steamer, is perhaps the most prolific hotbed for the

growth of sudden friendships; but an hotel by the side of a Swiss lake does almost as well.

For some time after this Lady Glencora's conduct was frequently so indiscreet as to drive her husband almost

to frenzy. On the very day after the news had been communicated to him, she proposed a picnic, and made

the proposition not only in the presence of Alice, but in that of Mr Grey also! Mr Palliser, on such an

"And shall we make this party up to the chapel?" The chapel in question was Tell's chapel, ever so far up

"You needn't be angry about it," said she as though he could have failed to be stirred by such a proposition

at such a time. On another occasion she returned from an evening walk, showing on her face some sign of the

"Good G ! Glencora," said he, do you mean to kill yourself?" He wanted her to eat six or seven times a

day; and always told her that she was eating too much, remembering some ancient proverb about little and

often. He watched her now as closely as Mrs Marsham and Mr Bott had watched her before; and she always

knew that he was doing so. She made the matter worse by continually proposing to do things which she knew

he would not permit, in order that she might enjoy the fun of seeing his agony and amazement. But this,

though it was fun to her at the moment, produced anything but fun, as its general result.

"Upon my word, Alice, I think this will kill me," she said. "I am not to stir out of the house now, unless I go

"I don't know what you call long. As for walking with him, it's out of the question. He goes about a mile an

hour. And then he makes me look so much like a fool. I had no idea that he would be such an old coddle.

"Don't be a fool! But if there is, I shall take that matter into my own hands. He can do what he pleases with

me, and I can't help myself; but I shan't let him or anybody do what they please with my baby. I know what

I'm about in such matters a great deal better than he does. I've no doubt he's a very clever man in Parliament;

Alice was making some very wise speech in answer to this, when Lady Glencora interrupted her.

"Mr Grey wouldn't make himself so troublesome, I'm quite sure." Then Alice held her tongue.

When the first consternation arising from the news had somewhat subsided say in a fortnight from the day

in which Mr Palliser was made so triumphant and when tidings had been duly sent to the Duke, and an

answer from his Grace had come, arrangements were made for the return of the party to England. The Duke's

Give my kind love to Glencora. If it's a boy, of course I will be one of the godfathers. The Prince, who is very

kind, will perhaps oblige me by being the other. I should advise you to return as soon as convenient.

That was the letter; and short as it was, it was probably the longest that Mr Palliser had ever received from

"Oh, what nonsense," said Glencora. Let us get into an express train, and go right through to London." Mr

Palliser looked at her with a countenance full of rebuke and sorrow. He was always so looking at her now. "If

you mean, Plantagenet, that we are to be dragged all across the Continent in that horrible carriage, and be a

"I wish I had never told him a word about it," she said afterwards to Alice. "He would never have found it out

Mr Palliser did at last consent to take the joint opinion of a Swiss doctor and an English one who was settled

at Berne; and who, on the occasion, was summoned to Lucerne. They suggested the railway; and as letters

arrived for Mr Palliser medical letters in which the same opinion was broached, it was agreed, at last,

that they should return by railway; but they were to make various halts on the road, stopping at each

haltingplace for a day. The first was, of course, Basle, and from Basle they were to go on to Baden.

"I particularly want to see Baden again," Lady Glencora said; "and perhaps I may be able to get back my

These arrangements as to the return of Mr Palliser's party to London did not, of course, include Mr Grey.

They were generally discussed in Mr Grey's absence, and communicated to him by Mr Palliser. "I suppose

we shall see you in England before long?" said Mr Palliser. "I shall be able to tell you that before you go,"

said Grey. "Not but that in any event I shall return to England before the winter."

"Then come to us at Matching," said Mr Palliser. We shall be most happy to have you. Say that you'll come

for the first fortnight in December. After that we always go to the Duke, in Barsetshire. Though, by the by, I

don't suppose we shall go anywhere this year," Mr Palliser added, interrupting the warmth of his invitation,

and reflecting that, under the present circumstances, perhaps, it might be improper to have any guests at

Matching in December. But he had become very fond of Mr Grey, and on this occasion, as he had done on

some others, pressed him warmly to make an attempt at Parliament. "It isn't nearly so difficult as you think,"

said he, when Grey declared that he would not know where to look for a seat. "See the men that get in. There

"Quiet little boroughs have usually got their own quiet little Members," said Grey.

"They're fond of change; and if you like to spend a thousand pounds, the thing isn't difficult. I'll put you in

the way of it." But Mr Grey still declined. He was not a man prone to be talked out of his own way of life,

and the very fact that George Vavasor had been in Parliament would of itself have gone far towards

preventing any attempt on his part in that direction. Alice had also wanted him togo into public life, but he

had put aside her request as though the thing were quite out of the question never giving a moment to its

consideration. Had she asked him to settle himself and her in Central Africa, his manner and mode of refusal

would have been the same. It was this immobility on his part this absolute want of any of the weakness of

indecision, which had frightened her, and driven her away from him. He was partly aware of this; but that

which he had declined to do at her solicitation, he certainly would not do at the advice of any one else. So it

was that he argued the matter with himself. Had he now allowed himself to be so counselled, with what

terrible acknowledgments of his own faults must he not have presented himself before Alice?

"I hope they will be my aids," Grey answered. I almost doubt whether any object such as that you mean is

necessary for life, or even expedient. It seems to me that if a man can so train himself that he may live

"He has done a great deal, certainly," said Mr Palliser, who was not ready enough to carry on the argument as

he might have done had more time been given to him to consider it. He knew very well that he himself was

working for others, and not for himself; and he was aware, though he had not analysed his own convictions

on the matter, that good men struggle as they do in order that others, besides themselves, may live honestly,

and, if possible, die fearlessly. The recluse of Nethercoats had thought much more about all this than the

rising star of the House of Commons; but the philosophy of the rising star was the better philosophy of the

two, though he was by far the less brilliant man. "I don't see why a man should not live honestly and be a

Member of Parliament as well," continued Mr Palliser, when he had been silent for a few minutes.

"Nor I either," said Grey. I am sure that there are such men, and that the country is under great obligation to

them. But they are subject to temptations which a prudent man like myself may perhaps do well to avoid."

But though he spoke with an assured tone, he was shaken, and almost regretted that he did not accept the aid

which was offered to him. It is astonishing how strong a man may be to those around him how

impregnable may be his exterior, while within he feels himself to be as weak as water, and as unstable as

But the object which he had now in view was a renewal of his engagement with Alice, and he felt that he

must obtain an answer from her before they left Lucerne. If she still persisted in refusing to give him her

hand, it would not be consistent with his dignity as a man to continue his immediate pursuit of her any longer.

In such case he must leave her, and see what future time might bring forth. He believed himself to be aware

that he would never offer his love to another woman; and if Alice were to remain single, he might try again,

after the lapse of a year or two. But if he failed now then, for that year or two, he would see her no more.

Having so resolved, and being averse to anything like a surprise, he asked her, as he left her one evening,

whether she would walk with him on the following morning. That morning would be the morning of her last

day at Lucerne; and as she assented she knew well what was to come. She said nothing to Lady Glencora on

the subject, but allowed the coming prospects of the Palliser family to form the sole subject of their

conversation that night, as it had done on every night since the great news had become known. They were

always together for an hour every evening before Alice was allowed to go to bed, and during this hour the

anxieties of the future father and mother were always discussed till Alice Vavasor was almost tired of them.

But she was patient with her friend, and on this special night she was patient as ever. But when she was

released and was alone, she made a great endeavour to come to some fixed resolution as to what she would

do on the morrow some resolution which should be absolutely resolute, and from which no eloquence on

the part of any one should move her. But such resolutions are not easily reached, and Alice laboured through

half the night almost in vain. She knew that she loved the man. She knew that he was as true to her as the sun

is true to the earth. She knew that she would be, in all respects, safe in his hands. She knew that Lady

Glencora would be delighted, and her father gratified. She knew that the countesses would open their arms to

her though I doubt whether this knowledge was in itself very persuasive. She knew that by such a

marriage she would gain all that women generally look to gain when they give themselves away. But,

nevertheless, as far as she could decide at all, she decided against her lover. She had no right of her own to be

taken back after the evil that she had done, and she did not choose to be taken back as an object of pity and

"Where are you going?" said her cousin, when she came in with her hat on, soon after breakfast.

"All that is settled I have told you very often. He asked me yesterday to walk with him this morning, and I

"I haven't said that I did wish it. But I hate scenes, and I think it would have been pleasanter for us to have

"Of course he is now going to say the very thing that he has come all this way for the purpose of saying. He

has been wonderfully slow about it; but then slow as he is, you are slower. If you don't make it up with him

now, I really shall think you can't understand it. I know you want to be his wife, and I know he wants to be

your husband, and the only thing that keeps you apart is your obstinacy just because you have said you

wouldn't have him. My belief is that if Lady Midlothian and the rest of us were to pat you on the back, and

tell you how right you were, you'd ask him to take you, out of defiance. You may be sure of this, Alice; if you

This, and much more of the same kind, she bore before Mr Grey came to take her, and she answered to it all

as little as she could. "You are making me very unhappy, Glencora," she said once. "I wish I could break you

down with unhappiness," Lady Glencora answered, "so that he might find you less stiff, and hard, and

unmanageable." Directly upon that he came in, looking as though he had no business on hand more exciting

than his ordinary morning's tranquil employments. Alice at once got up to start with him. "So you and Alice

are going to make your adieux," said Lady Glencora. "It must be done sooner or later," said Mr Grey; and

Those who know Lucerne and almost everybody now does know Lucerne will remember the big hotel

which has been built close to the landingpier of the steamers, and will remember also the church that stands

upon a little hill or rising ground, to the left of you, as you come out of the inn upon the lake. The church is

immediately over the lake, and round the church there is a buryingground, and skirting the buryingground

thereare cloisters, through the arches and apertures of which they who walk and sit there look down

immediately upon the blue water, and across the water upon the frowning menaces of Mount Pilate. It is one

of the prettiest spots in that land of beauty; and its charm is to my feeling enhanced by the sepulchral

monuments over which I walk, and by which I am surrounded, as I stand there. Up here, into these cloisters,

Alice and John Grey went together. I doubt whether he had formed any purpose of doing so. She certainly

would have gone without a question in any direction that he might have led her. The distance from the inn up

to the churchgate did not take them ten minutes, and when they were there their walk was over. But the

place was solitary, and they were alone; and it might be as well for Mr Grey to speak what words he had to

say there as elsewhere. They had often been together in those cloisters before, but on such occasions either

Mr Palliser or Lady Glencora had been with them. On their slow passage up the hill very little was spoken,

and that little was of no moment. "We will go in here for a few minutes," he said. "It is the prettiest spot

about Lucerne, and we don't know when we may see it again." So they went in, and sat down on one of the

"Probably never again," said Alice. And yet I have been here now two years running."

She shuddered as she remembered that in that former year George Vavasor had been with her. As she thought

of it all she hated herself. Over and over again she had told herself that she had so mismanaged the latter

years of her life that it was impossible for her not to hate herself. No woman had a clearer idea of feminine

constancy than she had, and no woman had sinned against that idea more deeply. He gave her time to think of

"Partly because all beauty is best enjoyed when it is sought for with some trouble and difficulty, and partly

because such beauty, and the romance which is attached to it, should not make up the staple of one's life.

"And would like to live a romantic life no doubt; but all those things lose their charm if they are made

common. When a man has to go to Vienna or St Petersburg two or three times a month, you don't suppose he

"And I want you to come and live in a very ugly country." Then he paused for a minute or two, not looking at

her, but gazing still on the mountain opposite. She did not speak a word, but looked as he was looking. She

knew that the request was coming, and had been thinking about it all night; but now that it had come she did

not know how to bear herself. "I don't think", he went on to say, "that you would let that consideration stand

"Will you come, then? Will you come and be my wife, and help me to be happy amidst all that ugliness? Will

you come and be my one beautiful thing, my treasure, my joy, my comfort, my counsellor?"

"No man ever wanted one more. Alice, this has been a bad year to me, and I do not think that it has been a

"Let us forget it or rather, let us treat it as though it were forgotten. Twelve months ago you were mine.

You were, at any rate, so much mine that I had a right to boast of my possession among my friends."

"They did not seem to think so. I had but one or two to whom I could speak of you, but they told me that I

was going to be a happy man. As to myself, I was sure that I was to be so. No man was ever better contented

with his bargain than I was with mine. Let us go back to it, and the last twelve months shall be as though they

"Because I cannot forgive myself what I have done, and because you ought not to forgive me."

"But I do. There has never been an hour with me in which there has been an offence of yours rankling in my

bosom unforgiven. I think you have been foolish, misguided led away by a vain ambition, and that in the

difficulty to which these things brought you, you endeavoured to constrain yourself to do an act, which, when

it came near to you when the doing of it had to be more closely considered, you found to be contrary to

your nature." Now, as he spoke thus, she turned her eyes upon him, and looked at him, wondering that he

should have had power to read her heart so accurately. "I never believed that you would marry your cousin.

When I was told of it, I knew that trouble had blinded you for awhile. You had driven yourself to revolt

against me, and upon that your heart misgave you, and you said to yourself that it did not matter then how

you might throw away all your sweetness. You see that I speak of your old love for me with the frank conceit

"But the storm passes over the tree and does not tear it up by the roots or spoil it of all its symmetry. When

we hear the winds blowing, and see how the poor thing is shaken, we think that its days are numbered and its

destruction at hand. Alice, when the winds were shaking you, and you were torn and buffeted, I never thought

so. There may be some who will forgive you slowly. Your own selfforgiveness will be slow. But I, who

have known you better than any one yes, better than any one I have forgiven you everything, have

forgiven you instantly. Come to me, Alice, and comfort me. Come to me, for I want you sorely. She sat quite

still, looking at the lake and the mountain beyond, but she said nothing. What could she say to him? "My

need of you is much greater now", he went on to say, "than when I first asked you to share the world with me.

