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- *A* my rºs lºw- ºf
MºCANºLa Llanary Assoc 'ſ-27, 7(g
ºfféºnd
B
W.
Mrs. Alexand
TS. exander cCs
Qawwº- ^- He ASTL-
Author of “The Wooing &#: . Foe,” etc.
132 S - \%0 2. M
. .
ºf RCAN}|| | | |BRARY,
§ EVA. Y. Cº. K.
Mººr-a
New York • º
Dodd, Mead and Company - º:
1902
\sº -


MERCA lºt LIBRARY,
NEW YORK.
THE YELLOW FIEND
CHAPTER I.
“THERE's no use coming such a morning as this,”
said a tall, bony woman, with iron-grey hair, sharp,
dark eyes and a strong face, as she stood holding
open the entrance door of a solemn, four-storeyed
house in Osborne-place, and addressing a small boy
in a pair of very large, tattered trousers and a rag
of a cap pressed down on his wild, red hair. “No
use at all,” repeated the housekeeper or cook (she
might be either), looking up complainingly at the
murky sky and fast falling rain.
“It's 'orful hard,” said the boy, with a rueful
glance round. “No one'll have their steps swep'
such a mornin', and I am nigh starved.”
“Aye, I daresay! Go down and wait by the area
door. I’ll give you a crust and a drop of tea. Stand
out of the way, here's the postman!”
That messenger of good and evil sprang up the
steps and thrust a couple of letters into the woman's
hand, turning to walk swiftly away without a word.
“Two letters,” she mused, “and one has a foreign
stamp! It's long since he had one like that!” She
stepped back into the hall and closed the door.
It was a spacious hall, paved with black and white
marble and divided by an inner door. Passing


The Yellow Fiend 3
and although the aspect of the apartment was un-
speakably dreary it was well kept and clean.
To and fro past the bureau an old man paced—
a man of middle height, who might once have been
good looking, even handsome. His well-shaped
shoulders were stooped, and his grey dressing-gown
hung on them as if on a pair of clothes-pegs. His
hair, slightly waved and silvery white, hung over
his collar, his face, of a waxen pallor, was so thin
that the framework of its bones could be distinctly
traced. The eyes were his most remarkable feature,
deep set, dark, restless, devouringly inquisitive, and
over-arched with black brows in strong contrast
with his white hair—often veiled by his long lashes,
more frequently resentful, defiant, distrustful. As
he raised them to his housekeeper's they expressed a
curious mixture of indignation and fear. He paused
in his pacing, and, striking a letter he held open, ex-
claimed:
“She is dead! That infernal, intrusive busybody
is dead!”
The housekeeper gazed at him as if puzzled.
“What woman, sir? There be many busybodies.”
“You know, you must know, that half-German
woman—what's her name? Norman, Miss Nor-
man, who used to pester me with letters till I ceased
to answer. It is some time since she wrote—some
years. Hey?”
“Yes, sir, I remember now. Quite five years, I
should say,” returned the housekeeper, her counte-
nance changing. “Well, if she is dead she cannot
trouble you any more, sir.”


4. The Yellow Fiend
“There you are mistaken, utterly mistaken, Mrs.
Pinnock,” he exclaimed, resuming his troubled
walk. “She has passed it on, passed on her mission
to torment and impose, and—and persecute! But I'll
be firm, Mrs. Pinnock. I'll resist—resist this
audacious attempt. There, read, read | It's equal to
an attempt to murder—read it! You are no chat-
terer, Mrs. Pinnock, and I should not care if you
were.”
He sank into the chair which he had thrust back
from the bureau to ring for his housekeeper, and,
seizing a paper-knife, began to beat it nervously
upon the writing-desk which occupied the centre of
the bureau.
Thus exhorted, Mrs. Pinnock took the letter he
held out with evident reluctance. It was written
in a clear business hand on thin foreign paper, and
addressed to “Philip Ardell, Esq., 54, Osborne-place,
Bloomsbury, London, W. C.,” and began
“SIR,-Having found your address among Miss Helen
Norman's papers, when as English Vice-Consul and her
nearest friend in Paris I took possession of them, I have
undertaken the sad task of informing you that she died
on April 25th, little more than a week ago, after a brief
attack of severe diphtheria.
“By the request of her niece and adopted daughter I
have assumed the duties of executor, and find the poor
lady left little more than will pay her doctor's bill and
funeral expenses.
“As her niece, Miss Margaret Ardell, tells me she is
your granddaughter, I think it right to consult with you
as to what is best to be done on her behalf, for she is
practically penniless.
“I ought, perhaps, to mention that Miss Norman taught


The Yellow Fiend 5
my daughters German for the last few years, and Miss
Ardell, who is not quite nineteen, gave English lessons
in one or two families in this neighbourhood. Both ladies
were much liked and respected, and my wife is much
attached to Miss Ardell.
“We shall in all probability quit Paris in a few months
for a colonial appointment, and I should be glad to know
that your granddaughter was safe under your protection
before I leave Europe—Hoping for a speedy reply, I am,
Sir,
“Yours faithfully,
“FREDERIC CALDEcoTT.
“Rue de la Tour, Passy, Paris.”
Mrs. Pinnock did not read rapidly, and her master
watched her with impatience as she deciphered the
contents of the letter, till, no longer able to contain
himself, he rose and resumed his pacing.
At last Mrs. Pinnock solemnly folded up the letter
in silence.
“Well,” cried Mr. Ardell, quivering with angry
eagerness. “What do you think of that?”
“Well, sir, I think he seems a kind gentleman,”
said Mrs. Pinnock, as if feeling her way, “but >>
“Kind fool! Kind hypocritel Kind intriguer!
You'll find the girl has some claim upon the gentle-
man which he wishes to palm off on me,” interrupted
Mr. Ardell, angrily.
“Of course, sir, you know a deal more than I do,
but the young lady is your granddaughter, I be-
lieve.”
“And what of that? Am I to be burdened with
the-the outcome of another's culpably insane folly,
even though that other called me father? The young


6 The Yellow Fiend
lady, indeed. The young beggar ! What can the
child of a creature that couldn't hold his own with
the tyrant gold be worth? She shall not darken
my doors, I tell you.”
“Of course, you'll do what seems best to you,
sir,” returned Mrs. Pinnock, growing very grave,
her face settling into a look of resolution. “Maybe
it might be better for Miss Ardell to have an al-
lowance and live in a family where she would be
with other young people than—”
“Have you lost your senses?” asked Mr. Ardell,
staring at her with fierce displeasure. “I some-
times think you have some brains, some sense of
the value of money, then again you talk like that,
like a double-distilled idiot! Why should I give a
total stranger an allowance, a creature who has no
claim upon me? No one would expect it.”
Mrs. Pinnock made no reply.
“Did you hear me? You stupid, wrong-headed,
obstinate old »
“I may be all that, sir, but I don't like to be told
it. And there are plenty of places in this very street,
and in the squares close by, where I could get better
wages and civiller treatment.”
“Then why the deuce don't you go and find one
of them? You don't stay here for love of me.”
“Very good, sir. You'll be wanting your porridge
and a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Pinnock; and she would
have left the room but for a cry of “Stay, I tell you!”
from her amiable master.
She therefore placed the tray on a small table and


The Yellow Fiend 7
put a chair by it in silence. Mr. Ardell seated him-
self mechanically and began to eat his porridge.
“Is this the same piece of butter I had last night?”
he asked, bending down to examine a piece of about
two ounces on a cheese plate.
“It is, sir,” replied Mrs Pinnock, with melan-
choly assurance.
“Humph! I thought I left more. By the way,
if you have a five-pound note to spare I think I
could get you a couple of shares in this new Four
Per Cent. amalgamated stock of Ruabon and Gres-
ford Lines.”
“Much obliged, sir, but I haven't anything to
spare.”
A pause followed, during which Mrs. Pinnock
drew up the blinds into a level line.
“I think I'll go and see Briggs,” resumed her
master. “He is a sensible man of business.”
“I would, sir, if I was you. You'll be back to
lunch P”
“Yes, yes, of course. Bring me my boots.”
“It’s a terrible wet morning, sir. Hadn't you bet-
ter wait till after twelve? It may clear up, and if
one of your bad colds 35 -
“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “I hope I have no
holes in my boots, eh?”
“I think you know me better than to suppose I’d
fail to have them mended so long as they'll keep
together, and that won't be much longer with the
oldest pair.”
“Bring them,” returned her master, laconically.


8 The Yellow Fiend
*
He had resumed his chair at the bureau, and was
making some calculations with a stumpy pencil on
a scrap of paper.
Having pulled on the boots which fully justified
Mrs. Pinnock's opinion, Mr. Ardell looked round
and saw that she held his coat and had placed his
outside garment over a chair at hand.
“You’ll excuse me, sir, but your top-coat is really
not fit to be seen. The seams is that white, and the
collar cleaned threadbare. I’ve scrubbed it that hard
over and over—”
“What are you talking about? What does it
matter? I don't care about such trash,” he inter-
rupted. “Do you think I would indulge in luxuries?
No, no, no! Give me my stick and—let me see.”
He took some coins out of his trouser pocket—a
shilling, a sixpence, and a threepenny-piece in silver,
two pennies and a farthing in copper. He counted
them carefully.
“Enough, quite enough,” he muttered, putting
them back into his pocket.
“The 'buses will be crammed full, sir, on a day
like this, and you didn't ought to risk catching a bad
cold for the sake of saving a shilling.”
“Ah, that's the way people grow reckless and
spendthrift. What does a penny matter, or a shil-
ling? And so they go on till the fiend gold gets the
better of them—slips from their grasp, tramples
upon them, and can never be caught again. I
thought you had more sense, Mrs. Pinnock!”
Without waiting for an answer her irritable
master walked out of the room and out of the house.


The Yellow Fiend 9
*
“He is in a bitter bad temper this morning,” said
Mrs. Pinnock to herself as she followed him to close
and lock the hall door. “I wonder how I’ve the
patience to stay in this dungeon of a place with such
an old skin-flint of a master—a human creature
turned to gall and wormwood | But he ain't bad to
me, and mostly does what I ask him, that's what
smoothes me up the right way. We all have our dash
of conceit. Then he has given me a helpin’ hand
with my bits of savings. What a lonely creature he
is. I do wonder who'll get his savings.”


CHAPTER II.
SHAKING her head sagely Mrs. Pinnock descended
to the kitchen, set on the stockpot with its miscel-
laneous contents which was the mainstay of the
curious couple who were working out their battle
of life in a contradictory condition of not unfriendly
antagonism, and so took up her daily tale of bricks,
for which in such an establishment the supply of
straw was extremely scant.
Time slipped on and one o'clock struck. Still Mr.
Ardell did not return.
The rain stopped, and the clouds lifted sufficiently
to allow a watery gleam of sunshine to peep from
between their murky folds.
Mrs. Pinnock was setting her master's table care-
fully in the large front parlour when a loud summons
at the old-fashioned knocker startled her, and, put-
ting down the plate basket, she went to open the
door.
“Mr. Ardell at home?” asked a gentleman, who
stood waiting for admittance, a remarkably well-
dressed, well-groomed man.
“No, he has not come in yet.”
“Ah! Rather awkward. Expect him in soon?”
“Yes, his dinner is waiting.”
“Pray give him my card. I shall come back in
about two hours.”
“I’ll tell him, sir,” looking at the card.


I 2 The Yellow Fiend
with his shoes, and proceeded to take off his wet
boots with care. Mr. Ardell never broke silence
during the operation. Mrs. Pinnock poured him out
some beer, but he took no notice of it, sitting in deep
thought until his food—a basinful of thick Scotch
broth and a large slice of bread—was brought to
him.
“What does this cost?” he asked, knocking his
spoon against the basin, as Mrs. Pinnock hovered
about the room.
“Well, sir, I can't say to a basinful, but the scrag
end of a neck of mutton gives you four lunches and
myself three dinners, so that costs in meat about
two shillings, besides a trifle for vegetables.”
“Aye! There you go again. These unconsidered
trifles are the ruination of men and families Know-
ing the cost of living, you will hardly believe that
those confounded, canting hypocrites—Briggs and
Baker—have bullied me into—into what three hours
ago I wouldn't have believed any living soul could
have persuaded me to do.”
“Bless my heart! Mr. Ardell, do you mean to say
you are going to help the poor young lady, your
granddaughter? Well, sir, I’m sure you'll never re-
pent it.” -
“You are as big an idiot as they are l What rea-
son have you for your absurd beliefs? I know I'm
doing wrong, but I was between the devil and the
deep sea. According to Briggs, I'd disgrace myself
if I refused either to place this wretched girl in some
costly school, or some such place, to train for teach-
ing, or take her into my house. They have been use-


The Yellow Fiend I 3
ful to me—very useful—Briggs and the other, and it
seems to me they might be less friendly, less active
in my service if I refused to be guided by them—
in this, anyhow. I didn't seem able to help myself,
and I have promised to take her in—” he paused to
groan aloud. “Later she might learn to do your
work, and—and xy
“You could send me adrift, eh, sir?” put in Mrs.
Pinnock, quietly. “All right, Mr. Ardell, I'll not
forget.”
“The devil opens your eyes, I believe! At any
rate it will be a long time first, and if you do remcm-
ber one thing I hope you will another—that I helped
you to make a little you would never have had a
chance of getting without me.”
“Well, that's true, Mr. Ardell,” she returned,
good-humouredly, “so you must balance one with
the other.” Here she placed Brook's card before him.
“The gentleman will call again, he said, after lunch.”
“Oh, he will? That's right, that's right! And
Mrs. Pinnock, here, get these things away, open the
window; there's a vile smell of meat and gravy and
dainties. He'll think I’ve had a feast, that I'm soll-
ing in wealth. Here, I'll help you to open the window,
and—and—cork up the bottle; put it away. Leave
me the water and a plate of dry biscuits. Make
haste. Sweep up the crumbs.”
The housekeeper swiftly and handily removed all
traces of the modest repast, and had hardly accom-
plished this when the knocker announced a visitor,
and in a few seconds Mrs. Pinnock ushered Brook
into the dining-room.


I4. The Yellow Fiend
He was scarcely above middle height, well and
squarely, though slightly, built; his dark hair, cut
rather short, was glossy and waved; his features
straight and refined. He was clean shaved, shewing
a remarkably firm jaw and close-shut mouth. When
he smiled the whole expression of his face changed,
his large, deep blue eyes lit up with a look of kind-
liness and boyishness, except occasionally when a
sneering glance of scorn could flash from them. It
was rarely, however, that his self-command per-
mitted this revelation.
“I am afraid you did not receive a letter I wrote
to you from Buda-Pesth a week ago,” said Brook,
after they had exchanged greetings, as he drew a
chair opposite to Ardell and took a note-book from
his pocket.
“Yes, I did, but there was nothing in it that spe-
cially required a reply.”
“True. I wish everyone acted on the same prin-
ciple,” returned Brook, smiling. “It would lighten
the generally congested condition of one's corre-
spondence considerably. Well, Mr. Ardell, I am
quite prepared to refund your advance unless you
feel disposed to take the excellent opportunity which
offers at this moment of doing a little business in the
new Russian Canal Loan, which is one of the best
things I have heard of for some time.”
He proceeded to set forth the advantages of the
scheme not exactly in glowing colours, but in a cool,
dispassionate statement of pros and cons, which was
well calculated to impress a greedy listener. Old
Ardell listened with all his ears, and was even


The Yellow Fiend I 5
tempted, as Brook perceived; but his joy at the pros-
pect of receiving his “own again with usury” out-
balanced the temptation of risking his precious
“ducats” so soon again.
“No, my dear sir, not at present. When an old
man like myself has with difficulty garnered a scanty
harvest—a little nest-egg wherewith to provide the
necessities of his last days, and for a decent funeral
—it is with trembling anxiety he ventures a few
pounds hoping to gain an additional trifle, and when
you get your own again the joy of having the wan-
derer safe, of touching the coin that has been long
absent from your sight, your hands—is—is over-
powering. I cannot let it go so soon again!”
The young man smiled indulgently. “Then if you
will look in at Broad-street to-morrow, and bring my
promissory note, we'll setle up, and you may rest in
peace. Can you call at 2.30?”
“Say II.30, my dear sir. Never postpone to the
afternoon what can be done in the morning,” and he
laughed with repulsive glee.
“As you like—only I am not always so early my-
self.”
“Pray oblige me in this. I—I have a long day
before me. Ah, good-morning. Very glad to see
you again. Let me.”
“Don’t trouble; I can open the door myself.”
Brook shook hands cordially and departed. “I dare-
say you are deuced glad to see me again, you old
money-grubber!” he said to himself, as he walked
away towards Holborn. “I have seen a few misers
in my time, but never one like Ardell. He grows


I6 The Yellow Fiend
absolutely sentimental over his coin! Well, it is an
all-important ingredient in every man's life.”
To Mrs. Pinnock the prospect of a young girl
inmate of the gloomy house over which she had
presided for some monotonous years, was wildly ex-
citing. She knew her eccentric master too well to let
him see any symptom of the joyous ferment into
which his decision to receive his granddaughter had
thrown her.
“I’ll have a desperate hard fight to get her enough
to eat, and how I'll manage for a trifle more fire
when the winter comes, I'm sure the Lord only
knows! I wonder if she'll favour her grandfather.
She might be pretty if she does, for he must have
been a handsome man in his day. Anyhow, I'll do
my best for the poor young creature. What a house
for a young girl to come to! At all events, if she is
poor and and has been accustomed to battle for her
bread, she'll be broke in a bit.”
That at the end of so many years’ solitary con-
finement under Mr. Ardell's iron rule, Mrs. Pinnock
should still have any human feelings left was indeed
a wonderful instance of the preservative power
which common sense and a fair amount of sympathy
can exercise over the mind.
While she busied herself in making the best prep-
arations she could for the expected guest, that
victim of circumstances was travelling westward
with a sad heart and hopeless outlook.
Margaret Ardell, though thoroughly English by
descent, had never breathed the air of the famous
island; nor had she much desire to do so. Born


The Yellow Fiend 17
at Brussels, where her father, who possessed a fine
tenor voice, was engaged for a series of concerts, his
early death left her but a faint recollection of him.
Her mother—a sweet, delicate, rather helpless
woman, disposed to indulge in the luxury of woe—
lingered on for a good many years. She took ref-
uge with a sister who had played a mother's part
to her own childhood. Together they had kept the
wolf from the door by unremitting toil, one being a
clever linguist, and Margaret's mother an accom-
plished musician. A small German town was the
scene of their labours. Here they lived until after
Mrs. Ardell's death, when Miss Norman, who
thought her niece had gifts which promised well for
her success in art, migrated to Paris, where she suc-
ceeded in obtaining a clientèle and placing little
Margaret in a well-known studio.
The girl, whose friends and companions were
principally. French or German, with a sprinkling of
Russians and a few—very few—of her own country
people, had a dread of England, which was not les-
sened by her recollection of her mother's ap-
plications for help to the grandfather, who in-
variably refused, until he adopted the defensive—
that is, complete silence. To be thus despatched to
the guardianship of an ogre, as he seemed to her,
was bad enough, but to be compelled to accept such a
fate was the bitterest wrong of all.
About a fortnight later than the date on which
Mr. Ardell received the letter from poor Margaret's
friend, Mr. Caldecott, she found herself crawling in
a four-wheeler from Victoria Station towards


I 8 The Yellow Fiend
Osborne-place between seven and eight on a fairly
fine morning. She was too tired to observe the en-
tirely different aspect of the streets she passed
through from all she had seen elsewhere. She had
not suffered in crossing the Channel, but she had not
been able to lose consciousness for a moment, and
the trains on the Western line of France were neither
quick nor so good fifteen years ago as at present.
A desperate desire for silence and a cup of coffee
possessed her. A sense of suffering, of gloom and
hopelessness all round numbed her faculties, and
by the time she reached her grandfather's house, she
could hardly muster sufficient English (though she
always spoke it with her aunt) to ask the driver his
fare and inquire if Mr. Ardell lived there. Mrs.
Pinnock, however, had flown to the door as the cab
drove up, and even ran down the steps to assist its
little white-faced occupant to alight and take her
small packages.
“I’m sure, miss, you must be that tired, and I am
thankful there's a gleam of sun Cabby, can you lift
down the big box?”
“Box? It's a house! Why, it took three porters
to heave it up there!”
“I have some money. I can pay,” said Margaret
Ardell, taking out her purse.
“Thankee, miss, but I don't see no one about; and
it 'ud take a deal o' sixpences to pay for a broken
back.”
“Then it must stay in the street,” she returned,
with perfect composure, in a sweet voice but a
strange accent, as it seemed to Mrs. Pinnock.