Then I could have borne to lose you, as I had never boasted to myself that you were my own had never

pictured to myself the life that might be mine if you were always to be with me. But since that day I have had

no other hope no other hope but this for which I plead now. Am I to plead in vain?"

"You do not know me," she said; how vile I have been! You do not think what it is for a woman to have

"But it was me you loved. Ah! Alice, I can forgive that. Do I not tell you that I did forgive it the moment that

I heard it? Do you not hear me say that I never for a moment thought that you would marry him? Alice, you

should scold me for my vanity, for I have believed all through that you loved me, and me only. Come to me,

dear, and tell me that it is so, and the past shall be only as a dream." "I am dreaming it always," said Alice.

"They will cease to be bitter dreams if your head be upon my shoulder. You will cease to reproach yourself

"I shall never cease to reproach myself. I have done that which no woman can do and honour herself

"The noblest jilt that ever yet halted between two minds! There has been no touch of selfishness in your

fickleness. I think I could be hard enough upon a woman who had left me for greater wealth, for a higher rank

who had left me even that she might be gay and merry. It has not been so with you."

"It does not matter what I think now. I am a fallen creature, and have no longer a right to such thoughts. It

will be better for us both that you should leave me and forget me. There are things which, if a woman

does them, should never be forgotten which she should never permit herself to forget."

"And am I to be punished then, because of your fault? Is that your sense of justice?" He got up, and standing

before her, looked down upon her. "Alice, if you will tell me that you do not love me, I will believe you, and

will trouble you no more. I know that you will say nothing to me that is false. Through it all you have spoken

no word of falsehood. If you love me, after what has passed, I have a right to demand your hand. My

happiness requires it, and I have a right to expect your compliance. I do demand it. If you love me, Alice, I

tell you that you dare not refuse me. If you do so, you will fail hereafter to reconcile it to your conscience

Then he stopped his speech, and waited for a reply; but Alice sat silent beneath his gaze, with her eyes turned

upon the tombstones beneath her feet. Of course she had no choice but to yield. He, possessed of power and

force infinitely greater than hers, had left her no alternative but to be happy. But there still clung to her what I

fear we must call a perverseness of obstinacy, a desire to maintain the resolution she had made a wish that

she might be allowed to undergo the punishment she had deserved. She was as a prisoner who would fain

cling to his prison after pardon has reached him, because he is conscious that the pardon is undeserved. And it

may be that there was still left within her bosom some remnant of that feeling of rebellion which his

masterful spirit had ever produced in her. Hewas so imperious in his tranquillity, he argued his question of

such love with a manifest preponderance of right on his side, that she had always felt that to yield to him

would be to confess the omnipotence of his power. She knew now that she must yield to him that his

power over her was omnipotent. She was pressed by him as in some countries the prisoner is pressed by the

judge so pressed that she acknowledged to herself silently that any further antagonism to him was

impossible. Nevertheless, the word which she had to speak still remained unspoken, and he stood over her,

waiting for her answer. Then slowly he sat down beside her, and gradually he put his arm round her waist.

She shrank from him, back against the stonework of the embrasure, but she could not shrink away from his

grasp. She put up her hand to impede his, but his hand, like his character and his words, was full of power. It

would not be impeded. "Alice," he said, as he pressed her close with his arm, "the battle is over now, and I

"You win everything always," she said, whispering to him, as she still shrank from his embrace.

"In winning you I have won everything." Then he put his face over her and pressed his lips to hers. I wonder

whether he was made happier when he knew that no other touch had profaned those lips since last he had

Alice insisted on being left up in the churchyard, urging that she wanted to "think about it all," but, in truth,

fearing that she might not be able to carry herself well, if she were to walk down with her lover to the hotel.

To this he made no objection, and, on reaching the inn, met Mr Palliser in the hall. Mr Palliser was already

inspecting the arrangement of certain large trunks which had been brought downstairs, and was preparing for

their departure. He was going about the house, with a nervous solicitude to do something, and was flattering

himself that he was of use. As he could not be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and as, by the nature of his

disposition, some employment was necessary to him, he was looking to the cording of the boxes. "Good

morning! Good morning!" he said to Grey, hardly looking at him, as though time were too precious with him

to allow of his turning his eyes upon his friend. "I am going up to the station to see after a carriage for

tomorrow. Perhaps you'll come with me." To this proposition Mr Grey assented. "Sometimes, you know,"

continued Mr Palliser, "the springs of the carriages are so very rough." Then, in a very few words, Mr Grey

told him what had been his own morning's work. He hated secrets and secrecy, and as the Pallisers knew well

what had brought him upon their track, it was, he thought, well that they should know that he had been

successful. Mr Palliser congratulated him very cordially, and then, running upstairs for his gloves or his stick,

or, more probably, that he might give his wife one other caution as to her care of herself, he told her also that

"That's because you don't understand things of that sort," said his wife. Then the caution was repeated, the

mother of the future duke was kissed, and Mr Palliser went off on his mission about the carriage, its cushions,

and its springs. In the course of their walk Mr Palliser suggested that, as things were settled so pleasantly, Mr

Grey might as well return with them to England, and to this suggestion Mr Grey assented.

Alice remained alone for nearly an hour, looking out upon the rough sides and gloomy top of Mount Pilate.

No one disturbed her in the churchyard no steps were heard along the tombstones no voice sounded

through the cloisters. She was left in perfect solitude to think of the past, and form her plans of the future.

Was she happy, now that the manner of her life to come was thus settled for her; that all further question as to

the disposal of herself was taken out of her hands, and that her marriage with a man she loved was so firmly

arranged that no further folly of her own could disarrange it? She was happy, though she was slow to confess

her happiness to herself. She was happy, and she was resolute in this that she would now do all she could

to make him happy also. And there must now, she acknowledged, be an end to her pride to that pride

which had hitherto taught her to think that she could more wisely follow her own guidance than that of any

other who might claim to guide her. She knew now that she must follow his guidance. She had found her

master, as we sometimes say, and laughed to herself with a little inward laughter as she confessed that it was

so. She was from henceforth altogether in his hands. If he chose to tell her that they were to be married at

Michaelmas, or at Christmas, or on Lady Day, they would, of course, be married accordingly. She had taken

her fling at having her own will, and she and all her friends had seen what had come of it. She had assumed

the command of the ship, and had thrown it upon the rocks, and she felt that she never ought to take the

captain's place again. It was well for her that he who was to be captain was one whom she respected as

She would write to her father at once to her father and Lady Macleod and would confess everything.

She felt that she owed it to them that they should be told by herself that they had been right and that she had

been wrong. Hitherto she had not mentioned to either of them the fact that Mr Grey was with them in

Switzerland. And, then, what must she do as to Lady Midlothian? As to Lady Midlothian, she would do

nothing. Lady Midlothian, of course, would triumph would jump upon her, as Lady Glencora had once

expressed it, with very triumphant heels would try to patronise her, or, which would be almost worse,

would make a parade of her forgiveness. But she would have nothing to do withLady Midlothian, unless,

indeed, Mr Grey should order it. Then she laughed at herself again with that inward laughter, and, rising from

"It is not what I call it, but what you feel it," said the other. "Do you think that I don't know you well enough

to be sure that you regard yourself now as an unfortunate prisoner as a captive taken in war, to be led

away in triumph, without any hope of a ransom? I know that it is quite a misery to you that you should be

made a happy woman of at last. I understand it all, my dear, and my heart bleeds for you."

"In what way would you have me treat you? If I were to hug you with joy, and tell you how good he is, and

how fortunate you are if I were to praise him, and bid you triumph in your success, as might be expected

on such an occasion,you would put on a long face at once, and tell me that though the thing is to be, it would

"I believe in my heart you would that, or something like it. But I do wish you joy all the same, and you

may say what you please. He has got you in his power now, and I don't think even you can go back."

"I would join with Lady Midlothian in putting you into a madhouse, if you did. But I am so glad; I am,

indeed. I was afraid to the last terribly afraid; you are so hard and so proud. I don't mean hard to me, dear.

You have never been half hard enough to me. But you are hard to yourself, and, upon my word, you have

"I feel that I ought to stand before him always as a penitent in a white sheet."

"He will like it better, I dare say, if you will sit upon his knee. Some penitents do, you know. And how happy

you will be! He'll never explain the sugar duties to you, and there'll be no Mr Bott at Nethercoats." They sat

together the whole morning while Mr Palliser was seeing to the springs and cushions and by degrees

Alice began to enjoy her happiness. As she did so her friend enjoyed it with her, and at last they had

something of the comfort and excitement which such an occasion should give. "I'll tell you what, Alice; you

shall come and be married at Matching, in August, or perhaps September. That's the only way in which I can

be present; and if we can bespeak some sun, we'll have the breakfast out in the ruins."

On the following morning they all started together, a firstclass compartment having been taken for the

Palliser family, and a secondclass compartment close to them for the Palliser servants. Mr Palliser, as he

slowly handed his wife in, was a triumphant man; as was also Mr Grey, as he handed in his ladylove,

though, in a manner, much less manifest. We may say that both the gentlemen had been very fortunate while

at Lucerne. Mr Palliser had come abroad with a feeling that all the world had been cut from under his feet. A

great change was needed for his wife, and he had acknowledged at once that everything must be made to

yield to that necessity. He certainly had his reward now in his triumphant return. Terrible troubles had

afflicted him as he went, which seemed now to have dissipated themselves altogether. When he thought of

Burgo Fitzgerald he remembered him only as a poor, unfortunate fellow, for whom he should be glad to do

something, if the doing of anything were only in his power; and he had in his pocket a letter which he had

that morning received from the Duke of St Bungay, marked private and confidential, which was in its nature

very private and confidential, and in which he was told that Lord Brock and Mr Finespun were totally at

variance about French wines. Mr Finespun wanted to do something, now in the recess to send some

political agent over to France to which Lord Brock would not agree; and no one knew what would be the

consequence of this disagreement. Here might be another chance if only Mr Palliser could give up his

winter in Italy! Mr Palliser, as he took his place opposite his wife, was very triumphant.

And Mr Grey was triumphant, as he placed himself gently in his seat opposite to Alice. He seemed to assume

no right, as he took that position apparently because it was the one which came naturally to his lot. No one

would have been made aware that Alice was his own simply by seeing his arrangements for her comfort. He

made no loud assertion as to his property and his rights, as some men do. He was quiet and subdued in his

joy, but not the less was he triumphant. From the day on which Alice had accepted his first offer nay,

from an earlier day than that; from the day on which he had first resolved to make it, down to the present

hour, he had never been stirred from his purpose. By every word that he had said, and by every act that he

had done, he had shown himself to be unmoved by that episode in their joint lives, which Alice's other friends

had regarded as so fatal. When she first rejected him, he would not take his rejection. When she told him that

she intended to marry her cousin, he silently declined to believe that such marriage would ever take place. He

had never given her up for a day, and now the event proved that he had been right. Alice was happy, very

happy; but she was still disposed to regard her lover as Fate, and her happiness as an enforced necessity.

They stopped a night at Basle, and again she stood upon the balcony. He was close to her as she stood there

so close that, putting out her hand for his, she was able to take it and press it closely. "You are thinking of

"It was here," she said here, on this very balcony, that I first rebelled against you, and now you have

brought me here that I should confess and submit on the same spot. I do confess. How am I to thank you for

On the following morning they went on to BadenBaden, and there they stopped for a couple of days. Lady

Glencora had positively refused to stop a day at Basle, making so many objections to the place that her

husband had at last yielded. "I could go from Vienna to London without feeling it," she said, with

indignation; "and to tell me that I can't do two easy days' journey running!" Mr Palliser had been afraid to be

imperious, and therefore, immediately on his arrival at one of the stations in Basle, he had posted across the

town, in the heat and the dust, to look after the cushions and the springs at the other.

"I've a particular favour to ask of you," Lady Glencora said to her husband, as soon as they were alone

together in their rooms at Baden. Mr Palliser declared that he would grant her any particular favour only

promising that he was not to be supposed to have thereby committed himself to any engagement under which

his wife should have authority to take any exertion upon herself. "I wish I were a milkmaid," said Lady

"But you are not a milkmaid, my dear. You haven't been brought up like a milkmaid."

But what was the favour? If she would only ask for jewels though they were the Grand Duchess's

diamond eardrops, he would endeavour to get them for her. If she would have quaffed molten pearls, like

Cleopatra, he would have procured the beverage having first fortified himself with a medical opinion as to

the fitness of the drink for a lady in her condition. There was no expenditure that he would not willingly incur

for her, nothing costly that he would grudge. But when she asked for a favour, he was always afraid of an

And her request was, at last, of this nature! "I want you to take me up to the gamblingrooms," said she.

"Yes, Plantagenet; the gamblingrooms. If you had been with me before, I should not have made a fool of

myself by putting my piece of money on the table. I want to see the place; but then I saw nothing, because I

Mr Palliser was aware that all the world of Baden or rather the world of the strangers at Baden

assembles itself in those salons. It may be also that he himself was curious to see how men looked when they

lost their own money, or won that of others. He knew how a Minister looked when he lost or gained a tax. He

was familiar with millions and tens of millions in a committee of the whole House. He knew the excitement

of a near division upon the estimates. But he had never yet seen a poor man stake his last napoleon, and rake

back from off the table a small hatful of gold. A little exercise after an early dinner was, he had been told,

good for his wife; and he agreed therefore that, on their second evening at Baden, they would all walk up and

"And perhaps I shall be forgiven when somebody sees how difficult it is to manage you," said Alice, looking

"She isn't in earnest," said Mr Palliser, almost fearing the result of the experiment.

They started together, Mr Palliser with his wife, and Mr Grey with Alice on his arm, and found all the tables

at work. They at first walked through the different rooms, whispering to each other their comments on the

people that they saw, and listening to the quick, low, monotonous words of the croupiers as they arranged and

presided over the games. Each table was closely surrounded by its own crowd, made up of players, embryo

players, and simple lookerson, so that they could not see much as they walked. But this was not enough for

Lady Glencora. She was anxious to know what these men and women were doing to see whether the

croupiers wore horns on their heads and were devils indeed to behold the faces of those who were

wretched and of those who were triumphant to know how the thing was done, and to learn something of

that lesson in life. "Let us stand here a moment," she said to her husband, arresting him at one corner of the

table which had the greatest crowd. "We shall be able to see in a few minutes." So he stood with her there,

giving way to Alice, who went in front with his wife; and in a minute or two an aperture was made, so that

they could all see the marked cloth, and the money lying about, and the rakes on the table, and the croupier

skilfully dealing his cards, and more interesting than all the rest, the faces of those who were playing.

Grey looked on, over Alice's shoulder, very attentively as did Palliser also but both of them kept their

eyes upon the ministers of the work. Alice and Glencora did the same at first, but as they gained courage they

It was a long table, having, of course, four corners, and at the corner appropriated by them they were partly

opposite to the man who dealt the cards. The corner answering to theirs at the other end was the part of the

table most removed from their sight, and that on which their eyes fell last. As Lady Glencora stood she could

hardly see indeed, at first she could not see one or two who were congregated at this spot. Mr Palliser,

who was behind her, could not see them at all. But to Alice and to Mr Grey, had he cared about it

every face at the table was visible except the faces of those who were immediately close to them. Before long

Alice's attention was riveted on the action and countenance of one young man who sat at that other corner. He

was leaning, at first listlessly, over the table, dressed in a velveteen jacket, and with his roundtopped hat

brought far over his eyes, so that she could not fully see his face. But she had hardly begun to observe him

before he threw back his hat, and taking some pieces of gold from under his left hand, which lay upon the

table, pushed three or four of them on to one of the divisions marked on the cloth. He seemed to show no

care, as others did, as to the special spot which they should occupy. Many were very particular in this respect,

placing their ventures on the lines, so as to share the fortunes of two compartments, or sometimes of four; or

they divided their coins, taking three or four numbers, selecting the numbers with almost grotesque attention

to some imagined rule of their own. But this man let his gold go all together, and left it where his

halfstretched rake deposited it by chance. Alice could not but look at his face. His eyes she could see were

bloodshot, and his hair, when he pushed back his hat, was rough and dishevelled; but still there was that in

his face which no woman could see and not regard. It was a face which at once prepossessed her in his favour

as it had always prepossessed all others. On this occasion he had won his money, and Alice saw him drag

"Do you see that little Frenchman?" said Lady Glencora. "He has just made half a napoleon, and has walked

off with it. Isn't it interesting? I could stay here all the night." Then she turned round to whisper something to

her husband, and Alice's eyes again fell on the face of the man at the other end of the table. After he had won

his money, he had allowed the game to go on for a turn without any action on his part. The gold again went

under his hand, and he lounged forward with his hat over his eyes. One of the croupiers had said a word, as

though calling his attention to the game, but he had merely shaken his head. But when the fate of the next

turn had been decided, he again roused himself, and on this occasion, as far as Alice could see, pushed his

whole stock forward with the rake. There was a little mass of gold, and, from his manner of placing it, all

might see that he left its position to chance. One piece had got beyond its boundary, and the croupier pushed

it back with some halfexpressed inquiry as to his correctness. "All right," said a voice in English. Then Lady

Glencora started and clutched Alice's arm with her hand. Mr Palliser was explaining to Mr Grey, behind

them, something about German finance as connected with gamblingtables, and did not hear the voice, or see

his wife's motion. I need hardly tell the reader that the gambler was Burgo Fitzgerald.

But Lady Glencora said not a word not as yet. She looked forward very gently, but still with eager eyes,

till she could just see the face she knew so well. His hat was now pushed back, and his countenance had lost

its listlessness. He watched narrowly the face of the man as he told out the amount of the cards as they were

dealt. He did not try to hide his anxiety, and when, after the telling of some six or seven cards, he heard a

certain number named, and a certain colour called, he made some exclamation which even Glencora could

not hear. And then another croupier put down, close to Burgo's money, certain rolls of gold done up in paper,

"He is taking it," said Alice, not at all knowing the cause of her cousin's anxiety. Burgo had paused a

moment, and then prepared to rake the money to him; but as he did so, he changed his mind, and pushed it all

back again now, on this occasion, being very careful to place it on its former spot. Both Alice and

Glencora could see that a man at his elbow was dissuading him had even attempted to stop the arm which

held the rake. But Burgo shook him off, speaking to him some word roughly, and then again he steadied the

rolls upon their appointed place. The croupier who had paused for a moment now went on quickly with his

cards, and in two minutes the fate of Burgo's wealth was decided. It was all drawn back by the croupier's

unimpassioned rake, and the rolls of gold were restored to the tray from whence they had been taken.

Burgo looked up and smiled at them all round the table. By this time most of those who stood around were

looking at him. He was a man who gathered eyes upon him wherever he might be, or whatever he was doing;

and it had been clear that he was very intent upon his fortune, and on the last occasion the amount staked had

been considerable. He knew that men and women were looking at him, and therefore he smiled faintly as he

turned his eyes round the table. Then he got up, and, putting his hands in his trouserpockets, whistled as he

walked away. His companion followed him, and laid a hand upon his shoulder; but Burgo shook him off, and

would not turn round. He shook him off, and walked on whistling, the length of the whole salon.

"Alice," said Lady Glencora, it is Burgo Fitzgerald." Mr Palliser had gone so deep into that question of

German finance that he had not at all noticed the gambler. "Alice, what can we do for him? It is Burgo," said

Lady Glencora. Many eyes were now watching him. Used as he was to the world and to misfortune, he was

not successful in his attempt to bear his loss with a show of indifference. The motion of his head, the position

of his hands, the tone of his whistling, all told the tale. Even the unimpassioned croupiers furtively cast an

eye after him, and a very big Guard, in a cocked hat, and uniform, and sword, who hitherto had hardly been

awake, seemed evidently to be interested by his movements. If there is to be a tragedy at these places and

tragedies will sometimes occur it is always as well that the tragic scene should be as far removed as

Lady Glencora and Alice had left their places, and had shrunk back, almost behind a pillar. "Is it he, in

truth?" Alice asked. "In very truth," said Glencora. What can I do? Can I do anything? Look at him, Alice. If

Burgo, conscious that he was the regarded of all eyes, turned round upon his heel and again walked the length

of the salon. He knew well that he had not a franc left in his possession, but still he laughed and still he

whistled. His companion, whoever he might be, had slunk away from him, not caring to share the notoriety

"What shall I do, Alice?" said Lady Glencora, with her eyes still fixed on him who had been her lover.

Lady Glencora immediately ran up to her husband, and took him away from Mr Grey. Rapidly she told her

story with such rapidity that Mr Palliser could hardly get in a word. "Do something for him do, do.

Lady Glencora, as she went on quickly, got hold of her husband's hand, and caressed it. "You are so good,"

said she. Don't let him out of your sight. There; he is going. I will go home with Mr Grey. I will be ever so

good; I will, indeed. You know what he'll want, and for my sake you'll let him have it. But don't let him

gamble. If you could only get him home to England, and then do something. You owe him something,

"God bless you, dearest! I shall never see him again; but if you could save him! There he is going now.

Go go." She pushed him forward, and then retreating, put her arm within Mr Grey's, still keeping her eye

upon her husband. Burgo, when he first got to the door leading out of the salon, had paused a moment, and,

turning round, had encountered the big gendarme close to him. "Well, old Buffer, what do you want?" said

he, accosting the man in English. The big gendarme simply walked on through the door, and said nothing.

Then Burgo also passed out, and Mr Palliser quickly went after him. They were now in the large front salon,

from whence the chief door of the building opened out upon the steps. Through this door Burgo went without

pausing, and Mr Palliser went after him. They both walked to the end of the row of buildings, and then

Burgo, leaving the broad way, turned into a little path which led up through the trees to the hills. Thathillside

among the trees is a popular resort at Baden, during the day; but now, at nine in the evening, it was deserted.

Palliser did not press on the other man, but followed him, and did not accost Burgo till he had thrown himself

"You are in trouble, I fear, Mr Fitzgerald," said Mr Palliser, as soon as he was close at Burgo's feet.

"We will go home. Mr Palliser has something to do," said Lady Glencora to Mr Grey, as soon as the two men

"Yes that is, he knows him, and is interested about him. Alice, shall we go home? Oh! Mr Grey, you must

not ask any questions. He Mr Palliser, will tell you everything when he sees you that is, if there is

anything to be told." Then they all went home, and soon separated for the night. "Of course I shall sit up for

him," said Lady Glencora to Alice, "but I will do it in my own room. You can tell Mr Grey, if you like." But

"You are in trouble, Mr Fitzgerald, I fear," said Mr Palliser, standing over Burgo as he lay upon the ground.

They were now altogether beyond the gaslights, and the evening was dark. Burgo, too, was lying with his

face to the ground, expecting that the footsteps which he had heard would pass by him.

"Who is that?" said he, turning round suddenly; but still he was not at once able to recognise Mr Palliser,

"Perhaps I have been wrong in following you," said Mr Palliser, "but I thought you were in distress, and that

"Plantagenet Palliser?" said Burgo, jumping up on to his legs and looking close into the other's face. "By

heavens! it is Plantagenet Palliser! Well, Mr Palliser, what do you want of me?"

"I want to be of some use to you, if I can. I and my wife saw you leave the gamingtable just now."

"Yes she is here. We are going home, but chance brought us up to the salon. She seemed to think that you

Mr Palliser, during the whole interview, felt that he could afford to be generous. He knew that he had no

further cause for fear. He had no lingering dread of this poor creature who stood before him. All that feeling

was over, though it was as yet hardly four months since he had been sent back by Mrs Marsham to Lady

"So she is here, is she and saw me there when I staked my last chance? I should have had over twenty

"The cards never do stand to any one, Mr Fitzgerald." "Never never never!" said Burgo. At any rate,

"If you want twenty thousand francs that's eight hundred pounds, I think I can let you have it without

"Oh, yes. As I am travelling with my family " I wonder whether Mr Palliser considered himself to be

better entitled to talk of his family than he had been some three or four weeks back "As I am travelling

with my family, I have been obliged to carry large bills with me, and I can accommodate you without any

There was something pleasant in this, which made Burgo Fitzgerald laugh. Mr Palliser, the husband of Lady

Glencora M'Cluskie, and the heir of the Duke of Omnium happening to have money with him! As if Mr

Palliser could not bring down showers of money in any quarter of the globe by simply holding up his hand.

And then to talk of accommodating him him, Burgo Fitzgerald, as though it were simply a little matter of

convenience as though Mr Palliser would of course find the money at his bankers' when he next examined

"I was not in the least doubting your ability to raise the money," said he; "but how would you propose to get

"That would be at your convenience," said Mr Palliser, who hardly knew how to put himself on a proper

footing with his companion, so that he might offer to do something effectual for the man's aid.

"I never have any such convenience," said Burgo. Who were those women whose tubs always had holes at

"I don't know whose daughters they were, but you might just as well lend them all eight hundred pounds

"There were so many of them," said Mr Palliser, trying a little joke. "But as you are the only one I shall be

They were now walking slowly together up towards the hills, and near to them they heard a step. Upon this,

"Do you see that fellow?" said he. Mr Palliser, who was somewhat shortsighted, said that he did not see

him. "I do, though. I don't know his name, but they have sent him out from the hotel with me, to see what I do

with myself. I owe them six or seven hundred francs, and they want to turn me out of the house and not let

me take my things with me." "That would be very uncomfortable," said Mr Palliser.

"It would be uncomfortable, but I shall be too many for them. If they keep my traps they shall keep me. They

think I'm going to blow my brains out. That's what they think. The man lets me go far enough off to do that

"As long as I can help it, Mr Palliser, I never think of anything." The stranger was now standing near to them

almost so near that he might hear their words. Burgo, perceiving this, walked up to him, and, speaking in

bad French, desired him to leave them. "Don't you see that I have a friend with me?"

"Oh! a friend," said the man, answering in bad English, "Perhaps de friend can advance moneys?"

Then the gentleman from the hotel retreated down the hill, but Mr Palliser, during the rest of the interview,

frequently fancied that he heard the man's footfall at no great distance. They continued to walk on up the hill

very slowly, and it was some time before Mr Palliser knew how to repeat his offer.

"Yes, she is here. It was she who asked me to come to you," Mr Palliser answered. Then they both walked on

"By George! isn't it odd," said Burgo, at last, "that you and I, of all men in the world, should be walking

together here at Baden? It's not only that you're the richest man in London, and that I'm the poorest, but ;

"There have been things which make me and my wife very anxious to give you aid."

"And have you considered, Mr Palliser, that those things make you the very man in the world indeed, for

the matter of that, the only man in the world from whom I can't take aid? I would have taken it all if I

"Disappointed! By G ! yes. Did you ever know any man who had so much right to be disappointed as I

have? I did love her, Mr Palliser. Nay, by heavens! I do love her. Out here I will dare to say as much even to

you. I shall never try to see her again. All thatis over, of course. I've been a fool about her as I have been

"It was not altogether her money. But think what it would have been to me, Mr Palliser. Think what a chance

I had, and what a chance I lost. I should have been at the top of everything as now I am at the bottom. I

should not have spent that. There would have been enough of it to have saved me. And then I might have

done something good instead of crawling about almost in fear of that beast who is watching us."