The Yellow Fiend I 9
“I’ve a boy below,” she exclaimed, and, going
to the area rails, she called, in a cautious tone: “Bill,
Bill, come up here!” whereupon the small boy in the
big trousers came swiftly and was received with
scorn by Jehu.
“That 'ere bit of a gutter snipe to help lift such
a helephant of a box!”
“Anyway, I can run and call one as can,” said the
resourceful imp.
“Yes, please. I will pay you,” said the weary
traveller. -
“Hush, hush, miss! Don't mention paying till
the work is done,” ejaculated Mrs. Pinnock, em-
phatically.
Ultimately the boy returned with a loafer, the box
was taken upstairs, a short but severe conflict over
the amount to be given was concluded, and Mrs.
Pinnock conducted the new inmate to her room.


CHAPTER III.
MARGARET ARDELL was less than middle size, very
slight, but not angular. She had a small head, “run-
ning over” with nut-brown curls and a twist of hair
on the top; a colourless little brunette face, lit by a
pair of hazel eyes, sad and solemn, surrounded by
dark rings, indicating fatigue, and, perhaps, a trifle
too far apart; an insignificant nose, a mouth too wide
for beauty, surmounting a pretty, small chin; a
pathetic figure in a meagre black frock, which yet
hung gracefully, and a neat black straw hat adorned
with a twist of crape and a large bow.
“She is no beauty, poor little soul!” was Mrs.
Pinnock's mental verdict as she gazed upon her with
profound compassion.
She looked such a child, such a helpless little soul,
to be sent away to wither in the gloom and silence of
her grandfather's dingy, desolate abode.
“I’m thinking you are dreadful tired, miss,” began
Mrs. Pinnock, kindly. “I’ll bring you some break-
fast, and then you lie down and have a good sleep.
Your eyes look as if you hadn't shut them for a
month.”
“Thank you. I should be very glad of a cup of
coffee,” replied Margaret, or, as she was more gen-
erally called, “Madge.”
“Well, miss, I'm sorry I haven't none in the house,
but I can promise you a good cup of tea.”


The Yellow Fiend 2 I
“That will do very well. I often take tea.”
“She does speak pretty,” thought Mrs. Pinnock,
struck by the young stranger's soft, sweet tones and
dainty foreign accent. “You take off your hat and
cape, and I’ll bring your breakfast in a jiffy.”
She hastened away, but on her return, tray in
hand, she found that Madge had sunk down in the
nearest chair and had not attempted to remove her
outdoor garments, and was gazing at vacancy with
an odd, dazed expression.
“Oh, dear! This will never do, miss. You
must not take things so hard. You'll get used to the
dull old house, and, anyway, no one will interfere
with you. Let me take your cape. You'll be the
better for taking off your bonnet. That's it. Now,
I have made you a bit of buttered toast.”
While she spoke she poured out a steaming cup of
tea, handed the old silver sugar-basin, and poured a
drop or two of cream into the tea.
Margaret Ardell drew up her chair and tasted
her tea. “It is very good,” she said, and proceeded
to drink it with an evident sense of refreshment.
Mrs. Pinnock watched her with satisfaction, wish-
ing she would speak more; for something about the
little orphan forbade questioning, and Mrs. Pinnock
longed to know the ins and outs of everything. At
last the girl turned her eyes upon her companion and
asked:
“Who are you?”
The words were, to say the least, uncivil. But
the soft tone, the childlike simplicity with which the
question was put, disarmed all inclination to make a


22 The Yellow Fiend
tart reply, and Mrs. Pinnock said, with a broad
smile:
“I'm your grandfather's housekeeper, miss, and
the general servant into the bargain.”
“Then you live here?”
“Yes, of course.”
Madge smiled as if glad to hear it, and said: “I
will go to bed. I shall be so thankful to sleep—to
stop thinking.”
“Yes, my dear young lady, try to sleep. Then
yeu'll feel stronger and be ready to see Mr. Ardell
at dinner. He dines at one. He is a trifle eccentric,
but he'll soon find how pleasant it is to have a nice
young lady in his house.”
“I am not considered pleasant,” said Madge, ris-
ing and beginning to take off her dress.
Mrs. Pinnock packed up her tray and departed,
assuring the newly-arrived guest that she would
come and call her in time to dress for the midday
meal.
“She is too broken hearted to notice much,” she
said to herself, as she went noiselessly downstairs.
“I do hope the master will behave decent to her; he
can be cruelly unkind. What I cannot make out is,
how any lawyer that was ever sworn in or proved
that black was white and green no colour, could have
managed to persuade Mr. Ardell to take anyone into
his house—and above all things a young lady! I'm
afraid he'll hate the sight of her. I do hope and
pray he won't break her heart with his black looks
and bitter words. I sometimes wonder if he isn't
bitter to himself, too.”


The Yellow Fiend 23
Here Mr. Ardell’s bell summoned her.
She found her master up and dressed, waiting for
his tea and toast in the front parlour, where he al-
ways breakfasted and read the paper, while Mrs.
Pinnock prepared his bedroom, where he wrote and
poured over accounts and memoranda the greater
part of his time.
He was pacing the room, and stopped short
to gaze at his prime minister.
“Is she—" he began, and then broke off.
“She is,” returned Mrs. Pinnock, with an intel-
ligent nod.
“You did not come to me for money,” he ex-
claimed, eagerly. -
“The young lady had enough in her purse, sir.”
“So she had money in her purse? She ought to
give it to me; she isn't fit to keep money.”
“You can ask her, sir, at dinner.”
“Dinner! Must I have her to dine with me?”
“Where else is she to dine? You wouldn't put
her to dine with me?”
“You are a good deal more important than she
is. You—you can manage and save money. She
can only spend it, I fancy, only spend it. Oh, my
God, why am I compelled to have this creature near
me?”
“Well, sir, that's just what I’ve been asking my-
self.”
“You have been asking, eh? I couldn't help it
—couldn’t. God knows I couldn't help it.”
He sat down suddenly, closed his lips tightly, and


24- The Yellow Fiend
kept profoundly silent as long as Mrs. Pinnock re-
mained in the room.
“I wonder what'll come of it all,” she thought, as
she retired to her own premises. “Dear, dear! I
am sorry for that poor young creature. She has a
look of the old man, though. Won't he crush her if
she lets him! And it's not likely she can stand up
against such a stern old party. Well, I like to save
up myself, but only to live for gathering gold and
despising everyone who hasn't any, it's not living at
all !”
At last Mrs. Pinnock, having laid the cloth to the
best of her ability, ascended to Madge's room.
“She'll just have time to dress. She doesn't look
like one that would do a lot of titivating. She is
sound asleep. It's cruel to wake her,” was her next
thought, as she watched the pale young face as it lay
hushed in profound repose, looking almost childlike
in the cessation of troubled thought; and while Mrs.
Pinnock gazed, Madge woke.
“Have I overslept myself?” she exclaimed, half-
rising and leaning on her elbow.
“Oh, no, you have half-an-hour to dress. Your
grandpa has his dinner at one. It's half-past twelve
now.”
“Yes, plenty of time. Where shall I go when I
am ready?”
“Just straight downstairs. I’ll be about there, and
take you into the room. If you'll excuse my speak-
ing in this way, don't let on that you are in any way
frightened of Mr. Ardell.”
“Is he a sort of man to be afraid of P”


The Yellow Fiend 25
“Well, yes, if you are not accustomed to him.
There now, I’ll leave you to dress.”
This important function was sooner accomplished
than Mrs. Pinnock anticipated, and just as Madge
descended the stairs Mr. Ardell's bell sounded.
“Wait here a minute till I see what your grandpa
wants,” and Mrs. Pinnock entered his den.
“You rang your bell, sir?”
“Yes. Bring me my dinner here,” said the old
man, gruffly.
“Ah, what is it puts you against the young lady?
She is that nice and quiet. She's been asking when
she was to see her grandfather.”
“Later on, later on,” he said, hastily.
“You’d better have refused to let her come than
behave so cruel to her when she arrives.”
“That’s no affair of yours. I won't sit at table
with her, you presumptuous old stupid.”
“You know I don't mind your bad names, but I
am a mother myself, and I can't help feeling for
the child, and she's little more. You may have your
dinner by yourself, sir, but just let her come in and
shake hands and say a kind word 35
“Let her come in for five minutes,” cried Mr.
Ardell, after a short pause, “then trouble me no
more.” -
His face grew more like a waxen mask than ever,
and an angry sparkle lit up his eyes.
Mrs. Pinnock gave him no time to change. She
was in the hall almost before he ceased to speak.
“Mr. Ardell would be glad to see you, miss. He


26 The Yellow Fiend
is not so well to-day, and will take a bite in his own
room,” she said, blandly.
Madge Ardell made no reply, but at once moved
to the half-open door which the housekeeper threw
wide, and quietly advanced till within a pace or two
of the old man. He stood up and faced the intruder
with a glare in his eyes like some creature brought
to bay. -
“There they stood, gazing at each other,” Mrs.
Pinnock used to say, in describing the interview to
her son in after years. “I never saw the like of it.
He was clenching his hands as if—God forgive me
if I wrong him—he was wishing to throttle her!
And she, that quiet and steady, her big brown eyes
looking straight into his—not angry or frightened,
but with a sort of grave pity—till he slowly turned
away and sat down again. Then he says: “If you
don't like the place,’ says he, or crave for luxuries,”
says he, “don’t let me hear any nonsense on the sub-
ject; no one shall have luxuries in my house! Re-
member, I did not want you to come here. I was
over persuaded—forced to take you in.”
“‘I can understand that,” she answers, quite soft
and mild, but very clear, “by my own horror of com-
ing.”
“He turned and looked at her as if surprised.
“‘Have I your permission to stay here for a
while?” she added, when they had looked at each
other again.
“‘You may; he says you must.”
“‘Then I need not trouble you further.’
“She turned round, always very quiet, and out she


The Yellow Fiend 27
walked I never saw the like of it before, and I hope
I never may again! The hatred them two seemed
to take against each other all at oncel I felt as if
the devil himself was cock-fighting with them.”
When she got out of the room, Mrs. Pinnock
found Madge sitting on one of the hall chairs look-
ing very white.
“I stayed here to save you the fatigue of coming
all the way up to look for me. The stairs here must
be fearfully fatiguing.”
“Oh, my dear young lady,” cried the housekeeper,
“I am that sorry and ashamed to think my master
would speak to you like that!”
“Why should he like me?” said Madge. “We
have never met before, and I have never done any-
thing to earn his liking. And to like people because
they are related to you is rather stupid; and I must
stay here, or starve or live on the charity of someone
else. I am sorry to impose myself on Mr. Ardell,
but they tell me he is very rich. I shall not cost him
much, and when I find something to do I shall re-
lease him. Then, neither my father nor myself have
ever cost him anything.”
“I don’t suppose anyone has. But, my dear young
lady, try and get round him. Defying him will only
make him worser and harder.”
“What will be will be,” said Madge.


CHAPTER IV.
THE same light which strove so hard to brighten
the close ranks of the houses in Bloomsbury pro-
duced a much more enlivening effect upon the trees
and gardens surrounding a few old-fashioned cot-
tages still left standing on the secluded space be-
tween Alpha and St. John's Wood-roads.
In one of the most secluded of these a little two-
storeyed edifice, standing in a neatly-kept lawn,
beautified with flower-beds and shaded by an elm-
tree, which looked too large for the little enclosure,
a note of preparation had evidently sounded. The
French windows of the sitting-room were set wide
open, and some chairs stood upon the grass; while
a stout servant-girl and an elderly woman were beat-
ing and brushing various cushions.
The entrance to this abode gave upon a very nar-
row, winding road or lane; and the house was
screened from view by a high wooden paling, much
overgrown with ivy.
“That will do, Liza,” said the elderly woman, who
seemed to be directing the operations. “We haven't
left a grain of dust in them cushions. Time's run-
ning on, and I must look to my dinner. Carry in the
chairs. I see Mrs. Grey is in the drawing-room;
she will tell you how to fix them.”
As she spoke, a tall, graceful, girlish-looking
woman stepped out upon the grass.
“I am sure you have made these things look quite


The Yellow Fiend 29
fresh,” she exclaimed, smiling pleasantly. “We
will put them in their places now. I have finished
the flowers, so the room will be quite ready in a few
minutes.”
“Then I'll go to the kitchen, mum; it's time I be-
gan the dinner.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cox. Hurry ruins cooking, I have
heard you say.”
“That it does! But the soup is ready for one
thing.” And they each went their ways.
An hour later and the cause of this preparation
revealed itself. A cab with a portmanteau on the
top drove up; a loud ring succeeded. The stout
servant ran to open the gate; Mrs. Cox dropped her
kitchen apron and went to the door. The driver,
evidently mollified by receiving more than his full
fare, assisted the girl to take down and carry in the
portmanteau; and the gentleman, whose coming was
so important an event, gave a friendly nod and civil
“Hope all's well, Mrs. Cox,” as he passed that re-
spectable party and went on swiftly to the beautified
drawing-room and closed the door.
Here we must not follow him, nor allow our
sacrilegious eyes to watch the rapturous embrace in
which he enfolded the fair woman who awaited him
and returned kisses as warm, though, perhaps, more
tender, than those she received.
“And you are well!” holding her away that he
might the better look into her sweet, frank eyes,
which seemed grey to some, and brown to others.
“Quite, quite well. Why do you tremble? You are
sure you are quite well ?”


The Yellow Fiend 3 I
smiled, as if some very delightful memory was
awakened by the mention of it.
“Why, Constance, you too have forgotten baby!”
“I am ashamed of myself! Yes, I have, and it's
your fault. You cruel and unnatural parient!”
“It is a triumph for me! I am quite aware that
I have a most formidable rival in my daughter.”
“I will fetch her this moment,” cried the mother,
and ran out of the room before he could intercept
her. -
Then the usual scene was enacted, the tableau of
monsieur, madame, and bébé; only the particular
baby we describe was evidently very much a stranger
to “papa,” and rather given to seek refuge in
“mother’s arms.”
“She will be a pretty little creature,” said Grey,
looking curiously at her. “She has your eyes and
hair; well, thank God for that! A plain woman is
an awful affliction.”
“But a good woman, dear >
“Is nowhere in the race of life compared to a
wicked, pretty one ! Your great drawback, my
sweet, is that you are a great deal too good. How-
ever, thank Heaven you are not all raspberry jam ſ”
“Shall I try to be devilish?”
“No, I should never be able to tear myself away
if you did!”
“What a bribe ſ” returned the wife. “Come, dear,
you must dress; dinner will soon be ready. You'll
find Mrs. Cox and I have contrived a dear little din-
ing-room. You know the small den she had for her-
self? Well, she has given it up and persuaded her
y
>


32 The Yellow Fiend
landlord to make a sort of addition, a square pro-
jecting window. You'll see how nice it is. She is
such a good soul!”
“We pay her a very good rent, and the house
would not suit everyone. But I am glad you con-
trived a dining-room; it is horrid to sit the whole
evening in an atmosphere of dinner.” -
When that dainty meal, which, though cooked in
a lodging-house, was toothsome and well-served,
was over, and baby seen safely in bed and asleep,
Mrs. Grey rejoined her husband, who was smoking
a fragrant cigar beside the open window.
“Are you very tired?” she asked, pausing beside
the easy chair, where he sat in a state of luxurious
repose, and smoothing back his thick, fine, dark hair.
“No, I cannot say I am. I am in a delicious con-
dition of laziness. It is heavenly to be at home
again. I have been a long time away this turn.”
“Three months and five days,” returned his wife,
promptly.
“And have you been very desolate?”
She did not reply at once. A quick, deep sigh
heaved her bosom, but her tone was cheerful as she
answered:
“Oh, pretty bad. But what with baby and that de-
lightful piano you sent me I got on wonderfully
well.”
“Play something, dear. I am thankful the baby.
hasn't banished the piano.”
“I assure you baby is quite a connoisseur. There
are airs which enchant her and others which make
her kick and scream.”