"Yes; it has been ordered, with a vengeance! It seems to have been ordered that I'm to go to the devil; but I

Mr Palliser had not time to explain to his friend that the orders had been given, in a very peremptory way, by

himself, as he was anxious to bring back the conversation to his own point. He wished to give some

serviceable, and, if possible, permanent aid to the poor ne'erdowell; but he did not wish to talk more than

"There is an old saying, which you will remember well," said he, "that the way to good manners is never too

"That's nonsense," said Burgo. It's too late when the man feels the knot round his neck at the Old Bailey."

"Perhaps not, even then, Indeed, we may say, certainly not, if the man be still able to take the right way. But I

"But I do want to be of service to you. There is something of truth in what you say. You have been

disappointed; and I, perhaps, of all men am the most bound to come to your assistance now that you are in

"No that would be worse; twenty times worse. What! take her money, when she would not give me

"I do not see why you should not borrow her money or mine. You shall call it which you will."

"And what will you do then?" "What will I do? Ah! that's the question. I don't know what I will do. I have the

key of my bedroom in my pocket, and I will go to bed tonight. It's not very often that I look forward much

"I don't see what good it will do? I shan't get up till late, for fear they should shut the room against me. I

might as well have as much out of them as I can. I think I shall say I'm ill, and keep my bed."

"No; not a rap. Not from you. You are the first man from whom I ever refused to borrow money, and I should

"You can offer nothing. If you will say to your wife from me that I bade her adieu that is all you can do

Mr Palliser left him and went his way, feeling that he had no further eloquence at his command. He shook

Burgo's hand, and then walked quickly down the hill. As he did so, he passed, or would have passed, the man

"What do you want of me?" asked Mr Palliser, in French. Then the man spoke in French, also. "Has he got

"I have not given him any money," said Mr Palliser, not quite knowing what he had better do or say under

"Then he will have a bad time with it," said the man. "And he might have carried away two thousand francs

"Ah! There are so many Fitzgeralds in England. Mr Fitzgerald, London he has no other address?"

"But what shall we do? How shall we act? Perhaps with his own hand he will himself kill. For five weeks his

pension he owes; yes, for five weeks. And for wine, oh so much! There came through Baden a my lord, and

then, I think he got money. But he went and played. That was of course. But; oh my G ! he might have

carried away this night two thousand francs; yes, two thousand francs!" "Are you the hotelkeeper?"

"His friend, sir; only his friend. That is, I am the head Commissionaire. I look after the gentlemen who

sometimes are not all not all " exactly what they should be, the commissioner intended to explain; and

Mr Palliser understood him although the words were not quite spoken. The interview was ended by Mr

Palliser taking the name of the hotel, and promising to call before Mr Fitzgerald should be up in the morning

a purposed visit, which we need not regard as requiring any very early energy on Mr Palliser's part, when

Lady Glencora received her husband that night with infinite anxiety, and was by no means satisfied with what

had been done. He described to her as accurately as he could the nature of his interview with Burgo, and he

"He will; he will," said Lady Glencora, when she heard from her husband the man's surmise that perhaps he

might destroy himself. "He will; he will; and if he does, how can you expect that I shall bear it?" Mr Palliser

tried to soothe her by telling her of his promised visit to the landlord; and Lady Glencora, accepting this as

something, strove to instigate her husband to some lavish expenditure on Burgo's behalf. "There can be no

reason why he should not take it," said Glencora. "None the least. Had it not been promised to him? Had he

not a right to it?" The subject was one which Mr Palliser found it very hard to discuss. He could not tell his

wife that Fitzgerald ought to accept his bounty; but he assured her that his money should be forthcoming,

On the following morning he went down to the hotel, and saw the real landlord. He found him to be a

reasonable, tranquil, and very goodnatured man who was possessed by a not irrational desire that his

customers' bills should be paid; but who seemed to be much less eager on the subject than are English

landlords in general. His chief anxiety seemed to arise from the great difficulty of doing anything with the

gentleman who was now lying in his bed upstairs. "Has he had any breakfast?" Mr Palliser asked.

"Breakfast! Oh yes;" and the landlord laughed. He had been very particular in the orders he had given. He

had desired his cutlets to be dressed in a particular way with a great deal of cayenne pepper, and they had

been so dressed. He had ordered a bottle of Sauterne; but the landlord had thought, or the headwaiter acting

for him had thought, that a bottle of ordinary wine of the country would do as well. The bottle of ordinary

Then Mr Palliser sat down in the landlord's little room, and had Burgo Fitzgerald's bill brought to him. "I

"That was as monsieur pleased," said the landlord, with something like a sparkle in his eye.

What was Mr Palliser to do? He did not know whether, in accordance with the rules of the world in which he

lived, he ought to pay it, or ought to leave it; and certainly the landlord could not tell him. Then he thought of

his wife. He could not go back to his wife without having done something; so, as a first measure, he paid the

bill. The landlord's eyes glittered, and he receipted it in the most becoming manner.

"Should he now send up the bottle of Sauterne?' but to this Mr Palliser demurred.

"And to whom should the receipted bill be given?" Mr Palliser thought that the landlord had better keep it

Mr Palliser acknowledged that there was a little difficulty. He knew that he must do something more. He

could not simply pay the bill and go away. That would not satisfy his wife. He knew that he must do

something more; but how was he to do it? So at last he let the landlord into his confidence. He did not tell the

whole of Burgo's past history. He did not tell that little episode in Burgo's life which referred to Lady

Glencora. But he did make the landlord understand that he was willing to administer money to Mr Fitzgerald,

"You can't keep him out of the gambling salon, you know, sir; that is, not if he has a franc in his pocket." As

It was at last arranged, that the landlord was to tell Burgo that his bill did not signify at present, and that the

use of the hotel was to be at Burgo's command for the next three months. At the end of that time he was to

have notice to quit. No money was to be advanced to him but the landlord, even in this respect, had a

"When I get home, I will see what can be done with his relations there," said Mr Palliser. Then he went home

"But he'll have no clothes," said Lady Glencora. Mr Palliser said that the judicious landlord would manage

that also; and in that way Lady Glencora was appeased appeased, till something final could be done for

Poor Burgo! He must now be made to end his career as far as these pages are concerned. He soon found that

something had been done for him at the hotel, and no doubt he must have made some guess near the truth.

The discreet landlord told him nothing would tell him nothing; but that his bill did not signify as yet.

Burgo thinking about it, resolved to write about it in an indignant strain to Mr Palliser; but the letter did not

get itself written. When in England, Mr Palliser saw Sir Cosmo Monk, and with many apologies, told him

"I regret it," said Sir Cosmo, in anger. I regret it; not for the money's sake, but I regret it." The amount

expended, was however repaid to Mr Palliser, and an arrangement was made for remitting a weekly sum of

fifteen pounds to Burgo, through a member of the diplomatic corps, as long as he should remain at a certain

small German town which was indicated, and in which there was no public gamblingtable. Lady Glencora

expressed herself satisfied for the present; but I much doubt whether poor Burgo lived long in comfort on the

Mr Palliser did not remain long in Baden after the payment of Burgo's bill. Perhaps I shall not throw any

undeserved discredit on his courage if I say that he was afraid to do so. What would he have said what

would he have been able to say, if that young man had come to him demanding an explanation? So he hurried

The journey home from thence was not marked by any incidents. Gradually Mr Palliser became a little more

lenient to his wife and slightly less oppressive in his caution. If he still inquired about the springs of the

carriages, he did so in silence, and he ceased to enjoin the necessity of a day's rest after each day's journey.

By the time that they reached Dover he had become so used to his wife's condition that he made but little

fluttering as she walked out of the boat by that narrow gangway which is so contrived as to make an arrival

there a serious inconvenience to a lady, and a nuisance even to a man. He was somewhat staggered when a

big man, in the middle of the night, insisted on opening the little basket which his wife carried, and was

uncomfortable when obliged to stop her on the plank while he gave up the tickets which he thought had been

already surrendered; but he was becoming used to his position, and bore himself like a man.

During their journey home Mr Palliser had by no means kept his seat opposite to Lady Glencora with

constancy. He had soon found that it was easier to talk to Mr Grey than to his wife, and, consequently, the

two ladies had been much together, as had also the two gentlemen. What the ladies discussed may be

imagined. One was about to become a wife and the other a mother, and that was to be their fate after each had

made up her mind that no such lot was to be hers. It may, however, be presumed that for every one word that

Alice spoke Lady Glencora spoke ten. The two men, throughout these days of close intimacy, were intent

upon politics. Mr Palliser, who may be regarded as the fox who had lost histail the tail being, in this

instance, the comfort of domestic privacy was eager in recommending his new friend to cut off his tail

also. "Your argument would be very well", said he, "if men were to be contented to live for themselves only."

"Your argument would be very well", said the other, if it were used to a man who felt that he could do good

to others by going into public life. But it is wholly inefficacious if it recommends public life simply or chiefly

"Of course there is personal gratification, and of course there is good done," said Mr Palliser.

"Exactly; and the two things must go together. The chief gratification comes from the feeling that you are of

We need not follow the argument any further. We all know its nature, and what between two such men would

be said on both sides. We all know that neither of them would put the matter altogether in a true light. Men

never can do so in words, let the light within themselves be ever so clear. I do not think that any man yet ever

had such a gift of words as to make them a perfect exponent of all the wisdom within him. But the effect was

partly that which the weaker man of the two desired the weaker in the gifts of nature, though art had in

some respects made him stronger. Mr Grey was shaken in his quiescent philosophy, and startled Alice

startled her as much as he delighted her by a word or two he said as he walked with her in the courts of

"Very hollow," said Alice, who had no love for the French mode of carrying on public affairs.

"Of all modes of governing this seems to me to be the surest of coming to a downfall. Men are told that they

are wise enough to talk, but not wise enough to have any power of action. It is as though men were cautioned

that they were walking through gunpowder, and that no fire could be allowed them, but were at the same time

enjoined to carry lucifer matches in their pockets. I don't believe in the gunpowder, and I think there should

be fire, and plenty of it; but if I didn't want the fire I wouldn't have the matches."

After this he dropped the subject for a while, as though he were ashamed of it, but in a very few minutes he

returned to it manfully. "Mr Palliser wants me to go into Parliament." Upon hearing this Alice said nothing.

She was afraid to speak. After all that had passed she felt that it would not become her to show much outward

joy on hearing such a proposition, so spoken by him, and yet she could say nothing without some sign of

exultation in her voice. So she walked on without speaking, and was conscious that her fingers trembled on

"No one else can have so much right putting aside of course myself, who must be responsible for my own

actions. He asked me whether I could afford it, and he seems to think that a smaller income suffices for such

work now than it did a few years since. I believe that I could afford it, if I could get a seat that was not very

"No; not on that point. I believe we may take that for granted. Living in London for four or five months in the

Then Alice was unable to hold her tongue longer, and spoke out her thoughts with more vehemence than

discretion. No doubt he combated them with some amount of opposition. He seldom allowed outspoken

enthusiasm to pass by him without some amount of hostility. But he was not so perverse as to be driven from

his new views by the fact that Alice approved them, and she, as she drew near home, was able to think that

When they reached London they all separated. It was Mr Palliser's purpose to take his wife down to Matching

with as little delay as possible. London was at this time nearly empty, and all the doings of the season were

over. It was now the first week of August, and as Parliament had not been sitting for nearly two months, the

town looked as it usually looks in September. Lady Glencora was to stay but one day in Park Lane, and it had

"How odd it is parting in this way, when people have been together so long," said Lady Glencora. "It always

seems as though there had been a separate little life of its own which was now to be brought to a close. I

suppose, Mr Grey, you and I, when we next meet, will be far too distant to fight with each other."

"I suppose nothing would prevent his fighting; would it, Alice? But, remember, there must be no fighting

Then Mr Palliser made his little speech. "Alice," he said, as he gave his hand to Miss Vavasor, "give my

compliments to your father, and tell him that I shall take the liberty of asking him to come down to Matching

for the early shooting in September, and that I shall expect him to bring you with him. You may tell him also

that he will have to stay to see you off, but that he will not be allowed to take you away." Lady Glencora

thought that this was very pretty as coming from her husband, and so she told him on their way home.

Alice insisted on going to Queen Anne Street in a cab by herself. Mr Palliser had offered a carriage; and Mr

Grey, of course, offered himself as a protector; but she would have neither the one nor the other. If he had

gone with her he might by chance have met her father, and she was most anxious that she should not be

encumbered by her lover's presence when she first received her father's congratulations. They had slept at

Dover, and had come up by a midday train. When she reached Queen Anne Street, the house was desolate,

and she might therefore have allowed Mr Grey to attend her. But she found a letter waiting for her which

made her for the moment forget both him and her father. Lady Macleod, at Cheltenham, was very ill, and

wished to see her niece, as she said, before she died. "I have got your letter," said the kind old woman, "and

am now quite happy. It only wanted that to reconcile me to my departure. I thought through it all that my girl

would be happy at last. Will she forgive me if I say that I have forgiven her?" The letter then went on to beg

Alice to come to Cheltenham at once. "It is not that I am dying now," said Lady Macleod, "though you will

find me much altered and keeping my bed. But the doctor says he fears the first cold weather. I know what

that means, my dear; and if I don't see you now, before your marriage, I shall never see you again. Pray get

married as soon as you can. I want to know that you are Mrs Grey before I go. If I were to hear that it was

There was another letter for her from Kate, full, of course, of congratulations, and promising to be at the

wedding; "that is," said Kate, unless it takes place at the house of someone of your very grand friends;" and

telling her that Aunt Greenow was to be married in a fortnight telling her of this, and begging her to attend

that wedding. "You should stand by your family," said Kate."And only think what my condition will be if I

have no one here to support me. Do come. Journeys are nothing nowadays. Don't you know I would go seven

times the distance for you? Mr Cheeesacre and Captain Bellfield are friends after all, and Mr Cheesacre is to

be best man. Is it not beautiful? As for poor me, I'm told I haven't a chance left of becoming mistress of

Alice began to think that her hands were almost too full. If she herself were to be married in September, even

by the end of September, her hands were very full indeed. Yet she did not know how to refuse any of the

requests made to her. As to Lady Macleod, her visit to her was a duty which must of course be performed at

once. She would stay but one day in London, and then go down to Cheltenham. Having resolved upon this

she at once wrote to her aunt to that effect. As to that other affair down in Westmoreland, she sighed as she

thought of it, but she feared that she must go there also. Kate had suffered too much on her behalf to allow of

Then her father came in. "I didn't in the least know when you might arrive," said he, beginning with an

apology for his absence. "How could I, my dear?" Alice scorned to remind him that she herself had named

the precise hour of the train by which they had arrived. "It's all right, papa," said she. I was very glad to have

an hour to write a letter or two. Poor Lady Macleod is very ill. I must go to her the day after tomorrow."

"Dear, dear, dear! I had heard that she was poorly. She is very old, you know. So, Alice, you've made it all

"Of course not; of course not; and I can tell you this, Alice, he is a man in a thousand. You've heard about the

"The money that George had." As the reader is aware, Alice had heard nothing special about this money. She

only knew, or supposed she knew, that she had given three thousand pounds to her cousin. But now her father

explained to her the whole transaction. "We couldn't have realised your money for months, perhaps," saidhe;

"but Grey knew that some men must have rope enough before they can hang themselves."

Alice was unable to say anything on this subject to her father, but to herself she did declare that not in that

way or with that hope had John Grey produced his money. "He must be paid, papa," she said. "Paid! he

answered; he can pay himself now. It may make some difference in the settlements, perhaps, but he and the

lawyers may arrange that. I shan't think of interfering with such a man as Grey. If you could only know, my

dear, what I've suffered!" Alice in a penitential tone expressed her sorrow, and then he too assured her that he

had forgiven her. "Bless you, my child!" he said, "and make you happy, and good, and and and very

Alice made her journey down to Cheltenham without any adventure, and was received by Lady Macleod with

"Good!" said Alice, would I not have gone a thousand miles to you?" Lady Macleod was very eager to know

all about the coming marriage. "I can tell you now, my dear, though I couldn't do it before, that I knew he'd

"And I hope you'll reward him. A beautiful woman without discretion is like a pearl in a swine's snout; but a

good wife is a crown of glory to her husband. Remember that, my dear, and choose your part for his sake."

"We can all help it, if we set about it in the right way. And, Alice, you must be careful to find out all his likes

and his dislikes. Dear me! I remember how hard I found it, but then I don't think I was so clever as you are."

"Not stupid, my dear; if I must say the word, it is selfwilled. But, dear, all that is forgiven now. Is it not?"

There was something said then as to the necessity of looking for pardon beyond this world, which I need not

here repeat. To all her old friend's little sermons Alice was infinitely more attentive than had been her wont,

so that Lady Macleod was comforted and took heart of grace, and at last brought forth from under her pillow

a letter from the Countess of Midlothian, which she had received a day or two since, and which bore upon

Alice's case. "I was not quite sure whether I'd show it you," said Lady Macleod, "because you wouldn't

answer her when she wrote to you. But when I'm gone, as I shall be soon, she will be the nearest relative you

have on your mother's side, and from her great position, you know, Alice " But here Alice became

I am so sorry to hear of the symptoms you speak about. I strongly advise you to depend chiefly on

beeftea. They should be very careful to send it up quite free from grease, and it should not be too strong of

the meat. There should be no vegetables in it. Not soup, you know, but beeftea. If any thing acts upon your

strength, that will. I need not tell one who has lived as you have done where to look for that other strength

which alone can support you at such a time as this, I would go to you if I thought that my presence would be

any comfort to you, but I know how sensitive you are, and the shock might be too much for you.

"If you see Alice Vavasor on her return to England, as you probably will, pray tell her from me that I give her

my warmest congratulations, and that I am heartily glad that matters are arranged. I think she treated my

attempts to heal the wound in a manner that they did not deserve; but all that shall be forgiven, as shall also

her original bad behaviour to poor Mr Grey." Alice was becoming weary of so much forgiveness, and told

herself, as she was reading the letter, that that of Lady Midlothian was at any rate unnecessary. "I trust that

we may yet meet and be friends," continued Lady Midlothian. "I am extremely gratified at finding that she

has been thought so much of by Mr Palliser. I'm told that Mr Palliser and Mr Grey have become great friends,

and if this is so, Alice must be happy to feel that she has had it in her power to confer so great a benefit on her

"I ain't a bit happy, and I have conferred no benefit on Mr Grey," exclaimed Alice, who was unable to repress

"Mr Palliser has every bit as much cause to be gratified for that as Mr Grey, and perhaps more." Poor Lady

Macleod could not argue the matter in her present state. She merely sighed, and moved her shrivelled old

hand up and down upon the counterpane. Alice finished the letter without further remarks. It merely went on

to say how happy the writer would be to know something of her cousin as Mrs Grey, as also to know

something of Mr Grey, and then gave a general invitation to both Mr and Mrs Grey, asking them to come to

Castle Reekie whenever they might be able. The Marchioness, with whom Lady Midlothian was staying, had

expressly desired her to give this message. Alice, however, could not but observe that Lady Midlothian's

"Indeed she does," said Lady Macleod, and then you know you'll probably have children; and think what a

thing it will be for them to know the Midlothian family. You shouldn't rob them of their natural advantages."

Alice remained a week with her aunt, and went from thence direct to Westmoreland. Some order as to bridal

preparations we must presume she gave on that single day which she passed in London. Much advice she had

received on this head from Lady Glencora, and no inconsiderable amount of assistance was to be rendered to

her at Matching during the fortnight she would remain there before her marriage. Something also, let us hope,

she might do at Cheltenham. Something no doubt she did do. Something also might probably be achieved

among the wilds in Westmoreland, but that something would necessarily be of a nature not requiring

fashionable tradespeople. While at Cheltenham she determined that she would not again return to London

before her marriage. This resolve was caused by a very urgent letter from Mr Grey, and by another, almost

equally urgent, from Lady Glencora. If the marriage did not take place in September she would not be present

at it. The gods of the world of Lady Glencora's world had met together and come to a great decision.

Lady Glencora was to be removed in October to Gatherum Castle, and remain there till the following spring,

so that the heir might, in truth, be born in the purple. "It is such a bore," said Lady Glencora, and I know it

will be a girl. But the Duke isn't to be there, except for the Christmas week." An invitation for the ceremony

at Matching had been sent from Mr Palliser to Mr Vavasor, and another from Lady Glencora to Kate, "whom

I long to know," said her ladyship, "and with whom I should like to pick a crow, if I dared, as I'm sure she did

It must be acknowledged that Mrs Greenow was a woman of great resources, and that she would be very

prudent for others, though I fear the verdict of those who know her must go against her in regard to prudence

in herself. Her marriage with Captain Bellfield was a rash act certainly a rash act, although she did take so

much care in securing the payment of her own income into her own hands; but the manner in which she made

him live discreetly for some months previous to his marriage, the tact with which she renewed the friendship

which had existed between him and Mr Cheesacre, and the skill she used in at last providing Mr Cheesacre

When Alice reached Vavasor Hall she found Charlie Fairstairs established there on a long visit. Charlie and

Kate were to be the two bridesmaids, and, as Kate told her cousin in their first confidential intercourse on the

evening of Alice's arrival, there were already great hopes in the household that the master of Oileymead

might be brought to surrender. It was true that Charlie had not a shilling, and that Mr Cheesacre had set his

heart on marrying an heiress. It was true that Miss Fairstairs had always stood low in the gentleman's

estimation, as being connected with people who were as much without rank and fashion as they were without

money, and that the gentleman loved rank and fashion dearly. It was true that Charlie was no beauty, and that

Cheesacre had an eye for feminine charms. It was true that he had despised Charlie, and had spoken his

contempt openly that he had seen the girl on the sands at Yarmouth every summer for the last ten years,

and about the streets of Norwich every winter, and had learned to regard her as a thing poor and despicable,

because she was common in his eyes. It is thus that the Cheesacres judge of people. But in spite of all these

difficulties Mrs Greenow had taken up poor Charlie's case, and Kate Vavasor expressed a strong opinion that

"Coaxed him; simply that. She has made herself so much his master that he doesn't know how to say no to

her. Sometimes I have thought that he might possibly run away, but I have abandoned that fear now. She has

little confidences with him from day to day, which are so alluring to him that he cannot tear himself off. In

"Not at all. She'll make him a very good wife. He's one of those men to whom any woman, after a little time,

will come to be the same. He'll be rough with her once a month or so, and perhaps tell her that she brought no

money with her; but that won't break any bones, and Charlie will know how to fight her own battles. She'll

save his money if she brings none, and in a few years' time they will quite understand each other."

Mr Cheesacre and Captain Bellfield were at this time living in lodgings together, at Penrith, but came over

and spent every other day at Vavasor, returning always to their lodgings in the evening. It wanted but eight

days to the marriage when Alice arrived, and preparations for that event were in progress. "It's to be very

quiet, Alice," said her aunt; "as quiet as such a thing can be made. I owe that to the memory of the departed

one. I know that he is looking down upon me, and that he approves all that I do. Indeed, he told me once that

he did not want me to live desolate for his sake. If I didn't feel that he was looking down and approving it, I

should be wretched indeed." She took Alice up to see her trousseau, and gave the other expectant bride some

little hints which, under present circumstances, might be useful. "Yes, indeed; only threeandsixpence a

piece, and they're quite real. Feel them. You wouldn't get them in the shops under six." Alice did feel them,

and wondered whether her aunt could have saved the halfcrown honestly. "I had my eyes about me when I

was up in town, my dear. And look here, these are quite new have never been on yet, and I had them when

I was married before. There is nothing like being careful, my dear. I hate meanness, as everybody knows who

knows me; but there is nothing like being careful. You have a lot of rich people about you just now, and will

have ever so many things given you which you won't want. Do you put them all by, and be careful. They may

turn out useful, you know." Saying this, Mrs Greenow folded up, among her present bridal belongings,

sundriesof the wealth which had accrued to her in an earlier stage of her career.

And then Mrs Greenow opened her mind to Alice about the Captain, "He's as good as gold, my dear; he is,

indeed in his own way. Of course, I know that he has faults, and I should like to know who hasn't.

Although poor dear Greenow certainly was more without them than anybody else I ever knew." As this

remembrance came upon Mrs Greenow she put her handkerchief to her eyes, and Alice observed that that

which she held still bore the deepest hem of widowhood. They would be used, no doubt, till the last day, and

then put by in lavender for future possible occasions. "Bellfield may have been a little extravagant. I dare say

he has. But how can a man help being extravagant when he hasn't got any regular income? He has been

illtreated in his profession; very. It makes my blood curdle when I think of it. After fighting his country's

battles through blood, and dust, and wounds but I'll tell you about that another time."

"Never, my dear; much better be a tailor. Don't you ever marry a soldier. But as I was saying, he is the

besttempered creature alive, and the stanchest friend I ever met. You should hear what Mr Cheesacre says

"No, aunt, not yet. If you remember, he went away before I saw him when he came here before."

"Yes, I know, poor fellow! Between you and me, Kate might have had him if she liked; but perhaps Kate was

"Because of the farmyard, you mean? Kate shouldn't give herself airs. Money's never dirty, you know. But

perhaps it's all for the best. There's a sweet girl here to whom he is violently attached, and who I hope will

become Mrs Cheesacre. But as I was saying, the friendship between these two men is quite wonderful, and I

have always observed that when a man can create that kind of affection in the bosom of another man, he

Alice knew the story of Charlie Fairstairs and her hopes; knew of the quarrels between Bellfield and

Cheesacre; knew almost as much of Bellfield's past life as Mrs Greenow did herself; and Mrs Greenow was

no doubt aware that such was the case. Nevertheless, she had a pleasure in telling her own story, and told it as

though she believed every word that she spoke. On the following day the two gentlemen came over,

according to custom, and Alice observed that Miss Fairstairs hardly spoke to Mr Cheesacre. Indeed her

manner of avoiding that gentleman was so very marked that it was impossible not to observe it. They drank

tea out of doors, and when Mr Cheesacre on one occasion sauntered across towards the end of the bench on

which Charlie was sitting, Charlie got up and walked away. And in strolling about the place afterwards, and

in going up through the wood, she was at great pains to attach herself to some other person, so that there

should be no such attaching between her and the owner of Oileymead. At one time Mr Cheesacre did get

close up to her and spoke some word, some very indifferent word. He knew that he was being cut and he

wanted to avoid the appearance of a scene. "I don't know, sir," said Charlie, again moving away with

excellent dignity, and she at once attached herself to Alice who was close by. "I know you have just come

home from Switzerland," said Charlie. "Beautiful Switzerland! My heart pants for Switzerland. Do tell me

something about Switzerland!" Mr Cheesacre had heard that Alice was the dear friend of a lady who would

probably some day become a duchess. He therefore naturally held her in awe, and slunk away. On this

occasion Mrs Greenow clung lovingly to her future husband, and the effect was that Mr Cheesacre found

himself to be very much alone and unhappy. He had generally enjoyed these days at Vavasor Hall, having

found himself, or fancied himself, to be the dominant spirit there. That Mrs Greenow was always in truth the

dominant spirit I need hardly say; but she knew how to make a companion happy, and well also how to make

"I don't think I shall go there any more," he said to Bellfield, as he drove the gig back to Penrith that evening.