The Yellow Fiend 33
“Come now, that's a flight of imagination. By the
way, what have you called this important atom?”
“My dear Bertiel How can you forget the name
of your sweet little daughter?”
“Because I think so much of her still sweeter
mother. Play something, darling.”
She obeyed, and, after wandering over the keys
for a few minutes with a delightful, practised touch,
she glided into the “Abendsternlied.”
He listened with profound attention, enjoying the
freshness of the dewy evening, the odour of the
grass and flowers.
“Bravo! Bravo!” he murmured. “Exquisite.
You must have worked hard while I was away. I
don't think I ever heard you play so well. Really,
women are much harder workers than men.”
“I like to keep up my music. It may be useful
to us both. I know that you are ambitious, Bertie,
and have visions of success and wealth, but I am not
of such a soaring nature, and I like to make sure
of what little capital I possess.”
“Aha, sceptic! I know you are a little jealous of
my reticence. But, Constance, when my plans—my
schemes, if you will—are mixed up with the destinies
of individuals, nay, nationalities, can I keep silence
too rigidly? Trust me and be patient. The day is
not far off when you shall know everything and give
me plenary absolution. Now, I have a delightful
plot in my mind. No, dear, not a third cigar.
‘Moderation in all things' (except your kisses) as
the Apostle, or some Apostle, says. Here, love, light
the lamp. Oh, I ought to do it myself, but indulge


34. The Yellow Fiend
me to-night. There's a railway map about, isn't
there?”
“Yes. I have all the maps and railway books on
this étagére.”
“What a methodical witch! Well, I am going to
propose that, as I am to have a month's holiday, and
there is some promise of fine weather, that you and
I run away together. There is a little nook on the
coast of Carnarvonshire where I once spent a few
delightful weeks when I was at college and full of
dreams. Let us run away there and escape from
everyone.”
“What a delightful idea, Bertiel But won't it
cost a great deal? And these rooms? I should not
like to lose them.”
“No, nor I. So I shall keep them on. Make
your mind easy, my precious economist. Trust me
not to outrun the constable.”
“Oh, yes, I do. But my poor father and I had
such a hard fight of it yx
“Think only of joy to-night, my soul. Then, can
you start the day after to-morrow?”
“Yes, quite well. In fact, if you keep on these
rooms I have only to put up a few clothes and books.
So we can go when you choose.”
“What, to-morrow?”
“Why not? I wonder what baby will say to the
sea.”
“Baby? Why, you are not going to take the in-
fant?”
Constance hesitated. She was a most loving
mother, but her love did not quite overpower her


The Yellow Fiend 35
common sense, which enabled her to see that possibly
her husband might like to have her all to himself.
“You surely might leave the child with her young
nurse under Mrs. Cox's supervision. The old dame
seems devoted to our young lady.”
“Well, yes. I do not think little Kitty could come
to much harm under Mrs. Cox's care,” she said, re-
flectively. “I’ll settle all about it, but I would rather
start the day after to-morrow.”
“All right, my most gracious queen! When we
return I shall devote my mind to learn all the
fascinations of my adorable daughter.”
“You will soon discover them, Bertie. She is so
intelligent, and so like you.”
“Don’t you think she would produce a greater
effect on me if she were like you?”
“No flattery, sir, at the expense of my daughter.”
“Do you think you can manage to ride a Welsh
pony, Constance?”
“Yes, of course. Do you forget our expedition to
the Pyrenees?”
“Forget !” he exclaimed, with a look and accent
which brought the vivid colour to her cheek, though
it was more than two years since she had become
his wedded wife.
So thoughtless, if fearless, of the future, they ar-
ranged their plan for a second honeymoon.
To Constance life was too lovely, too full of happy
memories and delicious anticipations. Had ever
woman so delightful a lover? Affection such as his
might indeed be trusted What could shake an at-
tachment founded not only on the union of hearts


36 The Yellow Fiend
but the similarity of tastes and interests, companion-
ship of the highest order? Could she but be able
to impress her husband with a sense of her own
trustworthiness, so that he would confide the true
story of his life and pursuits to her, there would be
nothing else left to wish for Well, that would come
yet—as most things had done.


CHAPTER V.
MRs. PINNOCK's pleasant anticipations of an in-
teresting, youthful inmate, who would cheer her up
and arrest the progress of a sort of numb stagnation
which, in spite of her devotion to her duties and her
never-ceasing labour to keep the house clean, would
steal over the good woman's spirit, were doomed to
disappointment. Indeed, the presence of the young
visitor seemed to add several degrees of intensity to
the gloom of Mr. Ardell's abode.
By the time Madge had been ten days her grand-
father's guest his housekeeper was seriously alarmed
about her mental and physical condition. She
seemed to be sinking into a kind of lethargy. She
rarely spoke; she scarcely ate. She had opened her
big box and tumbled out a few miscellaneous articles
which lay on the floor and hung over its sides, but
got no further with her unpacking. She either stood
gazing out of the window vacantly, on that most
deplorable of all views, a smutty, smoke-dried Lon-
don garden, or sat with her elbows on the table and
her chin supported on her hands, her big brown eyes
tearless and wide open.
She had some sense of duty, Mrs. Pinnock
thought, for she made an attempt to put her room in
order every morning. “But she just throws the bed-
clothes back; it never comes to her to turn the mat-
tress. I sometimes think my poor master isn't quite
right in the upper storey; anyway, I can manage


38 The Yellow Fiend
him. But to be in the house with two lunatics is
more than I could stand. I don't like meddling with
what doesn't concern me, but I must speak to her.”
The next morning when Mrs. Pinnock brought
breakfast to the object of her solicitude in the big,
gaunt front parlour or dining-room, she put her in-
tention into execution.
“I'm afraid you didn't sleep well last night, Miss
Margaret?” -
“Who? Me?” she replied, with a start. “No, I
never sleep well now. Why do you ask?”
“You are looking so white and poorly. Of course,
it's a dull sort of a place at present, but if you'd try
and do something, maybe you'd sleep a bit better.
Just try and unpack, and put your things tidy.
There's a fine wardrobe and a big chest of drawers;
room for lots of things. And if you sit day after day
with your hands before you, why—why you'll go
mad.”
“I am going mad!” replied Margaret, with great
composure. “I am helpless and hopeless, and the
sooner they lock me up and finish me off the better.
What is the use of living if I’m to do my living in
... this brick grave? I knew I should hate my grand-
father, but I did not think he would be so horrid.”
“Oh, miss, excuse me, but just think how much
better off you are than many a poor girl. You have
a good roof over your head, and your meals regular
—though they ain't very grand—a good bed to lie
upon and clothes to wear.”
“Yes, for a couple of months, perhaps. Where I
shall find covering after I cannot think. My grand-


The Yellow Fiend 39
father will not give me pin-money, I imagine; and,
Mrs. Pinnock, don't you know that neither man nor
woman can live by bread alone? That's in the Bible,
so you must believe it. I told them in Paris that I
knew I could never live here. They talked a quan-
tity of nonsense about being under my grandfather's
protection and in my right place. I don't want his
protection. I can take care of myself, and I hate
this cold, dark, ugly place. You say it's fine
weather; I cannot see the fineness.”
“Well, miss, I'm sure I am sorry for you, for it's
a dull, miserable house, but being idle won't help
you.”
“Idle ! Why, it's because I’ve nothing to do and
there is nothing worth doing that I am ready to put
an end to myself. I was never idle in my life. I
wish you'd scold me and abuse me. It would be
exhilarating to abuse you back.”
“Lor, miss, that would be a funny way of cheer-
ing you up!” cried Mrs. Pinnock, smiling good-
naturedly. “Come now, like a dear, set to work,
unpack your clothes and lay them away. Look here,
there's cold meat for lunch, and Mr. Ardell is going
out for most of the day, so I’ll come and help you.
I’d like to see all your nice things.”
“My nice things ſ” she laughed. “Oh, you shall
see them. But you are very kind and I am rather a
savage. Yet if you were not here—well, I should go
mad all the sooner. So if you care to help me I will
unpack, especially if you will do me one favour.”
“I am sure I will if I can.”
“Let me dine in the kitchen with you. I know


4-O The Yellow Fiend
Mr. Ardell will not dine in the salle à manger, be-
cause the sight of me makes him sick. He has just
the same effect on me. I shall be able to eat if I can
do so safe downstairs.”
“Very well, miss, you shall have your dinner in
the kitchen if you don't mind the likes of me along-
side of you.”
“Of course I don't. Please give me another cup
of tea and a slice of brown bread. You see, I am
eating quite a good breakfast because you are talk-
ing to me and scolding me.”
“Scolding! Why, bless your heart, I ain't scold-
ing you.”
Thus began the friendship which later on grew
warm and fast between Mrs. Pinnock and her mas-
ter's grandchild.
Mrs. Pinnock found the morning pass rapidly in
a delightful fashion, for her new young friend was
on the whole communicative enough respecting the
various possessions packed in her big black box;
and by the time the contents had been transferred to
the wardrobe and chest of drawers, the housekeeper
had gathered a tolerable notion of the life Margaret
Ardell had led, both in Germany and in Paris. It
certainly did not seem to have been an idle one.
“You are right,” said the young lady, as she
threw a tangle of cord and labels on to a lot of tat-
tered paper. “I feel much better because I have
been up and doing.”
“Of course you do, miss. But you needn't throw
away that cord, all the same. If I didn't keep every
scrap of twine and string that came into the house


The Yellow Fiend 4. I
I’d never have an inch to tie up anything. Please
hand me them pieces.”
Madge obeyed.
“How long have you lived with Mr. Ardell?” she
asked, suddenly, sitting down in a stiff, straight, oak
armchair and gazing at the housekeeper with a look
of profound contemplation, as if she were analysing
her character.
“Close on twelve years, miss.”
“Twelve years! Oh, my God! And you are
alive!” cried the young lady, in a voice expressive
of incredulity. “I daresay the years seemed twelve,
but they cannot be so many. Don't you hate him?”
“Well, indeed, I do not. I am more sorry for
him. There's something about Mr. Ardell I can't
help liking. I am sure he hadn't a bad heart to be-
gin with.”
“What has he done with it, then? I'd like to
know. It would be a good thing to be able to get
rid of a heart when it is tiresome.”
“I’m not so sure of that, miss. It's not easy to get
it back again. I believe there isn't a miserabler man
in all this big London than Mr. Ardell.”
“I hope so,” said Madge, composedly. “He be-
haved like a brute to me.”
“Oh, my dear, don't speak so hard. God knows
what he has gone through.” -
“How did you come to live here?” asked Madge,
point blank. “I want to know all about you, if you
don't mind. You seem such a wonderful woman to
>>
Ine.


4-2 The Yellow Fiend
“Bless your heart, my dear, there's nothing won-
derful about me,” and Mrs. Pinnock laughed.
“Hush!” said the girl, reprovingly. “It is un-
canny to hear laughter in this house.”
“Well, now, that's what my boy says.”
“Have you a boy?”
“Yes, as dear a son as ever lived. It's all along
of him that I come here.”
“Tell me how it came about, and sit down. You
must be terribly tired with standing. Do you never
sit down?”
“Not often, miss.”
“Do sit down,” and Madge rose to fetch a chair.
“Oh, dear, don’t trouble for me,” returned Mrs.
Pinnock, delighted, as the most unselfish are, to talk
about self. l
“You see, my poor husband was a deal better
educated than me, and most respectable in every
way. He was a cabinet-maker by trade, and
employed constant by a big firm, never a day out of
work. One of the gentlemen—a partner, I think—
told me after he was dead and gone, that he was a
real hartist. Well, he was steady and sober, and we
did well and saved money. When my George was
about twelve and getting on well at school, my hus-
band got a bad throat. I was awful uneasy. It
seemed to me from the first he was to be took. Well,
it turned to diphtheria, and that soon finished him.
Ah, I’d have died if I hadn't had my boy. You
must know, miss, George had set his heart on being
a sailor, and father had him educated so far for the
merchant service. And Mr. Palmer, the head part-


The Yellow Fiend 4-3
ner in the house where he worked, offered to take
care of the boy's training, and I begged him to get
me work, so as I might keep our little savings for
my George. Well, he did get me a place as house-
keeper with a rich old lady, who was rather silly—
not all there, you know. But before two years was
over she died. Then her lawyers were Mr. Ardell's,
and because I had managed well and economically
they almost made me come here. It seems they had
some trouble to keep Mr. Ardell from starving him-
self, and so they somehow got him to take me. We
didn't get on bad from the first, but one day I saw
something in the papers about a building society. It
was broken up, I remember. Now, my poor hus-
band had left me a hundred pounds in just such
another society, and I took fright and made so bold
as to tell Mr. Ardell and ask his advice. My dear,
from that hour he was like a father to me. He
nearly went into a fit to think I had so much money
in such a rotten concern. He got it out and had it
put into something ever so much safer. He seemed
to think me a superior sort of person, and did nearly
all I asked him. He loves to get a trifle of my sav-
ings to put away for me, and once he does it's like
drawing blood to get it out of his hands.”
“Ah!” ejaculated Madge. “Does he keep it for
himself?” -
“Oh, bless your heart, no, miss! I'd trust him
with untold gold. But he is queer like. He loves the
look and the touch of the gold, and he gets worse
about it. We have been quite friends ever since he
knew I had a bit of money, not that we don't quar-


4-4- The Yellow Fiend
rel many a time. He speaks desperate rough to me
sometimes, but I never let it pass—never! Ah, it’s a
grand thing having a trifle of money put away.
Why, Mr. Ardell gives me ten pounds a year more
than he would to anyone else, because he knows I
wouldn't be penniless if I left him to-morrow.”
“You are right,” said Madge. “Oh, how right!”
She stopped and thought a moment. Then pulled
forth a shabby portmanteau, opened it, and, taking
out some coins, laid them deliberately before her on
the table—three English sovereigns and a half, three
shillings, some pennies, and a little French silver.
“There,” she went on, in a low voice, “that's all I
have in the world, all that was left when the doctor
was paid and the rent and my studio fees, and oh!
lots of things. I wouldn't have even that if Mr.
Caldecott had not paid my journey here and Mrs.
Caldecott hadn't given me mourning. It is aston-
ishing how good people are sometimes. There was
my aunt—oh, I cannot speak of her, for I was not
good to her. I gave her lots of trouble. I was a sel-
fish, ill-tempered, heartless little brute! I hate my-
self when I look back and think. She wasn't an
angel, but, oh, I wish she had known how well I
loved her! Here, I will shew you a sketch of her.
This is a horrid thing, but it has a look of her.”
She sprang to the drawers and took out a roll of
various sized cardboard and sheets of paper, which
she scattered recklessly on the floor as she sought
out one. It was a very rough pencil drawing of a
woman's head, a plain, strong face, with a wistful,
kindly look about the brow and eyes. The mouth


The Yellow Fiend 4-5
and chin a little too heavy, the head and neck well
placed. She wore a lace cap with long ends and had
an air of some distinction.
“Dear, dear! Did you do that, miss P’’ asked Mrs.
Pinnock, with sincere admiration. “It is just won-
derful, so natural, as if she was going to speak to
you.”
“I wish she could speak to me once more. My
God! How I wish she could !” murmured the deso-
late young creature.
Mrs. Pinnock looked at her compassionately,
while she thought: “What a heathenish lot she must
have been brought up amongst to have “My God’ on
her lips at every turn.”
Madge was slowly rolling up the sheet of paper,
her eyes and thoughts far away. When she had re-
placed it in the drawer she sauntered back to the
window, where she stood for a few moments in
silence, Mrs. Pinnock busying herself in re-making
the bed, which, to say the truth, was very untidy.
“Why do you do that over again?” asked Madge,
suddenly and impatiently. -
“You see, my dear young lady, you are not accus-
tomed to such work, and you don't manage it quite
right, so I thought 52
“Yes, I am well accustomed to all sorts of work.
We never kept a servant, but I am not tidy, and I
don't care how anything is or anything looks. I am
so miserable that I do not care to live, but—but since
I have talked to you I feel a little better. I even
care to get away. But what can I do?”
“Aye, that's just it. I suppose you can speak


46 The Yellow Fiend
many languages and play the piano and all that.
But lor, miss, it's wretched poor pay the best
teachers get.”
“I know. I have done some teaching and I hate
it. I don't like children—troublesome, tiresome lit-
tle wretches. I did dream of being an artist.”
“I’m sure, miss, you draw quite beautiful.”
“Oh, I am a mere beginner, and yet I have been
working four years. I might teach quite little chil-
dren, but I want so much teaching myself. That
costs money. Then the paper and pencils and pas-
tels, and after, the canvas and colours. Oh, it's all a
giant despair.”
She sat down and covered her face with her
hands.
“Lor, my dear, don't you be so downhearted.
We'll try and find some way out of your trouble.
And now I must go away downstairs, my whole
morning's gone. I’ll ring the bell when dinner is
ready.”
“Mind you do not trouble to put it in the dining-
room. I will come down and eat in the kitchen with
you. Yes, I will. I would like it better. And, Mrs.
Pinnock, pray tell Mr. Ardell that I am quite sure
he dines in his room to avoid me, so I prefer keep-
ing with you to keeping him out of his own dining-
room. Perhaps you might add that I should like to
earn my own bread. But there, I have kept you too
long.”
So Mrs. Pinnock departed.
Mr. Ardell took very little notice of his grand-
daughter's message. However, he accepted her sug-


The Yellow Fiend 4.7
gestion; for each day, as soon as Mrs. Pinnock in-
formed him that dinner was ready, he rose and
walked into the front parlour or dining-room, seem-
ing to have forgotten his grandchild's presence in
the house.
As to Madge Ardell, the enormous, subtle power
of habit was slowly exercising its influence upon
her. Her intermittent talk with Mrs. Pinnock was a
source of comfort, though sometimes the hopeless-
ness of her outlook admitted of none. Occasionally
she sought relief in work, and though not especially
sympathetic in manner, her humble friend soon dis-
covered that she was really pleased to help her in
household matters.
Mr. Ardell was often out in fine weather. His
curious, dreamy, wistful face, his bent, shabby-gen-
teel figure was well known to the loiterers who
haunted the Law Courts.
Bred to the law in a youth which was full of
promise the only interest left to him in life was cen-
tred in legal proceedings, and when any important
case was going on he was sure to be seen in a good
position for viewing the court and hearing the
pleadings.
Once he was safe out of the house Madge took
possession of the front parlour, and tried to sketch
even the chairs and tables and an old cabinet. Mrs.
Pinnock, indeed, was always ready to unlock the
book-case for her; but the dusty old tomes were not
very attractive, and Madge was not particularly
fond of reading. So, having found that the room
had a north light, she amused herself as best she


48 The Yellow Fiend
could with her pencil, or, if the mood took her, in
remodelling sundry of her late aunt's garments.
“You must have tea with me this afternoon,” said
Madge to her new friend one warm June day, as
they sat in the kitchen, waiting to hear the front
door close when the master of the house went out
after his early dinner. “The front room is cool and
pleasant, and, Mrs. Pinnock, I want you to sit to me.
I know you are not very busy, so you might take
Mr. Ardell's paper and sit for a while.”
“Oh, my dear, what can you make of an ugly old
woman like me?”
“I would rather sketch your face than many a
pretty woman's. But you will sit?”
Mrs. Pinnock agreed, well pleased.
“Talking of pictures,” she said, “I must shew you
my son's photograph. He favours his father more
than me—so much the better for him.”
She drew forth her big bunch of keys and un-
locked a small cupboard of dark wood with orna-
mental brass lock and decorations—her own prop-
erty, of which she was rather proud—and took out a
large photo in a gorgeous frame.
Madge looked at it attentively, and said, in a
thoughtful tone:
“It is a good face. A man ought to go far with a
face like that. He looks as if he knew his own mind,
and could say “No." So many more men, and
women, too, are ready to say ‘Yes' where ‘No’ would
be better. It is a successful face. He'll probably
make money.”