"Not go there any more, Cheesy," said Bellfield; why, we are to have the dinner out in the field on Friday. It's

"What's the use? You'll get your wife, and that's enough for you. The truth is, that since that girl came down

from London with her d d airs;' the girl from London with the airs was poor Alice "the place is

quite changed. I'm blessed if the whole thing isn't as dark as ditchwater. I'm a plain man, I am; and I do hate

your swells." Against this view of the case Captain Bellfield argued stoutly; but Cheesacre had been

offended, and throughout the nextday he was cross and touchy. He wouldn't play billiards, and on one

"You did it admirably, my dear," said Mrs Greenow that night to Charlie Fairstairs. The widow was now on

terms almost more confidential with Miss Fairstairs than with her own niece, Kate Vavasor. She loved a little

bit of intrigue; and though Kate could intrigue, as we have seen in this story, Kate would not join her aunt's

intrigues. "You did it admirably. I really did not think you had so much in you."

"And it's the only way, my dear the only way, I mean, for you with such a one as him. And if he does

"Pooh, nonsense! Girls never know whether men care for them or not. If he asks you to marry him, won't that

be a sign that he cares for you? and if he don't, why, there'll be no harm done."

"Now, don't talk nonsense, Charlie," said Mrs Greenow, "or you'll make me sick. Of course it's his money,

more or less. You don't mean to tell me you'd go and fall in love with him if he was like Bellfield, and hadn't

got a rap? I can afford that sort of thing; you can't. I don't mean to say you ain't to love him. Of course, you're

to love him; and I've no doubt you will, and make him a very good wife. I always think that worldliness and

sentimentality are like brandy and water. I don't like either of them separately, but taken together they make a

very nice drink. I like them warm, with , as the gentlemen say." To this little lecture Miss Fairstairs

listened with dutiful patience, and when it was over she said nothing more of her outraged affections or of her

disregard for money. "And now, my dear, mind you look your best on Friday. I'll get him away immediately

after dinner, and when he's done with me you can contrive to be in his way, you know."

The next day was what Kate called the blank day at the Hall. The ladies were all alone, and devoted

themselves, as was always the case on the blank days, to millinery and household cares. Mrs Greenow, as has

before been stated, had taken a lease of the place, and her troubles extended beyond her mere bridal

wardrobe. Large trucks of household linen had arrived, and all this linen was marked with the name of

Greenow; Greenow, 5.58; Greenow, 7.52; and a good deal had to be done before this ancient wealth of

housewiferycould be properly converted to Bellfield purposes. "We must cut out the pieces, Jeannette, and

work 'em in again ever so carefully," said the widow, after some painful consideration. "It will always show,"

said Jeannette, shaking her head. "But the other would show worse," said the widow; "and if you finedraw

it, not one person in ten will notice it. We'd always put them on with the name to the feet, you know."

It was not quite true that Cheesacre had bespoke the dinner out in the field, although no doubt he thought he

had done so. The little treat, if treat it was, had all been arranged by Mrs Greenow, who was ever ready to

create festivities. There was not much scope for a picnic here. Besides their own party, which, of course,

included the Captain and Mr Cheesacre, no guest could be caught except the clergyman that lowchurch

clergyman, who was so anxious about his income, and with whom the old Squire had quarrelled. Mrs

Greenow had quickly obtained the advantage of his alliance, and he, who was soon to perform on her behalf

the marriage ceremony, had promised to grace this little festival. The affair simply amounted to this, that they

were to eat their dinner uncomfortably in the field instead of comfortably in the diningroom. But Mrs

Greenow knew that Charlie's charms would be much strengthened by a dinner out of doors. "Nothing," she

said to Kate, nothing makes a man come forward so well as putting him altogether out of his usual tack. A

man who wouldn't think of such a thing in the drawingroom would be sure to make an offer if he spent an

At two o'clock the gig from Penrith arrived at the Hall, and for the next hour both Cheesacre and the Captain

were engaged in preparing the tables and carrying out the viands. The Captain and Charlie Fairstairs were

going to lay the cloth. "Let me do it," said Cheesacre, taking it out of the Captain's hands. "Oh, certainly,"

said the Captain, giving up his prize. "Captain Bellfield would do it much better," said Charlie, with a little

toss of her head; "he's as good as a married man, and they always do these things best."

The day was fine, and although the shade was not perfect, and the midges were troublesome, the dinner went

off very nicely. It was beautiful to see how well Mrs Greenow remembered herself about the grace, seeing

that the clergyman was there. She was just in time, and would have been very angry with herself, and have

thought herself awkward, had she forgotten it. Mr Cheesacre sat on her right hand, and the clergyman on her

left, and she hardlyspoke a word to Bellfield. Her sweetest smiles were all given to Cheesacre. She was

specially anxious to keep her neighbour, the parson, in good humour, and therefore illuminated him once in

every five minutes with a passing ray; but the full splendour of her light was poured out upon Cheesacre, as it

never had before been poured. How she did flatter him, and with what a capacious gullet did he swallow her

flatteries! Oileymead was the only paradise she had ever seen. "Ah, me; when I think of it sometimes but

never mind." A moment came to him when he thought that even yet he might win the race, and send Bellfield

away howling into outer darkness. A moment came to him, and the widow saw the moment well. "I know I

have done for the best," said she, "and therefore I shall never regret it; at any rate, it's done now."

"Yes; done, and done, and done. Besides, a man in your position in the county should always marry a wife

younger than yourself a good deal younger." Cheesacre did not understand the argument, but he liked the

allusion to his position in the county, and he perceived that it was too late for any changes in the present

arrangements. But he was happy; and all that feeling of animosity to Alice had vanished from his breast. Poor

Alice! She, at any rate, was innocent. With so much of her own to fill her mind, she had been but little able to

take her share in the Greenow festivities; and we may safely say, that if Mr Cheesacre's supremacy was on

any occasion attacked, it was not attacked by her. His supremacy on this occasion was paramount, and during

the dinner, and after the dinner, he was allowed to give his orders to Bellfield in a manner that must have

gratified him much. "You must have another glass of champagne with me, my friend," said Mrs Greenow;

and Mr Cheesacre drank the other glass of champagne. It was not the second nor the third that he had taken.

After dinner they started off for a ramble through the fields, and Mrs Greenow and Mr Cheesacre were

together. I think that Charlie Fairstairs did not go with them at all. I think she went into the house and washed

her face, and brushed her hair, and settled her muslin. I should not wonder if she took off her frock and ironed

it again. Captain Bellfield, I know, went with Alice, and created some astonishment by assuring her that he

fully meant to correct the error of his ways. "I know what it is", he said, to be connected with such a family as

yours, Miss Vavasor." He too had heard about the futureduchess, and wished to be on his best behaviour,

"This is the last time we shall ever be together in this way," said the widow to her friend.

"The last time. On Wednesday I become Mrs Bellfield, and I need hardly say that I have many things to think

of before that; but, Mr Cheesacre, I hope we are not to be strangers hereafter?" Mr Cheesacre said that he

"We all know your hospitality," said she; it is not today nor tomorrow that I or my husband that is to be

will have to learn that. He always declares that you are the very beau ideal of an English country

"Merely a poor Norfolk farmer," said Cheesacre. I never want to put myself beyond my own place. There has

been some talk about the Commission of the Peace, but I don't think anything of it."

"It has been the greatest blessing in the world for him that he has ever known you," said Mrs Greenow, still

"I've tried to be goodnatured; that's all. D me, Mrs Greenow, what's the use of living if one doesn't try to

be goodnatured? There isn't a better fellow than Bellfield living. He and I ran for the same plate, and he has

"That's so manly of you, Mr Cheesacre! But, indeed, the plate you speak of was not worth your running for."

"It was not. Nobody knows that as well as I do, or could have thought over the whole matter so often. I know

very well what my mission is in life. The mistress of your house, Mr Cheesacre, should not be any man's

"A virgin heart should be yours; and a virgin heart may be yours, if you choose to accept it."

"If you choose to take my solicitude on your behalf in that way, of course I have done. You were good

enough to say just now that you wished to see me and my husband in your hospitable halls. After all that has

passed, do you think that I could be a visitor at your house unless there is a mistress there?" "Upon my word,

"No, Mr Cheesacre; certainly not. For all our sakes, I should decline. But if you were married "

"I do, I do. It is the only way in which there can be any friendship between us, and not for worlds would I

"If you can't understand, it is not for me to say anything more, Mr Cheesacre. If you value the warm affection

"Not say a word to you? Is that all you know about it? Are you so ignorant that you cannot see when a girl's

heart is breaking beneath her stays?" This almost improper allusion had quite an effect on Mr Cheesacre's

sensitive bosom. "Did you say a word to her yesterday? And if not, why have you said so many words

"It is, oh, Mrs Greenow. But it is time that we should go back to them." They had been sitting all this time on

a bank, under a hedge. "We will have our tea, and you shall have your pipe and brandy and water, and

"Do you ask her, and she'll like it quick enough. But remember, Mr Cheesacre, I'm quite serious in what I say

about your having a mistress for your house. Only think what an age you'll be when your children grow up, if

They returned to the field in which they had dined, and found Charlie under the trees, with her muslin looking

very fresh. "What, all amort?" said Mrs Greenow. Charlie did not quite understand this, but replied that she

preferred being alone. "I have told him that you should fill his pipe for him," said Mrs Greenow. "He doesn't

care for ladies to fill his pipe for him," said Charlie. "Do you try, said the widow, "while I go indoors and

It had been necessary to put the bait very close before Cheesacre's eyes, or there would have been no hope

that he might take it. The bait had been put so very close that we must feel sure that he saw the hook. But

there are fish so silly that they will take the bait although they know the hook is there. Cheesacre understood

it all. Many things he could not see, but he could see that Mrs Greenowwas trying to catch him as a husband

for Charlie Fairstairs; and he knew also that he had always despised Charlie, and that no worldly advantage

whatever would accrue to him by a marriage with such a girl. But there she was, and he didn't quite know

how to avoid it. She did look rather nice in her clearstarched muslin frock, and he felt that he should like to

kiss her. He needn't marry her because he kissed her. The champagne which had created the desire also gave

him the audacity. He gave one glance around him to see that he was not observed, and then he did kiss

Charlie Fairstairs under the trees. "Oh, Mr Cheesacre," said Charlie. Oh, Mr Cheesacre, echoed a laughing

voice; and poor Cheesacre, looking round, saw that Mrs Greenow, who ought to have been inside the house

looking after the boiling water, was moving about for some unknown reason within sight of the spot which he

"Mr Cheesacre," said Charlie sobbing, how dare you do that? and where all the world could see you?"

"But I do I think a great deal about it. I don't know what to do, I don't I don't." Whereupon Charlie got

up from her seat under the trees and began to move away slowly. Cheesacre thought about it for a moment or

two. Should he follow her or should he not? He knew that he had better not follow her. He knew that she was

bait with a very visible hook. He knew that he was a big fish for whom these two women were angling. But

after all, perhaps it wouldn't do him much harm to be caught. So he got up and followed her. I don't suppose

she meant to take the way towards the woods towards the little path leading to the old summerhouse up

in the trees. She was too much beside herself to know where she was going, no doubt. But that was the path

she did take, and before long she and Cheesacre were in the summerhouse together. "Don't, Sam, don't!

Somebody really will be coming. Well, then, there. Now I won't do it again." 'Twas thus she spoke when the

last kiss was given on this occasion unless there may have been one or two later in the evening, to which

it is not necessary more especially to allude here. But on the occasion of that last kiss in the summerhouse

Miss Fairstairs was perfectly justified by circumstances, for she was then the promised bride of Mr

But how was he to get down again among his friends? That consideration troubled Mr Cheesacre as he rose

from his happyseat after that last embrace. He had promised Charlie, and perhaps he would keep his promise,

but it might be as well not to make it all too public at once. But Charlie wasn't going to be thrown over not

if she knew it, as she said to herself. She returned therefore triumphantly among them all blushing indeed,

and with her eyes turned away, and her hand now remained upon her lover's arm but still so close to him

that there could be no mistake. "Goodness, gracious, Charlie! Where have you and Mr Cheesacre been?" said

Mrs Greenow. "We got up into the woods and lost ourselves," said Charlie. "Oh, indeed," said Mrs Greenow.

It would be too long to tell now, in these last pages of our story, how Cheesacre strove to escape, and with

what skill Mrs Greenow kept him to his bargain. I hope that Charlie Fairstairs was duly grateful. Before that

evening was over, under the comfortable influence of a glass of hot brandy and water the widow had, I

think, herself mixed the second glass for Mr Cheesacre, before the influence became sufficiently comfortable

he was forced to own that he had made himself the happy possessor of Charlie Fairstairs' heart and hand.

"And you are a lucky man," said the widow with enthusiasm; "and I congratulate you with all my heart. Don't

let there be any delay now, because a good thing can't be done too soon." And indeed, before that night was

over, Mrs Greenow had the pair together in her own presence, and then fixed the day. "A fellow ought to be

allowed to turn himself," Cheesacre said to her, pleading for himself in a whisper. But no; Mrs Greenow

would give him no such mercy. She knew to what a man turning himself might probably lead. She was a

woman who was quite in earnest when she went to work, and I hope that Miss Fairstairs was grateful. Then,

in that presence, was in truth the last kiss given on that eventful evening. "Come, Charlie, be goodnatured to

him. He's as good as your own now," said the widow. And Charlie was goodnatured, "It's to be as soon as

ever we come back from our trip," said Mrs Greenow to Kate, the next day, "and I'm lending her money to

get all her things at once. He shall come to the scratch, though I go all the way to Norfolk by myself and fetch

him by his ears. He shall come, as sure as my name's Greenow or Bellfield, as it will be then, you know."

"And I shouldn't wonder if she did have to go to Norfolk," said Kate to her cousin. That event, however,

cannot be absolutely concluded in these pages. I can only say that, when I think of Mrs Greenow's force of

character and warmth of friendship, I feel that Miss Fairstairs' prospects stand on good ground.

Mrs Greenow's own marriage was completed with perfect success. She took Captain Bellfield for better or for

worse, with a thorough determination to make the best of his worst, and to put him on his legs, if any such

putting might be possible. He, at any rate, had been in luck. If any possible stroke of fortune could do him

good, he had found that stroke. He had found a wife who could forgive all his past offences and also, if

necessary, some future offences; who had money enough for all his wants, and kindness enough to gratify

them, and who had, moreover which for the Captain was the most important strength enough to keep

from him the power of ruining them both. Reader, let us wish a happy married life to Captain and Mrs

The day after the ceremony Alice Vavasor and Kate Vavasor started for Matching Priory.

Kate and Alice, as they drew near to their journey's end, were both a little flurried, and I cannot but own that

there was cause for nervousness. Kate Vavasor was to meet Mr Grey for the first time. Mr Grey was now

staying at Matching and was to remain there until a week of his marriage. He was then to return to

Cambridgeshire for a day or two, and after that was to become a guest at the rector's house at Matching the

evening before the ceremony. "Why not let him come here at once?" Lady Glencora had said to her husband.

"It is such nonsense, you know." But Mr Palliser would not hear of it. Mr Palliser, though a Radical in public

life, would not for worlds transgress the social laws of his ancestors; and so the matter was settled. Kate on

this very day of her arrival at Matching would thus see Mr Grey for the first time, and she could not but feel

that she had been the means of doing Mr Grey much injury. She had moreover something not much

indeed, but still something of that feeling which made the Pallisers terrible to the imagination, because of

their rank and wealth. She was a little afraid of the Pallisers, but of Mr Grey she was very much afraid. And

Alice also was not at her ease. She would fain have prevented so very quick a marriage had she not felt that

now after all the trouble that she had caused there was nothing left for her but to do as others wished.

When a day had been named she had hardly dared to demur, and had allowed Lady Glencora to settle

everything as she had wished. But it was not only the suddenness of her marriage which dismayed her. Its

nature and attributes were terrible to her. Both Lady Midlothian and the Marchioness of Auld Reekie were

coming. When this was told to her by letter she had no means of escape. "Lady Macleod is right in nearly all

that she says," Lady Glencora had written to her. "At any rate, you needn't be such a fool as to run away from

your cousins, simply because they have handles to their names. You must take the thing as it comes." Lady

Glencora, moreover, had settled for her the list of bridesmaids. Alice had made a petition that she might be

allowed to go through the ceremony with only one with none but Kate to back her. But she ought to have

known that when she consented to be married at Matching and indeed she had had very little power of

resisting that proposition all such questions would be decided for her. Two daughters therefore of Lady

Midlothian were to act, Lady Jane and Lady Mary, and the one daughter of the Marchioness, who was also a

Lady Jane, and there were to be two Miss Howards down from London girls who were known both to

Alice and to Lady Glencora, and who were in some distant way connected with them both. A great attempt

was made to induce the two Miss Pallisers to join the bevy, but they had frankly pleaded their age. "No

woman should stand up as a bridesmaid," said the strongminded Iphy, "who doesn't mean to get married if

she can. Now I don't mean to get married, and I won't put myself among the young people." Lady Glencora

was therefore obliged to submit to do the work with only six. But she swore that they should be very smart.

She was to give all the dresses, and Mr Palliser was to give a brooch and an armlet to each. "She is the only

person in the world I want to pet, except yourself," Lady Glencora had said to her husband, and he had

All this was very terrible to Kate, who had not much feminine taste for finery. Of the dress she had heard

of the dress which was waiting at Matching to be made up after her arrival though as yet she knew

nothing of the trinkets. There are many girls who could submit themselves at a moment to the kindness of

such a woman as Lady Glencora. Perhaps most girls would do so, for of all such women in the world, Lady

Glencora was the least inclined to patronise or to be condescending in her kindnesses. But Kate Vavasor was

"No; there can be no shipwreck to you. When the day of action comes you will be taken away, up to heaven,

upon the clouds. But what am I to do with all these Lady Janes and Lady Marys? Or what are they to do with

"You'll find that Glencora will not desert you. You can't conceive what taste she has."

"I'd sooner be bridesmaid to Charlie Fairstairs. I would indeed.My place in the world is not among Cabinet

"Yes; it seems that yours is to be there. They are your cousins, and you have made at any rate one great friend

"To tell the truth, Alice, I sometimes think you had better throw me over. I know it would be sad sad for

both, but perhaps it would be better. I have done you much harm and no good; and now where I am going I

shall disgrace you." She talked even of getting out at some station and returning, and would have done so had

not Alice made it impossible. As it was, the evening found her and Alice together entering the parkgate at

Matching, in Lady Glencora's carriage. Lady Glencora had sent a note to the station. "She could not come

herself," she said, "because Mr Palliser was a little fussy. You'll understand, dear, but don't say a word." Alice

didn't say a word, having been very anxious not to lower Mr Palliser in her cousin's respect.

None of the Lady Janes and Lady Marys were at Matching when they arrived. Indeed, there was no guest

there but Mr Grey, for which Kate felt herself to be extremely grateful. Mr Grey came into the hall, standing

behind Mr Palliser, who stood behind his wife. Alice passed by them both, and was at once in her lover's

arms. "Then I must introduce myself," said Lady Glencora to Kate, "and my husband also." This she did, and

no woman in England could have excelled her in the manner of doing it. "I have heard so much about you,"

said she, still keeping Kate's hand, "and I know how good you've been and how wicked you have been,"

she added in a whisper. Then Mr Grey was brought up to her, and they were introduced. It was not till some

days had passed over them that she felt herself at all at her ease with Mr Grey, and I doubt whether she ever

reached that point with Mr Palliser; but Lady Glencora she knew, and liked, and almost loved, from the first

"Have you heard the news?" said Lady Glencora to Alice, the first minute that they were alone. Alice, of

course, had not heard the news. "Mr Bott is going to marry Mrs Marsham. There is such a row about it.

Plantagenet is nearly mad. I never knew him so disgusted in my life. Of course I don't dare to tell him so, but

I am so heartily rejoiced. You know how I love them both, and Icould not possibly wish any better reward for

either." Alice, who had personally known more of Mr Bott than of Mrs Marsham, said that she couldn't but

be sorry for the lady. "She's old enough to be his mother," said Lady Glencora, "otherwise I really don't know

any people better suited to each other. The best is, that Mr Bott is doing it to regain his footing with Mr

Palliser! I am sure of that and Plantagenet will never speak to him again. But, Alice, there is other news."

"It is hardly news yet, and of course I am very wicked to tell you. But I feel sure Mr Grey knows all about it,

"He hasn't had time; and when he does, you mustn't pretend to know. I believe Mr Palliser will certainly be

Chancellor of the Exchequer before next month, and, if so, he'll never come in for Silverbridge again."

"Oh, yes; he'll be in Parliament. I don't understand all about it. There is a man going out for the county for

Barsetshire some man whom the Duke used to favour, and he wants Plantagenet to come in for that. I

"Mind, I don't know it. He has never told me. But he told me that he had been with the Duke, and asked the

Duke to let Jeffrey have the seat. The Duke became as black as thunder, and said that Jeffrey had no fortune.

In short, he wouldn't hear of it. Poor Jeffrey! we must try to do something for him, but I really don't know

how. Then the Duke said that Plantagenet should put in for Silverbridge some friend who would support

himself; and I fancy mind it's only fancy but I fancy that Plantagenet mentioned to his Grace one

"They've been talking together till sometimes I think Mr Grey is worse than Plantagenet. When Mr Grey

began to say something the other night in the drawingroom about sugar, I knew it was all up with you. He'll

be a financial Secretary; you see if he isn't; or a lord of something, or an undersomebody of State; and then

someday he'll go mad, either because he does or because he doesn't get into the Cabinet." Lady Glencora, as

she said all this, knew well that the news she was giving would please her cousin better than any other tidings

By degrees the guests came. The two Miss Howards were the first, and they expressed themselves as

delighted with Lady Glencora's taste and with Mr Palliser's munificence for at that time the brooches and

armlets had been produced. Kate had said very little about these matters, but the Miss Howards were loud in

their thanks. But they were goodhumoured, merry girls, and the house was pleasanter after their arrival than

it had been before. Then came the dreaded personage the guest Lady Midlothian! On the subject of

Lady Midlothian Kate had really become curious. She had a real desire to see the face and gait of the woman,

and to hear her voice. Lady Midlothian came, and with her came Lady Jane and Lady Mary. I am by no

means sure that Lady Jane and Lady Mary were not nearly as old as the two Miss Pallisers; but they were not

probably so fully resolved as to the condition of their future modes of living as were those two ladies, and if

so, they were not wrong to shine as bridesmaids. With them Alice had made some slight acquaintance during

the last spring in London, and as they were now to attend upon her as the bride they were sufficiently

gracious. To Kate, too, they were civil enough, and things, in public, went on very pleasantly at Matching.

A scene there was, of course, between Alice and Lady Midlothian a scene in private. "You must go

through it," Lady Glencora had said, with jocose mournfulness; "and why should you not let her jump upon

"And why are you to have everything just as you like it? You are so unreasonable. Think how I've been

jumped on! Think what I have borne from them! If you knew the things she used to say to me, you would not

be such a coward. I was sent down to her for a week, and had no power of helping myself. And the

Marchioness used to be sent for to look at me, for she never talks. She used to look at me, and groan, and

hold up her hands till I hated her the worst of the two. Think what they did to me, and yet they are my dear

Alice could not escape altogether, and therefore was closeted with Lady Midlothian for the best part of an

hour. "Did Lady Macleod read to you what I wrote?" the Countess asked, "Yes that is, she gave me the

"You suppose so, my dear! If you only suppose so I shall not be contented. I want you to appreciate my

feelings towards you thoroughly. I want you to know that I am most anxious as to your future life, and that I

am thoroughly satisfied with the step you are now taking." The Countess paused, but Alice said nothing. Her

tongue was itching to tell the old woman that she cared nothing for this expression of satisfaction; but she

was aware that she had done much that was deserving of punishment, and resolved to take this as part of her

penance. She was being jumped upon, and it was unpleasant; but, after all that had happened, it was only

fitting that she should undergo much unpleasantness. "Thoroughly satisfied," continued the Countess; "and

now, I only wish to refer, in the slightest manner possible, to what took place between us when we were both

"Because I think it may do good, and because I cannot make you understand that I have thoroughly forgiven

everything, unless I tell you that I have forgiven that also. On that occasion I had come all the way from

"I do not regret it, Alice. I never do regret doing anything which I believe to have been my duty. There is no

knowing how far what I said then may have operated for good." Alice thought that she knew very well, but

she said nothing. "I must confess that what I then understood to be your obstinacy and I must say also, if I

tell the truth, your indifference to to to all prudential considerations whatever, not to talk of

appearances and decorum, and I might say, anything like a high line of duty or moral conduct shocked me

very much. It did, indeed, my dear. Taking it altogether, I don't know that I was ever more shocked in my

life. The thing was so inscrutable!" Here Lady Midlothian held up one hand in a manner that was truly

imposing; "so inscrutable! But that is all over now. What was personally offensive to myself I could easily

forgive, and I do forgive it. I shall never think of it any more." Here Lady Midlothian put up both her hands

gently, as though wafting the injury away into the air. "But what I wish specially to say to you is this; your

own conduct is forgiven also!" Here she paused again, and Alice winced. Who was this dreadful old Countess

what was the Countess to her, that she should be thus tormented with the old woman's forgiveness? John

Grey had forgiven her, and of external forgiveness that was enough. She had not forgiven herself would

never forgive herself altogether; and the pardon of no old woman in England could assist her in doing so. She

had sinned, but she had not sinned against Lady Midlothian. "Let her jump upon you, and have done with it,"

Lady Glencora had said. She had resolved that it should be so, but it was very hard to keep her resolution.

"The Marchioness and I have talked it over," continued Lady Midlothian, "and she has asked me to speak for

both her and myself." There is comfort at any rate in that, thought Alice, who had never yet seen the

Marchioness. "We have resolved that all those little mistakes should be as though they had never been

committed. We shall both be most happy to receive you and your husband, who is, I must say, one of the

most gentlemanlike looking men I ever saw. It seems that he and Mr Palliser are on most friendly I may

"Exactly so. And now, my dear, everything is forgiven and shall be forgotten. Come and give me a kiss, and

let me wish you joy." Alice did as she was bidden, and accepted the kiss and the congratulations, and a little

box of jewellery which Lady Midlothian produced from out of her pocket. "The diamonds are from the

Marchioness, my dear, whose means, as you doubtless are aware, greatly exceed my own. The garnets are

I hardly know which was the worst, the lecture, the kiss, or the present. The latter she would have declined,

had it been possible; but it was not possible. When she had agreed to be married at Matching she had not

calculated the amount of punishment which would thereby be inflicted on her. But I think that, though she

bore it impatiently, she was aware that she had deserved it. Although she fretted herself greatly under the

infliction of Lady Midlothian, she acknowledged to herself even at the time, that she deserved all the lashes

she received. She had made a fool of herself in her vain attempt to be greater and grander than other girls, and

it was only fair that her folly should be in some sort punished before it was fully pardoned. John Grey

punished it after one fashion; by declining to allude to it, or to think of it, or to take an account of it. And now

Lady Midlothian had punished it after another fashion, and Alice went out of the Countess's presence with

sundry inwardexclamations of "mea culpa," and with many unseen beatings of the breast.