The Yellow Fiend 4-9
“Why, miss, you speak like a fortune-teller l’”
“The girls at my school used to think so, and were
always worrying me to tell their fortunes, but I
don't believe in my own gift or in anyone's gift—”
She paused, then handed back the portrait to the
smiling mother, saying in a meditative way: “I like
men.”
“So do most young ladies, miss, but they don't say
so.”
“Why should they not? It is not wrong to like
them. They are such a variety, so different from
us. They amuse me more. Then no woman has
ever painted as a man can—a real artist man. Oh,
how I envy them their gift of power! They may
not be as kind or good as we are, but still I like them
best. There!” interrupting herself, as the sound of
a heavy door closing was heard. “He is gone. How
nice it is to feel that he is gone.” She drew a deep
breath.
“And what a pity he does not try to make you
love him,” sighed the housekeeper.
Madge's reply was a hard little laugh. She gath-
ered up her drawing materials and prepared to go
upstairs, when both were startled by a loud peal on
the visitors’ bell. -
“It is the post, perhaps. I'll go,” said Madge,
“and you come soon, please, Mrs. Pinnock.”
She ascended quickly, laid her parcel on the hall
table, and opened the door.
A gentleman—a very good-looking, well-dressed,
interesting sort of man—stood outside. He turned


5o The Yellow Fiend
at the sound of the opening door, and, having stared
for a moment with immense surprise at the quaint
little figure which presented itself, he asked:
“Is Mr. Ardell at home?”
“He has just gone out.”
“I am unfortunate. Pray give him my card.” He
handed it to her, and she read the inscription: H.
Cecil Brook. “Stay,” he added, “may I come in and
write him a line?”
Madge answered by opening the door wider.
“You had better come into the dining-room,” she
said.


52 The Yellow Fiend
housekeeper. But her peculiarly sweet, refined
voice, with its touch of foreign accent, her perfect
self-possession, which was absolutely free from
boldness or presumption, seemed to stamp her with
the cachet of a lady.
Brook wrote his note, while Madge moved softly
to and fro, carrying in her hand her drawing
materials from the hall.
The note was soon finished, and Brook, shutting
up his pencil-case, rose, saying: “Many apologies
for giving you this trouble.”
She paused by the table, and pressing the points
of her extremely long, delicately-shaped, but, alas!
grubby fingers, upon it, looked up from under her
tangled hair with a smile so sweet and arch, and
shewing such white, small, regular teeth, that Brook
felt he must find out something about her.
“I never saw you here beforel Are you the
housekeeper's daughter?”
She shook her head, and grew grave again, as she
replied: “I wish I were !”
“Her assistant, then?” and Brook's expressive
blue eyes told her that she was intended by nature
for a much more exalted position.
“I am Mr. Ardell's granddaughter.”
“Great powers! Is it possible he has a grand-
daughter?” cried Brook.
“It seems odd, doesn't it?” said Madge.
“Inexplicable! And are you to be incarcerated in
this living tomb?”
“Yes.” - -
“By Jove! It is too bad! Shall I try to deliver
the imprisoned Princess from durance vile?”


The Yellow Fiend 53
“I wish you could. But, of course, no one can.
Now, I suppose you wish this note given to Mr.
Ardell ?”
“If you will be so good.”
“I will do so.” She bent her head. Brook hesi-
tated. He wanted to ask more questions, but he
saw he ought to consider himself dismissed.
“Shall you tell your grandfather that I came in
and wrote a note?”
“Mrs. Pinnock will. I never speak to him.”
“Poor old fellow ! Rather hard lines for him l”
Madge shook her head, and tossed up her little
chin with a despairing gesture.
“He doesn't care!” Then a brief pause and an-
other arch smile. “Good-morning, Mr. Brook. Per-
haps I have said too much to a stranger.”
“I am no stranger to Mr. Ardell; and perhaps
some day you may find me not unworthy of con-
fidence.” -
“That sounds very nice; at all events, good-
morning.”
Brook bowed himself out, and Madge, going to
see that the door was securely fastened, almost ran
into Mrs. Pinnock's arms as she was coming rapidly
into the room.
“Why, who was it as stayed here so long?” cried
Mrs. Pinnock, in a tone of some uneasiness.
“That gentleman,” handing the card to her.
“Oh, Mr. Brook! He is all right.”
“He asked leave to write a note. Then he took
me for your daughter! So I told him who I was.
He seemed greatly astonished.”


54. The Yellow Fiend
“I hope you said nothing against your grand-
father, Miss Margaret. It would not do if people
betrayed you to him.”
“I certainly did not say much for him. But, how
handsome Mr. Brook is Are there many English-
men like him? I have seen very few. It is pleasant
to live among beautiful people, though I am an ugly
duckling myself.”
“Yes, he is a nice, civil-spoken gentleman. I
fancy he must be rich, for the master likes to see him
come in to call. So maybe you'll see him again.”
“I hope so,” said Madge, and kept silence for a
minute. Then she proceeded to put out her draw-
ing materials, next to place her model, all in silence.
It required some ingenuity to supply deficiencies,
but at last all was arranged, and saying: “Look at
me,” Madge began.
The minutes passed by slowly. The street was
very quiet; the afternoon was very warm. The flies
buzzed, and suddenly Madge exclaimed in a low, but
awful tone:
“Mrs. Pinnock, you are asleep!”
“Well, indeed, miss, I must confess I was I am
that ashamed, and you making so much of me! But,
you see, I am pretty busy all the morning, and I do
seem to want forty winks after my dinner.”
“I daresay you do. Now, rouse yourself, and
come and see what I have done so far.”
Mrs. Pinnock rubbed her eyes, and obeyed. She
stood looking over the artist's shoulder for some
moments without speaking. Then, with an air of
reluctant candour, she exclaimed: “Well, I did not
think I was such an ugly old woman!”


The Yellow Fiend 55
“It is very like you,” returned Madge, uncom-
promisingly, “but I don't think it ugly. It's a good,
strong, sensible face, far better than a pretty dolly
one. Dollies grow old ever so much sooner than the
plain, sensible women l’’
“Anyhow, plain or not, my face didn't prevent my
getting a dear good husband, as real a gentleman
as the best lord in the land—though he was but a
working cabinet-maker! If it had pleased God to
leave him with me, life would have been too good.”
“Do you think God took him on purpose?” asked
Madge, beginning to put away her drawing ma-
terials.
“Oh, my dear, who can answer that? These
things are past finding out.”
“I should think they were !” rejoined Madge,
emphatically.
Mrs. Pinnock applied the corner of her apron to
her eyes, and then resumed her rather rueful gaze at
her own portrait, when the tranquillity of artist and
critic was suddenly broken up by an exclamation
from Madge:
“Oh, Mrs. Pinnock, here is Mr. Ardell ! He is
crossing the street. I thought you said he would
not be back till late?”
“I was sure of it,” said Mrs. Pinnock, apologeti-
cally, with an affrighted look through the window.
“Dear, dear, how tired he seems l’”
“I hope you don't give him a latch-key!” cried
Madge, scrambling her things together.
“Don’t you trouble, my dear! Surely you have a
right to sit in your own grandfather's dining-room.”


58 The Yellow Fiend
“A devil—a dangerous little devil—and—the
bills, Pinnock, the bills! You did not shew them
to me last week. They are mounting up—I feel
they are You are under her influence. You are
deceiving me! She is another manifestation of the
fiend.”
“Now, Mr. Ardell, sir, if I didn't know you were
a bit off your head now and again, from worriting
over old troubles, I'd be downright angry at your
insinuations! You shall see the books this moment;
they are all in the house. As if a poor child that
doesn't eat an ounce of meat in two days would
make three shillings difference on the whole week!”
“Shew them to me!” ejaculated her master, rising
slowly. “I will go into my room, and—give me
my dressing-gown.”
“I had nigh forgot, sir! Mr. Brook was here.
He came in and wrote a line for you. Here it is.”
Mr. Ardell snatched it from her hand and tore
it open. As he read, a pleased smile overspread
his face.
“Clever young fellow—shrewd, capable. What
did he say?”
“It was Miss Ardell opened the door to him, and
gave him pen and ink.”
“Strange—very strange! Is it Fate, or—But I
must see the books, all the same. I must not allow
myself to be hoodwinked. Go and get the books.”
Mrs. Pinnock, whose long-practised tact told her
almost unfailingly when to yield and when to resist,
simply said:
“Very well, sir,” and left the room to seek them.


CHAPTER VII.
MR. ARDELL looked round with an angry glare,
as if seeking some trace of his offending grand-
daughter or her work, but finding none, went into
his bedroom, and unlocked and opened his bureau.
He seated himself before it, prepared to exercise
the utmost scrutiny into the expenditure of his right-
hand woman, who soon reappeared with three or
four small account books and some scraps of paper.
All these she placed upon the bureau, and he pounced
upon them eagerly.
The reader shall be spared the torments of this in-
vestigation. How the old man compared the cost of
various weeks at distant dates, his running com-
ments on the enormous expense of different items,
his adding and dividing and estimating, till Mrs.
Pinnock felt that the water-jug was too temptingly
handy.
At last he leant back in his chair with a deep sigh
of disappointment, for the remarkable equality of
Mrs. Pinnock's expenditure over a period of quite
twelve months forbade the possibility of fault-find-
ing. Moreover, like many suspicious people, when
he accepted anyone as reliable, he trusted that in-
dividual completely. It was a fit of anger which in-
cited him to this raid on the books, not any serious
doubt of his housekeeper's honesty.
Long experience had developed a high opinion of
her capabilities; and, having been nursed by her
with infinite care through a bad attack of bronchitis,


6o The Yellow Fiend
and finding on his recovery that her expenditure had
not exceeded what he considered it ought to have
been, he actually made up his mind to give her a
monthly sum to keep the house and set him free
from all care on this head.
“Well, sir, I hope you are satisfied?” asked Mrs.
Pinnock, drily.
“I always believe you are a sensible woman,” he
returned, coldly, “but as I have been forced to accept
another inmate I was naturally anxious to see to
what additional cost I was put. I see it is a little
over three-and-sixpence a week; that is to say, about
ten pounds a year—a large sum to be robbed of for a
person who has really no claim upon me, in spite of
all Briggs preached about blood ties and the punish-
ment I should draw down upon my head if I rejected
her. Well, keep to this scale of outlay, Mrs. Pin-
nock, do not drift into luxuries. Had you ever seen,
as I have, a creature dying by inches for want of
necessaries,” continued the old man, in a trembling
voice, “you would abhor luxuries; aye, abhor them!”
“I am the last woman in the world to want or wish
for luxuries; but as we are talking of money and
outlay I must warn you, sir, that Miss Margaret will
want more than meat and drink. She is not to say
bad off for clothes at the present, but in a few
months she'll want some new things, and all the
money she has at this moment is three pounds ten.”
“Three pounds ten!” repeated Mr. Ardell,
tremulously. “Make her give it to you, and I–I
will keep it for her. Young people are so careless,
nay, reckless. It will be safer with me.”


The Yellow Fiend 6 I
Mrs. Pinnock looked at him with a slight smile.
“Well, sir, I'd rather you asked her for the money
than me. Miss Margaret is a young lady as don't
like liberties to be taken. But she won't waste it;
she knows its value, I'm pretty sure. Lor, Mr.
Ardell, why don't you board her out in some nice
school, where she'd find other young girls instead
of pining away here alone, and then you'd be saved
the vexation of seeing her—”
“And pray,” asked the old man, with a cunning
look, “where could I find board for her at three-and-
sixpence a week, eh?”
“Oh, for that matter—” Mrs. Pinnock was be-
ginning, when Mr. Ardell, turning from her hastily,
set out paper and ink.
“There, there,” he said, “I have talked myself sick.
Go away, my good friend. I’ve letters to write, im-
portant letters. They must be posted by 5.30. Go,
go, go!”
Mrs. Pinnock gathered up her books and went.
There was one other person who was honoured
by Mr. Ardell's confidence in even a higher degree
than Mrs. Pinnock. True that he permitted the
head partner of that highly respectable firm of
solicitors, Messrs. Briggs and Baker, Lincoln's Inn
Fields, to transact his overt business and acknowl-
edged money-making; but there were little hidden
rills of profit—subterranean springs of wealth in
which his soul delighted, albeit he had to pay for the
working, and in these his helpmate and employé was
that astute and promising young man, Mr. H. Cecil
Brook. He had made Mr. Ardell's acquaintance


62 The Yellow Fiend
some years before, one very sultry July day, on
board a penny boat, when the old man, who was
weak from insufficient food, overcome by heat,
fainted away. Brook assisted him with kindly good
nature (he was quite good-natured in an ordinary
way), helped him ashore and into a cab.
Hence arose a friendship, as Brook soon dis-
covered that there was work to do for the old man,
which he was well qualified by knowledge, capabili-
ties and surroundings to undertake.
That he would not work for nothing was rather
a recommendation than otherwise to Mr. Ardell, and
when he began to find that money was almost as
highly appreciated by his young friend as by himself,
his respect and regard for him increased.
His important letter was addressed to this valued
agent, who had lately become junior partner in a
well-known firm of general merchants, Joyce Gran-
ton and Company, in whose house he had worked as
foreign correspondent for a considerable time. He
was an excellent linguist, his father, a broken-down
gentleman, having been sentenced to honourable
exile in a remote consulate by an exasperated family
with some parliamentary interest.
Escaping her master's presence the housekeeper
hastened in search of the deeply offended Madge,
whom she found securely entrenched in her own
room; that is, she had locked her door.
“Won't you let me in, Miss Madge?” said Mrs.
Pinnock, coaxingly, through the keyhole.
“No! I do not wish to see or speak to anyone. I
feel too savage!”


The Yellow Fiend 63
“Well, I do not mind how bad you are.”
“It's no use. I will not open the door to any
creature.”
“I’ll bring you a cup of tea at five o'clock.”
“Don’t take that trouble.”
“I’ll bring it, anyhow.”
No answer. Mrs. Pinnock listened for an instant.
All was still, so she gave up the struggle and re-
treated downstairs. .
Profound indeed was the mingled anger and
despondency which wrung Madge's young heart.
Her resentment against her grandfather prompted
some very evil thoughts indeed. What right had
he to trample on her as he did? Why was her
existence an offence to him? How was she to deliver
herself from the horrible imprisonment to which
she had been consigned? What could she do to earn
money? All sorts of desperate expedients suggested
themselves.
“But before I do anything,” mused Madge, as the
fire of her fury died out, “I will write to Mrs. Calde-
cott and ask her if there is any chance of finding
employment in Paris. I would go as a servant
(what a bad one I should make 1) Oh, if I could
only go on with my drawing! I wonder if that man
who came here to-day, Cecil Brook (it's a nice
name) has any influence with Mr. Ardell? I will try
and find out. Mrs. Pinnock seems to know some-
thing of him. I should not mind testing his half-
offer to deliver the ‘imprisoned Princess' as he said,
in his insolent mockery. A pretty kind of a Princess
I should make. How beautifully dressed he was.