Two days before the ceremony came the Marchioness and her august daughter. Her Lady Jane was much

more august than the other Lady Jane very much more august indeed. She had very long flaxen hair, and

very light blue eyes, which she did not move frequently, and she spoke very little one may almost say not

at all, and she never seemed to do anything. But she was very august, and was, as all the world knew,

engaged to marry the Duke of Dumfriesshire, who, though twice her own age, was as yet childless, as soon as

he should have completed his mourning for his first wife. Kate told her cousin that she did not at all know

how she should ever stand up as one in a group with so august a person as this Lady Jane, and Alice herself

felt that such an attendant would quite obliterate her. But Lady Jane and her mother were both harmless. The

Marchioness never spoke to Kate and hardly spoke to Alice, and the Marchioness's Lady Jane was quite as

On the morning of this day the day on which these very august people came a telegram arrived at the

Priory calling for Mr Palliser's immediate presence in London. He came to Alice full of regret, and behaved

himself very nicely. Alice now regarded him quite as a friend. "Of course I understand," she said, and I know

that the business which takes you up to London pleases you." "Well; yes it does please me. I am glad I

don't mind saying so to you. But it does not please me to think that I shall be away at your marriage. Pray

make your father understand that it was absolutely unavoidable. But I shall see him, of course, when I come

"Because Mr Grey must be at Silverbridge for his election But perhaps I ought not tell you his secrets."

Then he took her into the breakfast parlour and showed her his present. It was a service of S vres china

"So do I like china," said she, with her face brighter than he had ever yet seen it.

"I thought you would like them best," said he. Alice looking up at him with her eyes full of tears told him that

she did like them best; and then, as he wished her all happiness, andas he was stooping over her to kiss her,

"She would have them sent here and unpacked," said Mr Palliser, "though I told her it was foolish."

"Of course I would," said Lady Glencora. Everything shall he unpacked and shown. It's easy to get somebody

Much of the wedding tribute had already been deposited with the china, and among other things there were

"Upon my word, her ladyship's diamonds are not to be sneezed at," said Lady Glencora.

Then Lady Glencora took up the Countess's trinkets, and shook her head and turned up her nose. There was a

"To me they are not, then," said Lady Glencora. "Diamonds are diamonds, and garnets are garnets; and I am

On the evening before the marriage Alice and Lady Glencora walked for the last time through the Priory

ruins. It was now September, and the evenings were still long, so that the ladies could get out upon the lawn

after dinner. Whether Lady Glencora would have been allowed to walk through the ruins so late as half past

eight in the evening if her husband had been there may be doubtful, but her husband was away and she took

"When shall I forget it; or how is it possible that such a night should ever be forgotten?"

"No; I shall never forget it. Oh dear, what wonderful things have happened since that! Do you ever think of

"Yes of course I think of him. I did like him so much. I hope I shall see him some day."

"And he liked you too, young woman; and, what was more, young woman, I thought at one time that,

"You've done much better, of course; especially as poor Jeffrey's chance of promotion doesn't look so good

"I can't help it, you know, if he does. Only think what it is to Plantagenet. Have you seen the difference it

"And think what it will be to me, Alice. I used to lie in bed and wish myself dead, and make up my mind to

drown myself if I could only dare. I shan't think any more of that poor fellow now." Then she told Alice

what had been done for Burgo; how his uncle had paid his bills once again, and had agreed to give him a

small income. "Poor fellow!" said Lady Glencora, it won't do more than buy him gloves, you know."

The marriage was magnificent, greatly to the dismay of Alice and to the discomfort of Mr Vavasor, who

came down on the eve of the ceremony arriving while his daughter and Lady Glencora were in the ruins.

Mr Grey seemed to take it all very easily, and, as Lady Glencora said, played his part exactly as though he

were in the habit of being married, at any rate, once a year. "Nothing on earth will ever put him out, so you

need not try, my dear," she said, as Alice stood with her a moment alone in the dressingroom upstairs before

Mr Grey and his wife were duly carried away from Matching Priory by post horses, and did their honeymoon,

we may be quite sure, with much satisfaction. When Alice was first asked where she would go, she simply

suggested that it should not be to Switzerland. They did, in truth, go by slow stages to Italy, to Venice,

Florence, and on to Rome; but such had not been their intention when they first started on their journey. At

that time Mr Grey believed that he would be wanted again in England, down at Silverbridge in Barsetshire,

very shortly. But before he had been married a week he learned that all that was to be postponed. The cup of

fruition had not yet reached Mr Palliser's lips. "There will be no vacancy either in the county or in the

borough till Parliament meets." That had been the message sent by Mr Palliser to Mr Grey. Lady Glencora's

message to Alice had been rather more full, having occupied three pages of notepaper, the last of which had

been crossed, but I do not know that it was more explicit. She had abused Lord Brock, had abused Mr

Finespun, and had abused all public things and institutions, because the arrangements as now proposed would

be very comfortable to Alice, but would not, as she was pleased to think, be very comfortable to herself.

"You can go to Rome and see everything and enjoy yourself, which I was not allowed to do; and all this noise

and bother, and crowd of electioneering, will take place down in Barsetshire just when I am in the middle of

all my trouble." There were many very long letters came from Lady Glencora to Rome during the winter

letters which Alice enjoyed thoroughly, but which she could not but regard as being very indiscreet. The

Duke was at the Castle during the Christmas week, and the descriptions of the Duke and of his solicitude as

to his heir were very comic. "He comes and bends over me on the sofa in the most stupendous way, as though

awoman to be the mother of his heir must be a miracle in nature. He is quite awful when he says a word or

two, and more awful in his silence. The devil prompted me the other day, and I said I hoped it would be a

girl. There was a look came over his face which nearly frightened me. If it should be, I believe he will turn

me out of the house; but how can I help it? I wish you were going to have a baby at the same time. Then, if

yours was a boy and mine a girl, we'd make a change." This was very indiscreet. Lady Glencora would write

indiscreet letters like this, which Alice could not show to her husband. It was a thousand pities.

But December and January wore themselves away, and the time came in which the Greys were bound to

return to England. The husband had very fully discussed with his wife that matter of his parliamentary

ambition, and found in her a very ready listener. Having made up his mind to do this thing, he was resolved

to do it thoroughly, and was becoming almost as full of politics, almost as much devoted to sugar, as Mr

Palliser himself. He at any rate could not complain that his wife would not interest herself in his pursuits.

Then, as they returned, came letters from Lady Glencora, written as her troubles grew nigh. The Duke had

gone, of course; but he was to be there at the appointed time. "Oh, I do so wish he would have a fit of the

gout in London or at Timbuctoo," said Lady Glencora. When they reached London they first heard the

news from Mr Vavasor, who on this occasion condescended to meet them at the railway. "The Duke has got

an heir," he said, before the carriage door was open "born this morning!" One might have supposed that it

was the Duke's baby, and not the baby of Lady Glencora and Mr Palliser. There was a note from Mr Palliser

to Mr Grey. "Thank God!" said the note, "Lady Glencora and the boy Mr Palliser had scorned to use the

word child "Lady Glencora and the boy are quite as well as can be expected. Both the new writs were

moved for last night." Mr Palliser's honours, as will be seen, came rushing upon him all at once.

Wondrous little baby purpureogenitus! What have the gods not done for thee, if thou canst only manage

to live till thy good things are all thine own to live through all the terrible solicitude with which they will

envelope thee! Better than royal rank will be thine, with influence more than royal, and power of action

fettered by no royalty. Royal wealth which will be really thine own, to do with it as it beseemeth thee. Thou

wilt be at the top of an aristocracy in a country where aristocrats need gird themselves with no buckram.All

that the world can give will be thine; and yet when we talk of thee religiously, philosophically, or

politicoeconomically, we are wont to declare that thy chances of happiness are no better no better, if they

be no worse' than are those of thine infant neighbour just born, in that farmyard cradle. Who shall say that

they are better or that they are worse? Or if they be better, or if they be worse, how shall we reconcile to

And now we will pay a little visit to the small one born in the purple, and the story of that visit shall be the

end of our history. It was early in April, quite early in April, and Mr and Mrs Grey were both at Gatherum

Castle. Mrs Grey was there at the moment of which we write, but Mr Grey was absent at Silverbridge with

Mr Palliser. This was the day of the Silverbridge election, and Mr Grey had gone to that ancient borough, to

offer himself as a candidate to the electors, backed by the presence and aid of a very powerful member of the

Cabinet. Lady Glencora and Alice were sitting upstairs with the small, purpleborn one in their presence, and

"Oh, Alice if you could have known? Your baby may come just as it pleases. You won't lie awake

trembling how on earth you will bear your disgrace if one of the vile weaker sex should come to disturb the

hopes of your lords and masters for I had two, which made it so much more terrible."

"No, he would have said nothing nor would the Duke. The Duke would simply have gone away instantly,

and never have seen me again till the next chance comes if it ever does come. And Mr Palliser would have

been as gentle as a dove much more gentle than he is now, for men are rarely gentle in their triumph. But I

"Yes, my bonny boy you have made it all right for me have you not?" And Lady Glencora took her

baby into her own arms. "You have made everything right, my little man. But oh, Alice, if you had seen the

Duke's long face through those three days; if you had heard the tones of the people's voices as they whispered

about me; if you had encountered the oppressive cheerfulness of those two London doctors doctors are

such bad actors you would have thought it impossible for any woman to live throughout. There's one

comfort if my mannikin lives, I can't have another eldest. He looks like living don't he, Alice?" Then

were perpetrated various mysterious ceremonies of feminine idolatry which were continued till there came a

grandly dressed old lady, who called herself the nurse, and who took the idol away.

In the course of that afternoon Lady Glencora took Alice all over the house. It was a castle of enormous size,

quite new having been built by the present proprietor very cold, very handsome, and very dull. "What

an immense place!" said Alice, as she stood looking round her in the grand hall, which was never used as an

entrance except on very grand occasions. "Is it not? And it cost oh, I can't tell you how much it cost. A

hundred thousand pounds or more. Well that would be nothing, as the Duke no doubt had the money in

his pocket to do what he liked with at the time. But the joke is, nobody ever thinks of living here. Who'd live

in such a great, overgrown place such as this, if they could get a comfortable house like Matching? Do you

remember Longroyston and the hotwater pipes? I always think of the poor Duchess when I come through

here. Nobody ever lives here, or ever will. The Duke comes for one week in the year, and Plantagenet says he

hates to do that. As for me, nothing on earth shall ever make me live here. I was completely in their power

and couldn't help their bringing me here the other day because I had, as it were, disgraced myself."

"In being so long, you know, before that gentleman was born. But they shan't play me the same trick again. I

shall dare to assert myself, now. Come we must go away. There are some of the British public come to see

one of the British sights. That's another pleasure here. One has to run about to avoid being caught by the

visitors. The housekeeper tells me they always grumble because they are not allowed to go into my little

On the evening of that day Mr Palliser and Mr Grey returned home from Silverbridge together. The latter was

then a Member of Parliament, but the former at that moment was the possessor of no such dignity. The

election for the borough was now over, whereas that for the county had not yet taken place, But there was no

rival candidate for the position, and Mr Palliser was thoroughly contented with his fate. He was at this

moment actually Chancellor of the Exchequer, and in about ten days' time would be on his legs in the House

proposing for his country's use his scheme of finance. The two men were seated together in an open carriage,

and werebeing whirled along by four horses. They were both no doubt happy in their ambition, but I think

that of the two, Mr Palliser showed his triumph the most. Not that he spoke even to his friend a word that was

triumphant in its tone. It was not thus that he rejoiced. He was by nature too placid for that. But there was a

nervousness in his contentment which told the tale to any observer who might know how to read it. "I hope

"For useful work, yes but hardly for enjoyment in the thing. And then I don't believe it all as you do. To

"Yes everything," said Mr Palliser with unwonted enthusiasm "everything, everything. That and the

"Ah, but it will be. If you really take to the work, and put yourself into harness, it will be so. You'll get to feel

it as I do. The man who is counted by his colleagues as number one on the Treasury Bench in the English

House of Commons is the first of living men. That's my opinion. I don't know that I ever said it before; but

"I say nothing about the second. I don't know that there is any second. I wonder how we shall find Lady

Glencora and the boy." They had then arrived at the side entrance to the Castle, and Mr Grey ran upstairs to

"They tell me so, but I don't know whether I actually am one till I've taken the oaths."

"It's a pity you are not Mr Palliser's wife. That's just what he has been saying."

"Oh, John, I am so happy. It is so much more than I have deserved. I hope that is, I sometimes think "

"I hope nothing that I have ever said has driven you to it." "I'd do more than that, dear, to make you happy,"

he said, as he put his arm round her and kissed her; "more than that, at least if it were in my power,"

Probably my readers may agree with Alice, that in the final adjustment of her affairs she had received more

than she had deserved. All her friends, except her husband, thought so. But as they have all forgiven her,

including even Lady Midlothian herself, I hope that they who have followed her story to its close will not be