64 The Yellow Fiend
So sure of himself, so cool and civil, and, I suppose,
contemptuous. But Englishmen are quite unlike all
other men. I don't know if I shall like or dislike
them. I have rarely spoken to one. Mr. Brook's
eyes are charming; I have never seen such dark blue
eyes before. I should like to see them again. He has
a nice smile, too, but it might be cruel. However,
that's nothing to me, if I could only persuade him to
help me. I may never see him again. I should be
sorry to think that. If I were a man I might have a
blood feud with him, and fight a duel with him and
wound him. As it is, I should not mind a quarrel
with him to prove that I am no poor little grubby
slavey, but his equal.
“Am I? No. I am just a tiny bit afraid of him.
That is, I am anxious not to be despised by him.
That shews I'm a fool! I never felt that about any-
one in the world before. Oh, what black hands! I
may as well wash them. No, I can do nothing to
poor Mrs. Pinnock's face; my queer, hateful old
grandfather has done for it. I wish I could paint
him and all I see through him!”
It was barely eleven o'clock next morning when
Mr. Ardell’s “favoured guest” presented himself.
“I guessed he expected Mr. Brook,” was Mrs
Pinnock's comment to Madge, when she went up-
stairs soon after the unwonted sound of the knocker
had made itself heard with many reverberations
through the half-empty house. “He ate up his
breakfast quite fast, and called for his morning coat.
I suppose Mr. Brook is so smart and brushed up,


The Yellow Fiend 65
your grandfather doesn't like to look like an old
workhouse Johnnie beside him.”
Madge nodded. She was never talkative, but
sometimes she was extremely and persistently silent.
The housekeeper, therefore, proceeded to dust and
clean the room, producing a brush, dustpan, and a
plateful of damp tea-leaves.
“Oh, don't!” cried Madge. There was a touch of
anguish in the cry. “Don’t clean my room this week.
You did it last Thursday. It can't want cleaning so
soon again.”
“Why, bless your heart, miss, in London 2x
“Never mind! I will not have it done to-day. I
am going to lay out my aunt's gowns, and see which
I can use, and which I shall sell, and lots of things.
I wish you would leave the place alone! Look here,
Mrs. Pinnock, I don't want you to worry about my
room at all; I always did it myself when I was at
home, so leave it to me. It will spare you a little,
and when it wants a real clean—at least when I think
it wants a real clean—I'll ask you to help me, but
you shall not do it to-day.”
And Mrs. Pinnock yielded, as she generally did,
to the decidedly self-willed young lady.
Meantime the master of the house had settled him-
self in his cool, gloomy dining-room, arrayed in his
threadbare “best,” and looking the type of a decayed
gentleman. His writing things, rubbed up and in
working order, were set forth on the big round din-
ing table; and he himself, Times in hand, sat en-
sconced in a large leathern chair. Into the room
Brook soon entered.


66 . The Yellow Fiend
“Pray don't rise, Mr. Ardell,” said the younger
man, as the old man stood up, rather stiffly.
“I am not so feeble, I assure you; by no means
feeble,” he replied, holding out his hand with a smile.
“I am glad to see you can get out so early as eleven.
When I was young, nine o'clock was quite a proper
hour for a business interview. Now all that's
changed—totally changed.”
“Yet we work a good deal harder than you did.”
“Perhaps so—perhaps so. Well, I should like to
know to what I owe the pleasure of seeing you.”
Ardell could be punctiliously polite when he chose.
“I should not have intruded on you, my dear sir,
except on business. I come, in short, to introduce
a new client to you, a very sound and unobjection-
able man—our worthy principal's second son. He
needs a small sum of ready money, and is willing to
pay for accommodation.”
“Aha! A prodigal son, eh?”
“No, Mr. Ardell, he knows the value of money
well enough, but is perhaps a little too eager to grow
rich. The fact is, he has been playing on the Stock
Exchange, and wants another little pile of counters
to go on with the game.”
Brook proceeded to explain the state of affairs,
and shew Ardell that his friend Joyce was good for
two or three thousand pounds—a sum which would
more than cover the amount the young speculator
wished to borrow.
Ardell listened with profound attention. “It is
not then to waste and squander?” he exclaimed. “It


68 The Yellow Fiend
“No, certainly not. Joyce ought to pay a high
commission for such important accommodation.”
“Just so, my dear sir, and so must you, for the
introduction of so valuable a client.”
Mr. Ardell looked at him for a moment with a dis-
pleased expression. Then a cunning smile over-
spread his face.
“I never thought you a fool, my young friend.
But, of course, I am the accommodating party. I
can do without Mr. Joyce.”
“But you would do better with him. Moreover,
there are other happy possessors of coin who may be
less exacting than you are.”
“Very few, I imagine,” retorted the old man.
“Anyhow, you shall have no more than two-and-a-
half commission, though in the end, I may—I
may >>
He paused. Brook listened eagerly, with down-
cast eyes, but Mr. Ardell said no more. He heaved
a deep sigh, and, drawing a cash-box which he had
brought from his bedroom, when he prepared for
Brook's visit to him, he unlocked it and took out a
cheque-book, proceeding to write the magic char-
acters which were to place fortune within the grasp
of Joyce.


CHAPTER VIII.
BROOK looked on carelessly while Mr. Ardell filled
in the cheque with clear, tiny writing, blotting it and
reading it over, before handing it across to his
visitor, who drew from his note-book a duly ex-
ecuted acknowledgment.
Ardell examined it slowly, then placed it in the
cash-box, which he locked with a key attached to his
watch-chain. In his turn, Brook looked sharply at
the cheque before putting it in his note-book, while
he said:
“I fancied you banked with the Edgware and Mid-
land Bank.” -
“Yes, I do; but I also keep a little nest-egg at
Corbyn, Collins and Bell's. It is better to follow
scripture advice, and not let your ‘right hand know
what your left hand doeth’ in money matters. By the
way, I want you to oblige me about a little fancy of
mine. This bill will fall due this day three months.
May I ask you to pay part of the payment, say a
hundred and twenty pounds, in gold? It is a little
fancy of mine.”
“I also finance, my dear sir. I thought you too
sound a man not to know the superiority, for pur-
poses of exchange, of paper over bullion!”
Ardell did not reply immediately.
“I know—I know,” he said at length. “I have
read a library on the subject, but nothing—nothing
can wean me from my liking for the touch of the


The Yellow Fiend 71
creature. Have you not noticed her eyes, the grace-
ful turn of her throat, the warm brown of her smooth
skin, the suggestiveness of strength and fire that
pervades her personality?”
“Words, words, words! You young men have
such torrents of words wherein to hide your con-
fused ideas. I see nothing of all this! There was
a woman once who was the pattern of all woman-
hood to me, and she was absolutely unlike this little
defiant gipsy they have thrust upon me to eat up my
hard-earned bit of money.”
“If this is how you look at the matter, it's deuced
hard lines for both of you. You had better put the
poor child away to school.”
“The poor child! I tell you, Brook, she is a
creature of evil omen to me. Though the very op-
posite of my woman—my dream woman, my angel
—this granddaughter of mine has an extraordinary
look of her—a distracting look of her 1 I am more
and more convinced that an enemy has sent her to
torment me.”
“My dear Mr. Ardell, this is an unheard-of de-
lusion,” said Brook, gravely. “Rather some friend
has sent you a source of comfort and interest in
your old age.”
“That means you think me a madman, eh?” This
in a changed voice, and with a changed expression,
Brook's gravity warning him back to self-restraint.
“No, by no means ! But it is never safe to en-
courage crotchets.”
“Oh, my head is set quite straight upon my
shoulders, I assure you. Still, you must admit that


72 The Yellow Fiend
curious bits of knowledge, gleams of light, come to
those who meditate long on special subjects.”
Brook checked the contemptuous words which
rose to his lips, thinking it might be better to give
the old man his head.
“No doubt meditation was one of the high roads
to wisdom in bygone days. Now we take an express
train to reach the unknown,” was Brook's amended
Sentence.
“You are right, young man. You are more
cognisant of truth than most of your contem-
poraries,” said Ardell, thoughtfully, and very
quietly. “I think I said just now that I have had
strange experiences; and it has been borne in upon
me that men rarely know the secret of gold—the
real reason why men love it, and strive for it, and
die for lack of it.”
“The reason is not far to seek, it seems to me.
Men strive for gold, and, to use a figure of speech,
‘sell their souls' for it, because, given gold, you gain
everything the world can give.”
“That's not all, not by any means all. There's a
life, a spirit of its own, in what's well called the
precious metal. It is kind to some and cruel to
others. It was both to me, and which mood was
most cruel I cannot say. First it was inexorable.
Heavens ! How hard I worked when I was young,
and I was not dull nor incapable. I had an old
bachelor relative, who helped me and prophesied
great things of me. I was bred to the Bar, and after
toiling for some years in loneliness and gloom I got
a few briefs. And so I ventured to ask a girl I had


The Yellow Fiend 73
loved for a long time to marry me, and we settled
it all. Then I went and told my bachelor relative,
hoping he would help me. He cursed me for a fool
and turned his back upon me. We married. My
wife was delicate. She was wife, servant, mother—
all. Her strength ebbed away. I could only give
her common food and not too much of that. Gold
was against me then; it would not come. It shrank
from the grasp of my imploring hands.
“After our baby was born, she faded more and
more. She could not touch the best I could give
her. I knew it. I grovelled at the feet of the man
who might have helped her to live. In vain, so she
died. They were obliged to take the useless infant
whom no one wanted, whose birth was my mis-
fortune, out of my sight. I never could bear him.
And then came the most infernal blow the “yellow
fiend’ could have dealt me. My relative died after
a short illness. His will had been made ten years
before, and never altered or revoked. It bequeathed
everything to me—not riches, mind you, barely what
most men would call competence. But had I had it
eighteen months before—” A long pause followed,
which Brook was too well-bred to break, and Ardell
resumed :
“Then came a sort of blank, and then I seemed
to come to life again. This house, partially fur-
nished, was part of my inheritance, so I came and
lived here. I ceased to care for my profession, to
succeed in which had been my ambition. I gave my-
self up to get the mastery over the evil spirit which
mocked me. I enjoyed living poorly; I set my soul


**-
...”
74. The Yellow Fiend
to save every farthing. I sold all I could, for gold,
my friend, is magnetic. It comes to those who al-
ready hold enough to create popular attraction.
Once it begins to slip from you every day adds to the
negative force, and it flies from you—flies, flies, flies
—till you are in the workhouse or die in the nearest
ditch. -
“So I slowly gathered up two or three threads of
wealth, slow, steady investments—and intermittent
geysers—in the shape of risky loans, in which, my
dear young friend, you have greatly assisted me!
But there is always a battle between me and it—al-
ways. I know the moment I cease to save and
struggle it will hound me down and strip me naked,
and throw me helpless, penniless, a poor, beaten, de-
spised wretch, on the world. My only chance is to
heap up riches, even though I know not ‘who shall
gather them.” Do not mock me because I have con-
fessed this, my weakness or my strength, to you, and
keep the secret of my knowledge.”
“My dear sir,” in a tone of sincerity, which was
not assumed, “I was never more interested l But,
excuse me if I say that it would be a great relief to
your nerves, and an addition of some years to your
life, if you would try to take a more commonplace
view of life—to interest yourself in this girl, who
would, I am sure, be grateful to you for kindness.
After all, she is not to blame for her father's exist-
ence and her own lonely position.”
“Don’t mock me by talking what is called sense!
No doubt you laugh at the puerile folly of an old


The Yellow F iend 75
-
man's sentimental recollections, but I was young like
yourself once.”
“I am the last to do so,” interrupted Brook, with
his attractive smile. “Few men have been more
strongly influenced by women than I have been, and
probably will be. Beauty is inexpressibly delightful
to me, and charm is even more potent. One thing
only helps me to hold my ground against the power
which both possess, to tempt and to bewilder. It is
ambition 1 That is my Pole-star.”
“Then you, too, are gripped by the yellow fiend?”
exclaimed Ardell, eagerly, his eyes ablaze, as he
leant forward and grasped Brook's arm with his
clawlike fingers. “We will help each other to gather
in the gold, to imprison it in strong safes and secret
drawers, where it is secure and cannot escape. But
I do like to see a goodly pile of golden sovereigns
when I am alone—quite alone! They seem hostages
from wealth; so you'll get me the hundred pieces of
gold? For you, too, are fighting with the fiend.”
“Yes. But you see I only want gold to spend and
use it. Wealth is of no value to me, save as the
stepping-stone to power. You see, my dear sir, I
can be confidential, too.”
“Yes, yes. I rarely talk so much—rarely!” He
grew silent and very pale, leaning back in his chair,
as if unconscious of Brook's presence. Then he sud-
denly sat up, exclaiming:
“I don't like her—I cannot. She has a mocking,
hateful look of the one I loved best. She is bad—
bad, I know she is, bad and bold !”
“Your granddaughter, I presume! Don't let


76 The Yellow Fiend
yourself think in this way, Mr. Ardell. It is un-
worthy of your sense and judgment. You do the
young lady injustice. Try and be fair; allow her
to be with you. She has a large amount of character.
She may be—”
“There—enough—I am tired I have letters to
write. I like to see you, but now go away. Do not
think me rude, but I must bid you go away. You
can come and see me again if you like. I can talk
to you better than to most people. Now I must
write.”
“I am much obliged for your permission,” said
Brook, rising, “and shall certainly avail myself of
it.” He shook hands and departed.
“The old fellow is worth cultivating for every
reason,” he said to himself, as he hailed a hansom
and directed the driver to Old Broad-street. “His
liking for me may take root, and bring forth golden
grain. He is a study, too. There's a screw loose
in him. Then I must see that girl with the bonny
brown hair and provocative eyes again. Heavens !
What a catch she might be one of these days! But
fate forbids such things to be. I am not so sure
that she would be the right sort of woman for an
ambitious man to marry. She is a trifle too self-
willed and original. Anyhow, she is quite as likely
to be a penniless working woman all her days, as to
be the ‘feet of clay' on which some natural leader of
men shall build a lasting monument to himself or to
his system. I have been a fool—an extremely weak
fool. But, come what may, I have been blessed. I
may have chances yet, and—well, there is as much


The Yellow Fiend 77
unwisdom in looking too far ahead as in taking no
thought for the morrow.”
>k >k -k >k xk
The brief, sharp conflict with her grandfather
seemed to have effectually roused Madge from the
deplorable state of lethargic despair which had
stirred Mrs. Pinnock's compassion. She looked sad
enough, but she occupied herself with her clothes;
she mended and arranged things—to the great
satisfaction of the housekeeper.
“What are you packing up your box for, Miss
Margaret?” she asked one morning, when she found
the sullen little prisoner on her knees beside that
receptacle, folding up some garments and laying
them in it. “You are not thinking of going away,
are you? I could ill spare you, my dear, now I am
used to you.”
“I wonder you do not hate the sight of me! I
am so miserable and ill-tempered. I cannot help it,
and I know I seem ungrateful, but I am not, really.
I know how much I owe you. No, I am not packing
up. Tell me—do you ever sell old clothes in Lon-
don?”
“Yes, to be sure.”
“There are a good many things here I can use my-
self, and a good many I cannot. If I could sell some
of these I’d be very glad. I want some shoes, and I
am afraid to think of the time (which must come)
when I shall have no money at all. I look at my
little bits of gold every day, till I think I shall grow
like Mr. Ardell. Could you sell some of these things
for me?” pointing to the box.


The Yellow Fiend 79
are fine fellows, and as to his not being a fine gentle-
man, artists are above all that nonsense, and I don't
despair of being an artist yet.”
“Oh, my dear, that's all very fine, but you'll find
that ‘like to like' is necessary all the world over.
Look here, Miss Margaret, if you want shoes very
much, there's a black silk I noticed as you were
tumbling out your things the other day. I've not had
a new gown for many a day. I would not mind giv-
ing you twenty or twenty-five shillings for it.”
“No,” said Madge, clasping her hands round one
knee and gazing away into vacancy, “no, I like black
silk. I will make it into a dress for myself. I have
an idea for it.” She closed her eyes for a moment
to view the ideal garment. “But I tell you what, I
have a dark red cashmere with a black guipure
trimming, and I’ll alter it for you. I can. It's
newer than the silk. Find out what you ought to
give me for it; I do not want too much.”
“I’ll look at it. You are a sensible little lady, Miss
Margaret.”
“I ought to be. I've seen nothing but pinching
over pennies all my life. Can we go out secretly
after dinner? I am dying to get my shoes, but we
must settle about the dress and the price first.”
“Oh, you could take some of the money you have
and replace it when—”
“No, no, no!” interrupted Madge, vehemently.
“If I don't keep these very same gold pieces Mrs.
Caldecott gave me I’ll never believe I have the same
money.”
“Well, my dear, I'll lend you ten shillings with


8o The Yellow Fiend
pleasure to buy your shoes, and I can give you the
difference after we find out—”
“Thank you, oh, thank you!”
And, jumping up, she plunged her arms into her
box and dragged out a very solid, wintry-looking
costume from its depths. She held it out.
“There!” she exclaimed. “Take it. We can
settle it all after.”
Mrs. Pinnock seized it, and held it up by the
shoulder seams to the light. She examined the
hooks and eyes, peered into the pocket, turned up
the lining, looked at the hem, and pronounced it very
good.
“It's uncommon solid, and quite stylish,” she said.
“It will last me three or four winters.”
“So glad you like it. Just take it for the ten shil-
lings, dear Mrs. Pinnock.”
“God forbid!” said that good woman, piously.
“I’m not the sort as would rob the fatherless. I de-
clare I feel quite griggly at the notion of going out
myself. I'll just run down and tell Mr. Ardell that
you must go out and I must go with you.”
“Need you tell him?” asked Madge.
“Yes, sure. I never told him the ghost of a lie or
hid anything from him I could possibly help all these
long weary years, and it's that gives me the hold I
believe I have over him. Put on your best frock be-
fore dinner, Miss Madge, so as not to lose time.”


CHAPTER IX.
“My DEAR MoTHER,-This leaves me in the best of health
and spirits, as I hope it will find you. We have had un-
usually favourable weather, and altogether things have
gone very well. I am sending you a very short letter this
time, for you will hear more about me than I can put on
paper from a gentleman who has promised to call upon
you as soon as he gets to London. Mr. Richard Waring
is an artist and a friend of our ‘owner.” It seems he
was offered a berth on board the Osprey that he might
have a look at the coast along the Mediterranean. He's
a capital fellow, and we became great chums. Our round
this time was to Leghorn, Genoa, Bastia, Syracuse, Port
Said, &c. At some places we stayed a few days; at
others not many hours. But the lots of beautiful pictures
Waring contrived to paint would astonish you. I wish
you could see them. I warned him that you were living
with a crotchety old crank, and that he must go down the
area steps if he wanted a comfortable talk with you. He
is a real gentleman, and would be equally at home in
Marlborough House or Mr. Ardell's kitchen. I am send-
ing you a little keepsake by him, and I hope you'll write
as soon as you’ve had a talk with Waring. He left us at
Malta and took the P. and O. boat, as he was obliged to
be in London on the 30th, and we had to go to Trieste.
I'm afraid I shall not see you for some time, as we only
return to Swansea to ship coal for Bergen.
“Ever your loving son,
“GEORGE PINNock.”
Entering the kitchen with a fresh portrait which
she had drawn of her humble, useful friend, Madge
found her absorbed in the perusal of this epistle,


82 The Yellow Fiend
her keen dark eyes moist with the pleasure it gave
the mother's heart, which beat so warmly in her
bosom.
“Oh, Miss Margaret, my dear! Here's a nice
letter from my boy. It's wonderful how he never
forgets his old mother. Would you care to read it,
miss?”
Madge did not care in the least, and was on the
point of saying so, when a glance at the happy face,
elated and beaming, warned her not to be unsympa-
thetic.
“Thank you, Mrs. Pinnock, I should,” and she
stretched out her hand for the letter.
As she perused it, her indifference warmed up to
vivid interest. Her colour rose, her eyes sparkled.
“It is a nice letter!” she exclaimed, as she re-
turned it.
“Yes, ain't it? And it's just like my Georgie, to
send a fine gentleman down the airey steps to see his
old mother. If my boy were Admiral of the Fleet,
he'd never be ashamed of me!”
“Why should he? You are very nice. If I ever
make money, and have a smart house, or marry a
rich man—and one is as likely as the other—you
shall come and stay with me. Look, Mrs. Pinnock,
I have finished your portrait; at least, I will put it
out of my sight to avoid touching it any more.
What do you think of it now?”
“Eh, Miss Margaret. You have made me look
pounds better! But—but—is it as like?”
“Yes, quite. The reason why it is better looking,
is that we were both of us in a better mood; you


84 The Yellow Fiend
spoken in jest, and that his playful query as to de-
livering an imprisoned princess, meant that he
would help her with her grandfather, had taken hold
of her. She used to sit and think of him, and recall
his soft smile, his caressing blue eyes, his refined
voice. She felt, too, that he took an interest in her.
Margaret Ardell was by no means conceited. In-
deed, her high artistic standard of beauty made her
painfully alive to what she considered her own ex-
treme plainness. Yet she was aware that the few men
she had met had neither overlooked nor neglected
her. She did not understand it. She was only con-
scious that they liked her and noticed her, and deeply
enjoyed that consciousness.
That Brook should make no effort to see her was
a great disappointment, though she told herself she
was extremely unreasonable. At present the pros-
pect of seeing another man, and that man an artist,
was a pleasant diversion to the current of her
thoughts. She worked hard to finish the black silk
dress, and, though it was by no means the correct
thing to wear lace in her present stage of mourning,
she loved the dainty decoration, so indulged in it.
This garment finished, she put it on most care-
fully every afternoon, and when Mrs. Pinnock
laughed at her preparation to receive the expected
visitor, said, gravely:
“I feel it is my duty to make the most of myself.”
“Which you certainly do, Miss Margaret !” was
the admiring reply. “I’m sure the difference be-
tween you in your old apron, or with your skirt
turned up, a dab of chalk on your face and your


The Yellow Fiend 85
hair, as if you had been dragged through a bush
backwards, and yourself smartened up, is past be-
lief Why, you look—well, not so much a pretty
girl, as a sweet, charming young lady!”
“Instead of a little devil, as you know I am.”
“No, that I don't! And yet, miss, you ain't an
angel.”
“You are right,” rejoined Madge. “I wish this
friend of your son would hurry up. I shall take the
gilt off my new old dress wearing it for nothing.
I do want to shew my drawing of you to Mr. War-
ing; yet, I wouldn't ask him to look at it. How can
I manage?”
“Let me see,” returned the housekeeper, knitting
her brows in deep thought. “Have you the picture
with you?”
“Here it is,” and Madge lifted it from the table
where it lay, turning back the sheet of tissue-paper
which covered it, to gaze at her handiwork. “The
more I look at it, the less I see the likeness,” she
said, discontentedly.
“Oh, nonsense, my dear! It's ever so much better
than the first one. Look here, I'll shew you what
I’ll do.”
Rummaging the front of her dress as she spoke,
she produced a couple of huge pins from that living
pincushion and put them in her mouth. Then, tak-
ing the portrait of herself tenderly in her hands, and
smoothing down the tissue-paper at the back, she
fixed it with the pins against one of the dresser
shelves opposite the door by which the expected
visitor would enter.


86 The Yellow Fiend
“There now!” she exclaimed; and, drawing over
a chair, she placed it under the picture and put her
knitting on the kitchen table before it. “There now !
I'll sit here while I’m talking to him, and if he
doesn't see the likeness, he'll be a blind bat instead of
a hartist.”
“What a good idea! You are a very clever
woman, Mrs. Pin.” Madge had reached that degree
of familiarity which leads to abbreviation, and the
affectionate diminutive of “Pinny” was not far off.
“Oh, I ain't stupid as regards common things, or
I wouldn't be where I am! But I do not like the
notion of this gentleman a-coming down the airey
steps and finding a young lady like you in the
kitchen l’”
“Why? I don't mind a bit. . I shouldn't mind
Mr. Brook finding me here. Well, of course, he
knows who I am. But artists are not as other men
are. They are lifted above these small considera-
tions. Anyway, Mrs. Pinnock, I don't want to in-
terfere with your talk about your son, so I will not
stay here now. You have a nice chat, and then I'll
come in. I will go and sit in the pantry; I have a
book. But mind you don't let your visitor go until I
have seen him. Knock down something; make a
noise, and then I'll come in by accident.”
“All right, Miss Margaret. Why, my goodness,
here he is coming down the steps at last!”
“And he is as high as the house!” exclaimed
Madge, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of him.
“There, there is a little tray; knock it over when I


The Yellow Fiend 87
am to come in.” And she vanished as the bell
sounded.
Mrs. Pinnock hastened to open the door, and
ushered in a very tall, largely-built man, with
abundant light reddish brown hair and moustaches.
His face was sunburnt to a brick-dust tint, and he
had keen, steely grey eyes. He wore dark tweed
knickerbockers, a Norfolk jacket, and a soft, round,
broad-brimmed felt hat, not a little crushed, which
he lifted courteously, saying: “Mrs. Pinnock, I pre-
sume,” in a deep, strong voice.
“Yes, sir, and right well pleased to see a friend
of my dear boy's. I suppose you are Mr. Waring?”
“I am.” He laid aside his hat, and took the chair
placed for him opposite the drawing, in obedience to
the invitation: “Do sit down, sir.”
“I intended to have called on you sooner, but I
found I was obliged to go away to the country, and
only returned last night. I posted George's letter as
soon as I reached England.”
“Thank you, sir, I got it all right; and it is kind
of you to come and see me. How was my dear
boy when you saw him last?”
“Oh, first-ratel We were great chums, and he
is a very clever fellow. Our skipper fell sick, and
George, of course, took his place, and navigated the
steamer through some uncommon rough weather.
He'll do right well in his profession, I expect.” And
the visitor launched into what his listener considered
a most eloquent and enchanting account of her son's
sayings and doings—a recital which quite banished
Madge temporarily from Mrs. Pinnock's thoughts.


88 The Yellow Fiend
At last Waring—or, as he was more generally
known to a tolerably large circle of acquaintances,
“Dick Waring”—pulled two or three packets from a
courier bag, which hung from a strap across his
shoulder.
“George desired me to give you these,” he said,
pushing them towards her.
“Dear, dear! The poor boy never forgets his old
mother,” cried Mrs. Pinnock, opening the parcels
eagerly.
One contained a huge cameo brooch, another a
coral bracelet, then came a pair of mosaic ear-rings.
Finally, a photograph of himself, which, to the
mother, was the gem of the collection.
“Ah, it's just himself, only he looks so much
older. Don't you think it wonderful like, sir?”
“Yes, very good. It was taken at Genoa. By the
way, that's a very clever sketch of yourself up there,
Mrs. Pinnock. No photograph can give the char-
acter hand work does, in my opinion. Who is the
artist?”
“I’m very proud of that picture, sir! It's my
young lady's work—Miss Margaret Ardell, who is
a very kind young lady, indeed. She often comes
down to have a talk with me in the kitchen. She
is that lonely, poor young thing, in this desert of
a house; the only bit of pleasure she has is with her
pencil and paper. I’d like her to know you was
pleased with my picture, sir. Dear, dear, my hands
is that weak! Talking of my boy upset my nerves.”
Here she happened to knock the little tray off the
dresser with much noise.


The Yellow Fiend 89
Waring made no reply. He walked round the
big table to take a closer view of the portrait, while
the housekeeper watched the door, a little anxiously,
as some minutes elapsed and Madge did not make
her appearance.
“If the young lady is really young—say in her
teens—she must have decided ability to have done
this!” said Waring. “I should say she has studied
in France.”
“She has, I am sure, sir. Why, she only came to
us from Paris last May,” replied Mrs. Pinnock,
audibly, while she said to herself: “She has never,
sure, got into a bad temper because I kept her wait-
ing a bit, and gone away upstairs!”
But, as the thought passed through her mind,
the door opened, and Madge walked in, saying:
“Mrs. Pinnock!” and then stopped quite still, gaz-
ing with a half-surprised, half-smiling look at War-
ing, who drew himself up and made her a profound
bow.
“Oh, Miss Margaret, my dear! This is the gen-
tleman I told you of, who has been so kind as to
come and tell me all about my Georgie.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” said Madge, coming into the
kitchen as if it was quite natural to meet a visitor
there.
“I have been admiring your likeness of Mrs. Pin-
nock,” said Waring, with equal composure, and in a
kindly, if rather patronising, tone.
“And you really think it like?” asked Madge,
coming over to stand beside him.
“Yes, really. I believe if you work hard,


90 The Yellow Fiend
you may do well; nothing to be done without that,
eh?”
To Waring, this slight little creature seemed
almost a child, so he spoke with a certain degree
of familiarity.
“I know it,” she returned; “but I haven't a chance
of working.”
“Why? What's wanting? Not the will, I am
sure. Yours is not the face of an idler,” and he
looked earnestly into her sad, soft eyes.
“I cannot work without pencils, and chalk, and
paper, and drawing-boards, and—they cost money.”
“Well, yes. Is your grandfather one of those
conservative old gentlemen who would deny to girls
—I mean young ladies—the right to use their eyes,
their hands, their brains?”
“He would let me do anything and everything,
so long as I did not ask for money, and I have none
of my own.”
“Not an uncommon condition for young ladies of
your tender years,” he returned, with a big, but not
unmelodious laugh.
“I am not so very young, Mr. Waring. I was
nineteen last March.”
“No? I took you for two or three years less!”
“I wish I were ! It is horrid to grow old, and
time flies—flies, oh, so fast! Enforced idleness is
enough to drive one mad, when you think of sitting
with folded hands, while days, and months and
years vanish away.” This was uttered with so much
passion that Waring's keen grey eyes grew soft with
compassion as he looked at the speaker.


The Yellow Fiend 9 I
“You must do better than that, Miss Ardell. You
must coax your grandfather to hand you out a five-
pound note to start with.”
Madge burst out laughing. “I might as well ask
him for the Invalides, or St. Paul's Cathedral.
Imagine asking Mr. Ardell for five pounds!” and
she turned to Mrs. Pinnock.
“Well, miss, when gentlemen get old, they get
crotchety about money. You'll find many just like
your grandpapal” The housekeeper was very faith-
ful to her salt.
“I’m sure I hope not,” observed Madge, with such
hearty sincerity that Waring could not restrain a
smile.
“May I ask if you worked in Jourdain's studio?”
“I did for three happy years,” cried Madge.
“So did I, a long time ago. I'd like to see
more of your work. I am a landscape painter.”
“I always crave to do the human figure. But how
difficult it is ''”
“That's true. Well, I mustn't trespass any longer,
so—”
“You don't trespass. I love to talk to you!” ex-
claimed Madge, to Mrs. Pinnock's horror.
“Ah, you must have had a long fast from artistic
chatter!” said Waring, indulgently. “Do take my
advice: try to persuade your grandfather to let you
study. It need not cost a great deal. I should be
most happy to give you what help and counsel I
can. Tell Mr. Ardell that he may be the means of
enabling you to make your own living.”


92 The Yellow Fiend
“If Mrs. Pinnock would ask him,” said Madge,
reluctantly. “He hates me.”
“Surely that is impossible!” exclaimed Waring,
in honest surprise. “Suppose, Mrs. Pinnock, you
bring Miss Ardell to see my Mediterranean
sketches. My studio is near this—just the other
side of Tottenham Court-road—23, Fitzhenry-
street. Here's my card. I shall be all in order next
week. Come any afternoon that suits you. I don't
go out much before five o'clock.”
“Oh, thank you. You are good. Of course, I'll
come, anyhow. But I hope Mrs. Pinnock will come
too.”
“Of course, I shall, Miss Margaret.”
“Then I must say good-morning. I wish you all
possible success, Miss Ardell. Think of the impor-
tunate widow, and follow her example.”
“There is much less chance for an importunate
spinster. Good-bye.”
“I am going to write to your son, Mrs. Pinnock,
and I shall give a first-rate account of you.”
“Thank you, sir. I am sure I am most grateful.”
But Waring was already half-way up the steps.


CHAPTER X.
MADGE sank down into a chair and clasped her
hands.
“Ahem l’—a portentous “ahem " from Mrs. Pin-
nock. “Miss Margaret, my dear, you'll excuse me,
as you have no mamma, or elderly lady to tell you
what's right or wrong, and you that young—so I'll
make bold to say that it's not nice or modest for a
young lady to tell a gentleman she ‘loves to talk to
him’; besides, men are that conceited 25
“I don't care a straw whether it is or not,” replied
Madge, slowly and dreamily. “It’s quite true.”
“But, Miss Margaret, to talk like that to a man!”
“He’s not a man to me. He's an artist, and might
be of use.”
“Bless me, miss, he seems to me a man and an
uncommon fine one.”
“Oh, he's big enough, for that matter. And I
think he is nice and kind, but a sort of man who
could not possibly understand my grandfather.”
“Well, miss, speaking of your grandfather, I was
sorry to hear you mention him so disrespectfully.”
“I couldn't help it. Isn't he cruel to me? Why
should he spoil my life, as he will do if I stay here?
Is it my fault that I was born? Is it my fault that I
haven't a penny in the world? I would work with
all my heart for independence, but I cannot learn
without being taught. I would like you ever so


The Yellow Fiend 95
“That I am sure you are not, my dear Miss Mar-
garet; only, like many another young creature, you
are a bit self-willed.”
“Tell me, how did you ever persuade my grand-
father to let you have Mrs. Dabbs to help you?”
“Lord knows! It was desperate hard to manage
him at first, but I thank God he took to me, and,
after a few scuffles over the money, in which I held
my own, he trusted me with a weekly sum to do
everything. It's hard work, I can tell you. And if
he had half a dozen more come to stay he'd never
give me a penny more.”
“What a corvée for you.” Then after a pause:
“I think I’ll put a litttle fresh crape on my hat. It
begins to look brown. I hope you'll be able to come
out to-morrow. But I daresay it will pour with
rain; it generally does when one wants it to be fine.”
“Ah, Miss Margaret, thinking like that is not the
way to bring luck!”
“What can bring luck? Who can tell?”
Madge's evil anticipations were not fulfilled. The
next day was exceptionally fine, and Mrs. Pinnock
dressed herself in her best to escort her young lady
with proper respect.
“You’ll not mind my taking Miss Margaret out
for a bit, sir? She hasn't left the house for a week
and she looks that bad.”
Mr. Ardell looked up from the complicated cal-
culation he was working out on scraps of paper and
backs of letters, saved with great care till he had
accumulated a pile, and gazed in a bewildered way
at his housekeeper.


96 The Yellow Fiend
“This is the cleaning day, you know, sir, so Mrs.
Dabbs will be here if you want anything. Miss
Margaret looks that bad I thought I must take her
out.”
“Oh, take her, take her l’ cried the old man, as
the sense of Mrs. Pinnock's speech penetrated to his
brain. “Take her away; don't bring her back.”
“Indeed, I will bring her back. How would you
like to pay the police for finding her if she was
lost?”
“Go!” returned her master. “Go, go, I'm busy.”
Quite content with this ungracious permission
Mrs. Pinnock left the room, after assuring Mr. Ar-
dell that she would not be away more than two
hours, if so much.
Madge awaited her in the hall, and they sallied
forth in high spirits.
“And you have lived twelve years in that dun-
geon” exclaimed Madge, looking up at the grim,
brick front of the house, darkened by London air
and smuts almost to black. “You are a wonderful
woman.”
“It was pretty bad at first, Miss Margaret, I can
tell you. But it was a great matter for me to get
food and shelter and wages, and so keep my poor
little bit of money for my boy. So I got used to it,
and, mind you, miss, your grandfather has been
good to me. You see, he was keener and more alive
to things twelve years ago, and he saw or felt that
I was honest and hardworking; so, in a manner of
speaking, he took a fancy to me.”
“Well, he hasn't taken a fancy to me.”


The Yellow Fiend 97
“There, there's the King's Cross 'bus!” cried Mrs.
Pinnock, elevating her umbrella. “We'll go along
to Euston-road and take another there. Not that
I hold with spending a lot of pennies on 'buses.
They soon run into shillings,” she resumed, when
they had taken their places, “but to-day I want to
save time.”
“To be sure,” rejoined Madge, who gave her
whole attention to Mrs. Pinnock's explanation of
the route.
When they reached Portland-road, where they
left the omnibus, and Madge caught a glimpse of the
trees and grass in the Park, she was indeed de-
lighted.
“I began to think you had not such things in Lon-
don,” she exclaimed. “I shall often come here.”
“Stay till you see the Walk and the flowers and
shrubs, and the trees over your head.”
They walked on, thoroughly enjoying the air and
the perfume, for the day was exhilarating, and the
beds of sweet pea and mignonette gave forth their
delightful scents.
“How I wish I could live near this, or in the Park.
There are plenty of houses, I see.”
“Aye, and you want plenty of money to live in
them. Look, my dear, what a lot of nice children.
Ain't they dressed to the nines? And what pretty
little dears!”
“Yes. These fresh, fair, golden-haired English
babies look like angels. But see, there is a cherub
of a boy beating a little seraphim of a sister with all
his might. Both are yelling like imps. And, Mrs.


98 The Yellow Fiend
Pinnock, there is a handsome, elegant-looking
woman, very fair, too, a thoroughly English type.
She is sitting down now; she is going to read.
Why, I seem to know her face. I am almost sure
she is Constance Freeman.”
“She's an elegant-looking lady, miss. It would be
nice for you to know some real ladies. Won't you
go and speak to her?” -
“Yes, I will.”
Leaving Mrs. Pinnock, Madge, with her usual
quiet dauntlessness, approached the lady who had
attracted her attention.
“Pray excuse me if I am making a mistake, but
is your name Constance—Constance Freeman?”
The lady looked up with a courteous smile, a
quick blush rising to her cheek.
“It was,” she began, then stopped, hesitated, and,
rising from her seat, cried: “Can it be possible that
you are little Margot Ardell?”
“Yes, it is. I am Margot, as they used to call
me.”
“Oh, how glad, how very glad I am to see you
again,” and tears rose in her eyes as she stooped
to kiss her. “Ah, my dear little Madge, I read of
your sad loss in the newspaper, and often wished to
hear of you. What has brought you to London?”
“I was sent here by the Caldecotts. I think you
knew them. They were the first pupils Aunt Jane
had in Paris, and they induced my grandfather, Mr.
Ardell, to take me in >>
“I am glad you have a home, dear. It is so bad
for a woman to be homeless.”


The Yellow Fiend 99
After exchanging a few words, in which Madge's
former friend told her she was married, a toddling
wee thing, very prettily dressed, and holding a
nurse-girl's hand, tottered up, crying: “Mam, mam,
mama.”
“This is my precious little Kitty, Madge. Kiss
the lady, my sweet.” Whereupon Miss Kitty offered
a very wide open wet mouth which Madge avoided,
and touched her cheek instead.
“Could you come back to tea with me, Madge? I
live just at the other side of the Park.”
“I do wish I could. It would be new life to have
a talk with you.”
“Well, then, come. Are you by yourself?”
“No, my grandfather's housekeeper—my only
friend here, or anywhere, indeed—came with me to
shew the way.”
“Where is she? I shall ask her to come, too.”
“That tall woman in a purple and black gown and
a black satin bonnet.”
“Rather a ferocious-looking person?”
“Well, yes, though she is very, very kind.”
Mrs. Grey, for this she told Madge was her new
name, walked across to Mrs. Pinnock.
“I want Miss Ardell to come and have tea with
me. I hope you will come too?”
“I’m sure you are very good, ma'am, but I dare
not stay out much longer, though I am that sorry
to disappoint Miss Margaret, who has so little
pleasure.” -
“Is she obliged to return home too?”


I oo The Yellow Fiend
“Oh, no, ma'am. Only I do not know how she
would find her way back by herself.”
“I should be very glad to walk back with her part
of the way and see her into an omnibus, if that will
do. Where do you live, Madge?”
“Osborne-place, near Russell-square,” cried Mrs.
Pinnock, eager to give her protégée a happy hour.
“Maybe it is too long a walk, ma'am, but if you
could put her into the King's Cross 'bus, I think
you'd know where to get out, Miss Margaret?”
“Yes. I looked carefully at every street.”
So it was arranged.
“You won't feel lonely and dull going back?'
asked Madge, with a touch of sympathy she rarely
shewed.
“Is it me? My dear young lady, haven't I been
all alone by myself over twelve years?”
“That sounds rather awful,” said Mrs. Grey.
“Then we must let you go, I suppose. I shall see
Miss Ardell safe into the omnibus, and another time
she will know her way quite well.”
Mrs. Pinnock said good-bye and started for Os-
borne-place, while Mrs. Grey called the neat young
nurse-girl, who came up with a smart perambulator,
into which Miss Kitty allowed herself to be lifted
with some difficulty.


CHAPTER XI.
THE walk across the Park was the first gleam of
real pleasure which had brightened poor Madge's
dreary existence since she reached her grandfather's
abode. What endless memories they had to recall
and discuss 1 Mrs. Grey had been for three or four
years Margaret's schoolfellow in the establishment
where the latter's aunt was professor of English.
Our little heroine was considerably her junior, yet
they became fast friends, Madge dominating her
elder in a curious manner.
Existence was by no means luxurious in the
diminutive town of Stoltzberg, but Constance Free-
man, who dwelt within the scholastic walls of Frau
Biedermann's well-known school, on what is called
“reciprocal terms,” saw much more of its seamy side
than Madge, who resided with her aunt in the fifth
étage of a rambling mansion close by the school.
Constance was the motherless only child of a re-
tired Indian officer, who was chiefly occupied by his
constant care of his own infirm health and narrow
income. His daughter was quite a secondary con-
sideration. He had, however, conscience enough to
give her the means of earning her bread, and, there-
fore, spared enough from his own outlay to send her
to study music in exchange for Italian and music
lessons to younger children at Frau Biedermann's
institution. Here she was chiefly remarkable for a


I O2 The Yellow Fiend
certain sweetness of manner and speech, which en-
deared her to Madge and her aunt. While poorly
fed and most indifferently dressed, she gave little
promise of the beauty she developed later. Still,
both girls—for Mrs. Grey was little more—looked
back with profound pleasure to that sleepy little
Rhenish town, to the infinite joy of that period of
glorious youth with its vague splendour of indefinite
anticipation, when “the light that surrounds us is
all from within.”
Constance had been taken away to Paris for some
final training, as it was decided she should become
a professor of the piano, and there Madge and her
aunt followed a year later. The Friends met again,
but did not see much of each other.
Captain Freeman, who had always resided in Italy
and the South of France, so far sacrificed himself as
to take his daughter to London, intending to start
her on her career. He was a lonely man, not caring
to renew any old links with friends or relations,
which were severed by his departure to India in very
early days. He was very solitary and miserable—not
to say extremely disagreeable—and, taking a severe
cold the morning he had witnessed his daughter's
marriage, he died after a brief illness.
So much Madge gathered on their way to Mrs.
Grey's house.
“I need not ask if all's well with you,” said Madge
as they approached the neat little villa, before de-
scribed and named “Ivy Lodge.” “You look so well,
you have grown quite pretty Rather handsome! I
don't remember thinking you good-looking in the
Stoltzberg days.”


The Yellow Fiend I of
“Happiness is a wonderful beautifier, dear,” re-
turned Mrs. Grey, with a bright smile. “So for
every reason, I wish I saw you looking better. I am
afraid this grandfather of yours is rather an ogre.”
“He is very disagreeable, but I cannot understand
him. I am going to make a desperate effort to
persuade him to let me go on with my drawing. I
should have begun painting soon, if I had stayed on
in Paris.”
This brought them to the little wooden gate which
admitted to the garden of Mrs. Grey's home.
“What a sweet place cried Madge. “I do hope
Mr. Grey won't come in just yet. My aunt used to
say that Englishmen always hated their wives'
friends, male or female.”
“I do not think that is quite true. At all events,
he is away from home just now.”
The servant of the house came at the sound of
the bell, and Madge was ushered into the pretty,
homelike drawing-room, from the aspect of which
Madge came to the conclusion that Mr. Grey must
be fairly well-off; and the kind but rebellious heart
which hid itself under Madge's cool, self-contained
exterior, rejoiced sincerely at her friend's good
fortune.
Then Mrs. Grey took her young friend upstairs,
and made her remove her bonnet and said pleasant
things as to her improved womanly appearance, and
kissed her, and sympathised with her respecting her
ogrish grandfather; while Madge noticed the
abundant silver accessoires of the dressing-table, the
rings and trinkets that filled the china trays.


Io.4 The Yellow Fiend
Tea ensued, with fresh scones, crisp and buttered,
respecting which Miss Kitty and her mother had a
slight difference of opinion; but the latter was gently
firm, and Kitty was obliged to give way.
“I don't think you ever cared much for children,
Madge,” said Mrs. Grey, noticing her young friend's
calmly judicial aspect as she watched the struggle.
“No, I don't much like them. Why are they al-
ways so tiresome?”
“They would not be human children if they were
not l You should remember that at Kitty's age they
really have no more—nay, not nearly so much sense
as a dog or a cat, and one must teach them almost
in the same way. That is what I always try to im-
press on her father; but he does not mind me much.”
“She is a pretty little creature; I like to look at
her. Doesn’t her father care for her?”
“Oh, yes, of course he does—he must; but he
won't bear being troubled with her. Later on, no
doubt, she will be a great pet.”
“Tell me about your husband, Constance. I do
not like to ask tiresome questions, but I am inter-
ested in him.”
“I suppose he would not seem anything particular
to other people, but to me he is rather a hero. He is
about ten years older than I am, not handsome, but
nice and gentlemanlike-looking; very kind and gen-
erous, and, oh, so good to me!”. Tears stood in the
speaker's eyes as she uttered the words. “He is very
clever, too. We met in Paris just before my father
joined me; then he followed us to London. My poor
father took cold at my wedding, and that was the be-


The Yellow Fiend Ios
ginning of the end. Once he took to his bed, he sank
rapidly. Mr. Grey is an engineer. He is often away
building bridges, making railways and embank-
ments; all sorts of things in outlandish places. And
then, you see, we want to make a little ‘pile’ before
we take a house and establish ourselves. Mr. Grey
hopes when he is better known to join some big en-
gineering firm, so I keep very quiet. It is, of course,
a little dull, but when he comes back for a short
holiday, it is such happiness I can well bear the in-
termediate blank. I only wish, dear Madge, that you
may meet so loving and tender a friend, so charming
a companion as I have l’”
“Thank you. I am pretty sure I never shall. Also
that I never shall deserve one so much.”
“Oh, deserving doesn't count.”
“Perhaps not. Still, I am plain and dull (not
stupid), perhaps obstinate. But oh, Constance, I
believe I could love anyone who loved me, or even
someone who did not care for me very much—well,
too awfully well. There is no good in thinking of
such unlikely things. At present, I am rather
miserable.”
Their confidential talk turned on Madge's sur-
roundings. Not being under immediate irritation
from her grandfather she was fairly just in her de-
scription of him, and found great comfort in giving
her friend a sketch of Mrs. Pinnock and her son's
artist acquaintance, which made Mrs. Grey laugh
and declare that Madge was still the same funny
little creature she always was. Then Madge begged
for some of the arias and nocturnes she used to love.


I of The Yellow Fiend
And evening was beginning to grow softly dusk be-
fore Madge consented to go back.
“I will not ask you to come and see me. I fancy
Mr. Ardell allows no followers, and I am not going
to risk an irritating rebuke.”
“You are right. And, indeed, Madge, I never call
on anyone. Mr. Grey says if we intend to keep out
of sight, we must do so completely, or give it up.
The only visitor I shall admit is yourself, and you
must give me a little line of notice when you are com-
ing. You see, Mr. Grey sometimes comes unexpect-
edly, and insists on carrying me off to the seaside or
Wales, or across the Channel, and I should be sorry
if you came and missed me. However, I am quite
sure of next Tuesday. Can you come for the after-
noon, dear? It is so nice to see you.”
“It is rather heavenly for me! Yes, of course,
I'll come.”
These were their last words as Mrs. Grey was see-
ing Madge into the omnibus.
“You will please stop at the corner of Brunswick-
square for this young lady,” she said to the con-
ductor.
“All right, mum,” returned that much-tried in-
dividual, and Madge was whisked off.
“No one could know if she was young or old,
plain or pretty, in that thick veil and long dark dust
cloak,” thought Madge, looking after her friend as
she vanished among the throng of passengers. “I am
awfully puzzled about her. Of course, I don't much
mind all she says about the invisible Grey; I only
hope he is not a first-rate burglar ! It's like a


The Yellow Fiend I of
romance in one of those little English periodicals
Lucy Caldecott used to send me.”
Meantime Constance Grey went away home-
wards in deep thought. It had been a real pleasure
to meet little Madge Ardell. She was associated
with the few very happy days Constance had en-
joyed in those faraway times. Still she was not
quite easy in her mind on the subject of her visit, and
half regretted she had asked her to come on Tues-
day. Should she tell Bertie of her rencontre with an
old friend or not? It would be wiser and safer, per-
haps. She felt she ought to do so, yet she knew she
had not the courage. She loved her husband most
fondly, yet it was not the “perfect love which casteth
out fear.” She dreaded a grave, disapproving look,
a word of rebuke, from—from the lips that were so
ready to cling to hers with impassioned fervour.
No, she would receive Madge on the following Tues-
day, and enjoy her visit. Bertie was safe at Brus-
sels, where he had an important appointment, until
Sunday, and she would tell Madge that after all it
might be better to wait for a note from her friend
than to take the initiative in writing. Madge was
such a cool, sensible little thing, not given to take
offence, and quite impenetrable, if she chose to keep
a secret. How charming it would be when this
period of suppression was over, and they could pay
visits and entertain their friends like other people!
Meantime, she must be most careful to obey her hus-
band's injunctions rigidly. She was honoured by
his confidence. She knew the true secret of his
career, why he must leave no traces of his various


The Yellow Fiend Io9
“I have been unexpectedly delayed, so I came
home to ask for a bit of luncheon. I cross to-night.
G. called on me yesterday just before I was going to
start and carried me off to see a mutual friend, who
had news of some importance, which I am to add
verbally to my despatches. We talked far into the
night, so I would not startle you by returning.”
“It is nice to have this peep at you; but I fear our
early dinner is too much a nursery meal to suit you.”
“Am I so hard to please, Constance?”
“Perhaps I am hard to please for you. It is only
some roast mutton and a tapioca pudding, dear.”
Grey threw himself back in his chair, laughing
heartily.
“Why, Con, I did not think you could be satisfied
yourself with such a milk diet. My dear woman,
you'll stupefy your palate, and an appreciation of
dainty feeding is an indication of intelligence.”
They passed a pleasant hour together, however,
the husband being graciously pleased to partake of
his wife's simple fare. But she fancied he was un-
usually preoccupied.
“You’ll be very careful, my love, not to throw
yourself in the way of making acquaintances. If
you want to shop, postpone it till I can take you a
little trip to Paris. I am engaged in rather a delicate
negotiation just now, and wish to lie very low.”
“Don’t be afraid,” said Constance, as she gave him
a final kiss, thinking: “Thank God he did not find
Madge here.”


The Yellow Fiend I I I
“A cab P God forbid! No. Of all wasteful ex-
penditures taking a cab is the worst. The men who
drive them ought to coin money.”
“You must remember that horses cannot live
without hay and even a small modicum of oats.”
“Humph! What are oats a bushel?”
“My dear sir, I am incapable of attempting the
abstruse calculation I see you are contemplating.”
“Everything can be calculated, everything; but
after you have worked out the uttermost fraction,
there's a something, my dear Brook, an inpalpable,
indefinite something, that may be friendly, or
inimical, we never know which, against whose
enmity we cannot strive and whose favour we can-
not exhaust. It is a cowardly spirit, my boy, and
if only we can gather up enough to make an im-
portant hostage we can almost dictate our own
terms.”
Here a fit of coughing interrupted the speaker,
and Brook thought he was about to breathe his last.
“Let me call a cab, Mr. Ardell. I don't think
you can manage to walk so far.”
“No, no, no, I tell you. I am always better after
one of these fits. Let's go on, unless you have any
engagements. If so—”
“I have not, I assure you, at least not till a couple
of hours later. Come along, then, we'll take it easy.”
At last they reached Osborne-place, and on ring-
ing, rather emphatically, to Brook's surprise the door
was opened by Margaret, the front of her dress
turned back, her cuffs and lower part of her sleeves


I I 2 The Yellow Fiend
also tucked up, and a duster pulled through her
waistband.
“What—what's the matter?” stammered Mr.
Ardell, evidently much disturbed.
“I am very sorry to annoy you, but I cannot help
coming to the door. Your dinner is ready,” said
Madge, with much composure, though she looked
very white and rather ill-at-ease. “Mrs. Pinnock
slipped on the kitchen stairs just at dinner time. She
fell and doubled her foot somehow under her, sprain-
ing her ankle badly. She was in such pain. I did not
know what to do, so I went for the doctor who has a
big red light in the street round the corner.”
“What am I to do? What is to become of me?”
exclaimed Mr. Ardell, clutching Brook's arm. “In
all these years I never knew Mrs. Pinnock to be ill
or disabled before.”
“I will do the best I can,” said Madge, consolingly.
“I can cook a little, and I was obliged to send for
Mrs. Dabbs to help me. You see, Mrs. Pinnock can-
not go upstairs, so we have made her a bed in the
back kitchen, and I'll stay with her all night. But
I'm sure you'll understand that I must have Mrs.
Dabbs in the morning.”
“Ruinſ Ruin and defeat, utter defeat!” solilo-
quised Ardell, in a tone of agony, sinking down on
one of the hall chairs and letting Brook's arm go.
“It is very unfortunate,” he said, “but really, Miss
Ardell seems to have done well and wisely under the
circumstances. You cannot expect your grand-
daughter to be nurse and general servant.”


The Yellow Fiend 1 13
“I should not mind at all if it were possible to
manage both, but it is impossible.”
Mr. Ardell moaned.
“Do try and persuade him to go into the dining-
room and eat,” said Madge, confidentially, to Brook.
“I’ve laid the table and I will keep out of sight as
much as ever I can.”
“You have done wonders. Do you mean that your
grandfather does not like to see you?” This in a
low tone.
“He dislikes seeing me very much,” returned
Madge, calmly.
“Is that woman gone?” asked Mr. Ardell, rousing
up.
“She is. Let me bring you your soup.”
Ardell rose and tottered into the dining-room,
while Madge hurried away downstairs.
“It’s a bad business, Mr. Ardell,” said Brook,
cheerfully, “but we must submit to the inevitable,
and your own sense will tell you that in such a fix
you must have help. May I recommend a very
respectable sort of nurse, who would be most use-
ful in many ways?”
This was a romance on Brook's part.
“I feel faint,” murmured Mr. Ardell.
“Here is the soup,” said Madge at the door. “Per-
haps you would put it on the table before him?”
Brook complied, and then returned to the hall.
“You really must not be alone,” he said, kindly.
“No, it would not do.”
“Why did you let the person who was here go
away?”


I 14. The Yellow Fiend
“I did not,” returned Madge, coolly. “She has
gone to the chemist for some more lotion, but she
cannot stay the night.”
Brook told her of his offer to find a nurse.
“Mr. Ardell would not hear of such a thing, I am
sure,” she said. “I do not mind being alone through
the night, and Mrs. Dabbs will come early in the
morning.”
“You are wonderfully plucky, Miss Ardell. It is
a frightful business for you altogether. I wish I
could help you. What can I do?”
“If you would just give him his dinner I'll bring
the things to the door—if you will take them in.”
“Yes, of course I will. And I’ll tell you what I'll
do. I will ask him to luncheon to-morrow.”
“Oh, thank you. That will be a great help. Won't
it be frightfully tiresome to have him for two
hours?”
“No, he is rather a curious study.”
“I daresay he is. Perhaps after all you may be
a deliverer for the captive princess, or Cinderella.”
This with a sudden upward glance, both pathetic
and inviting, from her velvety, soft brown eyes. It
thrilled him with a strange recognition of power and
sweetness in the soul that sent it forth conquering
and to conquer.
“I should like to try more than I can say.”
“I’ll bring you some of the horrid cold meat which
you like so much over here. That's all I have for
him, and a little chou fleur au gratin. What an im-
possible attempt to try and manage a man who does
not care what he eats!”


The Yellow Fiend 115
She turned and disappeared before he could reply.
Brook addressed himself to persuade his old chum
to eat and drink.
“Let me go out and get you a bottle of wine.
There must be some place near where I can get such
a thing?”
“Wine? No, no. I do not want anything of the
kind. I rarely taste wine. If I should need it I
have enough in the house, what I found in it nearly
forty-four years ago.”
“Let me get you some now,” urged Brook.
“Though you have not had any great shock you
really need a little stimulant.” -
“No great shock! I wonder what could be
greater, unless her death. I cannot buy and prepare
my own food. I cannot keep the miserable little nig-
gling accounts she manages so well; and then she
stood between me and that ill-omened child, whose
eyes I dread. They remind me—aye! they remind
me of other eyes that were yet so different. Eyes
that never looked unkindly; these hate me. I tell
you they do.”
“This is quite a morbid fancy, my dear sir. You
must throw it off. You might really have a very use-
ful, bright little companion in Miss Ardell, if you
choose. She is a very capable, likeable young lady.
She cannot cost you much, and if you cannot rec-
oncile yourself to her you had better board her with
some family. It is a desperate experiment to live in
the house with anyone who sets your nerves on
edge.”
“Don’t talk of impossibilities. I tell you I am not


I 16 The Yellow Fiend
going to ruin myself for my son's daughter—my son
who destroyed my life. No, no, no!”
“After all, Miss Ardell's only offence, as far as
I can make out, is that she lives and has the needs of
a human being.”
“Enough, enough ! Do not waste your time here.
You are very good to stay with me. I am obliged to
you, but I would rather you did not stay.”
“Well, Mr. Ardell, I will not intrude upon you.
I have promised to bring you one more dish. It is
early. How shall you pass the evening?”
“As I always pass it. I have my account-books; I
have letters to write; I have my journal. I shall
go to my room. Tell that girl not to disturb me.”.
Here a light knock at the door called Brook to re-
ceive Madge's chef d' acuvre, the chou fleur au
gratin. -
The old man probed it with his fork, looking
suspiciously at the delicately browned breadcrumbs
piled in the middle.
“This is too fine and costly a dish for me,” he
growled. -
“It looks very good. Try and eat some.”
The old man tried the savoury compound and
seemed satisfied.
“It will be a trying time while Mrs. Pinnock is
laid up. Pray come and lunch with me to-morrow.
I'll not offer you too luxurious a meal, something
quite simple. Meet me at my office at 1.30, and put
yourself into my hands.”
“I am much obliged to you,” returned Ardell, who
had quite a store of good manners, which, like his


The Yellow Fiend 117
money, were generally kept out of sight. “Perhaps
you could give me a little information respecting one
or two matters—but I will tell you to-morrow.”
“Very glad to be of use to you in any way, Mr.
Ardell.” -
“Then tell that—that girl to put the lamp in my
room and see it is full. Also leave a fresh match-
box, and I shall want nothing more, nothing what-
ever. Good-night, good-night. Very much obliged.”
Brook shook hands with him and left the room,
wondering how he could manage to summon Mar-
garet, when, to his relief, he saw her sitting in the
outer hall, her skirt in its normal position, her sleeves
turned down again.
“Oh, Miss Ardell, I want to say a word or two.
Your grandfather wants his lamp filled and put in
his room.”
“Mrs. Pinnock did all that before she fell down-
stairs.”
“My dear Miss Ardell, I am greatly concerned at
the idea of your being alone with your patient all
night. I could easily find a nurse, or 35
“I do not think it is necessary. Mrs. Pinnock's
ankle is nicely bandaged, and she is comfortable. I
have plenty of lemonade, and we will get through
the night quite well. In the day I must have help and
I have secured it. Mr. Ardell would have a right to
complain if I had a nurse. I don't like him, but his
disliking me so much is inconvenient. How can I
overcome it? You know him well.” -
“I do, but it is very hard to advise you. I must


II 8 The Yellow Fiend
contrive to have a long private talk with you. You
will be at home considerably for the next few days?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I shall manage it. If you will confide in
me I may be able to do you substantial service. I
feel as if fate had put you and your fortunes in my
hands.”
Madge laughed low, shewing a perfect range of
small, pearly white teeth.
“Oh, I will confide in you fast enough. I have un-
commonly little to confide. But you must go now,
and, believe me, I am not ungrateful.” She gave
him her hand, looking up into his eyes with a glance,
half-caressing, half-defiant. “Shall I let you out,
my knight-protector?”
“If you please. Why, you don't half believe
me—”
“I am not quite sure.”
Brook pressed her long slender hand and said:
“We must understand each other,” and he passed
through the door she held open.
Brook turned his steps westward and strolled
leisurely along. “One never knows,” he mused.
“When I picked up that queer, imaginative old miser
on board the penny boat I never suspected there was
something of a romance entwined in his sordid his-
tory. That granddaughter of his is a curious little
creature. She' suggests all sorts of possibilities.
She may be good, or more likely bad, but she will al-
ways have something to give which you'd like to
have and cannot be sure of getting. At any rate, I
do not fancy she will ever have any of her grand-
-


The Yellow Fiend 119
father's money. And I am wasting brain-power
thinking about her.”
Meantime, Madge made up her mind to address
her grandfather, so opening the dining-room door
softly, she entered, but immediately drew back.
“I beg your pardon. I will return when you go
to your own room.”
“Stay! I will go now, and you can clear away
these things. Is Mrs. Pinnock any better?”
“Yes, she is easier. I hope she may get some
sleep. The doctor says her quick recovery depends
on her being kept perfectly still.”
“Doctors are expensive, useless luxuries, and I
hope Mrs. Pinnock remembers I am not bound to
pay him!”
“She does, I assure you.”
“How do you know that?”
“I heard her tell him to give all directions and
a prescription that will do for some time, as she could
not afford another visit.”
“Good. She is a very sensible woman.”
“But we must have help. I would rather pay Mrs.
Dabbs myself than try to do without her.”
“Pay Mrs. Dabbs yourself?” repeated the old man,
eagerly, coming a step nearer to her. “Have you any
money? Mrs. Pinnock said you hadn't a penny.”
“She was nearly right! A couple of pounds is
scarcely a provision for life.”
“Have you—have you two pounds—forty shil-
lings—eh?”
“Yes, and a few shillings more.”


I 2 O The Yellow Fiend
“And a few shillings? Well, what's your name,
eh P”
“Margaret.”
“Then, Margaret, give it to me. I’ll take care of
it for you—good care. You shall not waste it, as
young people are so ready to do. Give it to me, my
dear.”
Madge looked very sternly and searchingly at
him.
“No,” she said, “I will not.”
“But you must remember that in fact you owe
it to me—absolutely owe it! Since you came here
—how long ago? Three months—yes, quite three
months—I have provided you with lodging and food
and fire to cook with, a beautiful large room, and
excellent—even luxurious—food. Why, if you gave
me all your forty, or say forty-five shillings, you
would still be in my debt, heavily in my debt.”
Still gazing at him, though her expression soft-
ened considerably, Madge shook her head and re-
peated her very decided “No.” “You took me in
out of charity, for which I thank you very much, but
I never agreed to give you anything in return. I am
very sorry to be a burden to you—as I know I am—
and I often wonder what I could do to relieve you.”
“Yes, yes,” he returned, earnestly; “go on.”
“You know I was working at a studio in Paris,
and all I care to do, all I can ever do, is to draw and
paint. I had only just begun to paint: my teachers
have all said I have ability, and I am never so happy
as when at work. Of course, I never hope to be a
high-class artist: I do not know that any woman ever


I 2.2 The Yellow Fiend
laced his boots. He remained very still and when
Madge removed the last, she asked, softly:
“Why do you dislike me so much? Could you not
try to bear with me, and let me try to be of use to
you?”
He stared at her, as if frightened, and then said in
a low voice—almost a whisper: “Let me go, let me
go!”
Madge rose and stood back out of his way, and
the old man, his papers and one or two long en-
velopes, the covers, apparently, of reports or pros-
pectuses, hugged up to his breast, hurried out of the
room with feeble speed. His granddaughter kept
quite still for a minute or two, her hands clasped
and dropped before her, in deep, sad thought.
“He cannot be sane,” she mused. “I am sorry
for him; he must have had a miserable life, I sup-
pose. He will make mine pretty miserable, too, if I
do not get away from him; and I do not want to live,
if I cannot enjoy life. I am woefully helpless. I
wonder if Constance could help me to do something.
That artist friend of Mrs. Pinnock's is perhaps more
likely to do so, and he is so kind and friendly, I am
sure he is poor. I ought not to take all and give
nothing!”


CHAPTER XIII.
HAVING come to this conclusion, Madge applied
herself to carry away the remains of dinner and
then to “wash up,” following, more or less imper-
fectly, the directions of her friend and patient.
Then she attended to Mrs. Pinnock, bathed her
ankle and replaced the bandage deftly.
“I don't know how to thank you enough, my
dear,” exclaimed the housekeeper, warmly.
“Though you are not exactly what one can call tidy,
in an ordinary way, you handle my poor foot as if
you had walked the hospitals.” -
“If I cannot be a painter I should like to be a
nurse,” returned Madge.
“Talking of painting, won't you write and tell
that nice, friendly gentleman, as came here from my
boy, that I am laid up and we cannot go and see
him?”
“Yes, I must. But I’ll say we'll come another
day. I cannot let him go, Pinny.”
“No, Miss Margaret. Did you speak up to the
master?”
“Yes, I did, and it's no use. I shall ask Mr. Brook
to speak for me. Mr. Ardell seems to be fond of
him.”
Mrs. Pinnock was better and had risen from her
enforced recumbency and limped with the help of a
chair back to a seat in the kitchen, when one morn-
ing Mr. Ardell said to his granddaughter, as she
was taking away his breakfast things:


124. The Yellow Fiend
“Let me have my dinner half-an-hour earlier than
usual.” He spoke without raising his eyes from a
letter he was reading.
Madge said “Very well,” and descended to enjoin
punctuality on Mrs. Dabbs, and to send her for some
ingredients for a dish of French beans, which Madge
herself cooked in a fashion approved by her grand-
father.
Mr. Ardell started out soon after the midday
meal. He had scarcely been gone a quarter-of-an
hour when the post brought a brief note addressed
to Madge.
“DEAR MIss ARDELL,~I hope to call between two and
three this afternoon.
“Yours faithfully,
“H. C. BROOK.”
Madge drew a long breath. “I shall put on my
black silk, though it is not much use. My grand-
father will be sure to return and I shall have no
chance of speaking to him.”
However, Madge had hardly finished her toilet
when a loud ring called her to the front door, which
she opened to admit Brook.
He came in smiling, but behind the smile there
was a serious look in his eyes.
Madge felt annoyed with herself, for she knew
that her own expression was radiant, and she was a
little uneasy at betraying her joy.
“Thank you so much for coming. I am only
afraid Mr. Ardell will return very soon.”
“No; I made sure of that before I came. He


The Yellow Fiend 1 2 5
will not return till after four o'clock—time enough
to hatch any amount of treason.” And Brook fol-
lowed Madge into the dining-room. “How have
you been faring this last week? You look tired.
There are shadows under your eyes, as if you had
not slept.”
“Yes, I have slept, except for the first two nights,
when poor Mrs. Pinnock was in such pain. She is
much better.”
“And what have you been doing with your grand-
father?”
“Nothing!”
“Have you tried?”
“I have. Tried very hard.” And she proceeded
to repeat her conversation with her grandfather the
day Brook had brought him home.
“And you really think you can do well enough
to make a living by your pencil or brush?”
“If I cannot I had better die.”
“My dear little girl, that is easy to say. Could I
see any of your work?”
“Yes. I have a large portfolio full in the dusty,
desolate drawing-room. Mrs. Pinnock said I might
put it there in case a friend of hers, an artist, should
like to see my sketches.”
“I don't know that I am much of a critic, but I
have seen some of the best pictures in the world
and quantities which are not the best. Shall we go
up and see them?”
“Oh, yes! And do not mind what you say. I am
not an easily-offended idiot. Come.”
She had not taken a seat, though Brook had


126 The Yellow Fiend
placed himself on a black, stern-looking sofa. He
rose and followed her up the echoing, carpetless
stone stairs to the large, lofty, empty drawing-room.
Madge proceeded to draw up the blinds, yellow
with age and years of washing, and a strong north
light streamed in.
An old-fashioned round table and two carved oak
chairs were the only articles of furniture in the bare-
looking room. They were placed side by side near
the table, and between them supported a large port-
folio, evidently filled to bursting. .
“I must shew you a few of these first, that I had
begun painting some months ago. It is so delight-
ful to use colour—only too tempting. One is in-
clined to neglect drawing for it.”
She moved one of the heavy chairs back to allow
of extricating the drawings from the portfolio, lay-
ing the specimens she selected one after another on
the table. Bits of woodland, wide stretches of coun-
try, studies of rocks, roughly sketched figures and
heads of children on coarse brown paper, carefully
drawn still-life subjects, carved cabinets, decora-
tions, and a great variety of studies in black and
white.
“Oh, that is enough 1” exclaimed Madge at
length. “Your head will ache gazing at all these
daubs. There! Do you know who that is meant
for?” She placed her crayon portrait of Mrs. Pin-
nock before Brook.
“I should think I did ſ” he exclaimed. “That is
the most satisfactory example of all, though not the
best, perhaps. If you can catch a likeness—a favour-


The Yellow Fiend 127
able likeness—you are almost sure to win custom.
Here the weakness of the flesh will befriend you;
the charming little vanities of human nature will
be an unfailing means of success. I repeat that I
am no judge, and do not pretend to criticise, but I
did not expect to see anything so good as these.
Have you anything in oils?”
“The merest beginnings!”
“Would it trouble you to let me see them?”
“No, of course not.” -
She went quickly away, and returned with two or
three canvases, studies of trees, of rugged walls,
and one or two of stones and water. They were ex-
tremely crude, and Brook did not give much atten-
tion to them. He turned again to the drawings.
“There can be no doubt you have ability,” he said
at length. “It is infamous to deprive you of the
chances you might find in art. The question is how
shall we persuade Ardell, your grandfather, to hear
reason?”
“I am sure I do not know,” said Madge, despon-
dently.
“I must think out some scheme. I have often
had to do so. Once convince your grandfather that
you can make money, and like to make it, that the
“yellow fiend’ is propitious to you, and he might
make you his heir, perhaps.”
“And he is really rich?” asked Madge, thought-
fully. -
“Riches are relative, and I am not intimately ac-
quainted with Mr. Ardell's affairs; but a man can
hardly struggle to heap up riches and spend next


I 28 The Yellow Fiend
to nothing for forty years or more and escape being
rich. Do you long for wealth?”
“I don't think I long for anything,” she answered,
with a sigh. “I should be brighter and happier if I
did. There would be something to live and fight
for. When I was young I longed to be a great
painter, or a very lovely woman. Now I know
more, and have seen more, I am aware I can never
be either.”
Brook looked at her steadily, but, not being a
commonplace man, he refrained from a compliment-
ary reply.
“You can hope to be great, and work to be great,
which are the first steps to greatness. As to loveli-
ness, some comparatively plain women have, by the
magnetism, the irresistible magnetism of charm, left
the beauties far behind. At your delightful age you
should leave the future to itself, and be content to
enjoy the present.”
“I have so much to enjoy in the present! As to
the delightfulness of my age, you are not so much
older yourself.”
“Oh, beside you I feel quite venerable.”
Madge shook her head mournfully, and gazed
through the high, narrow windows of the Queen
Anne type which occupied one side of the room with
an expression of sad longing in her soft brown eyes,
which Brook thought amply atoned for any deficien-
C16S.
“It is woefully dull and depressing for you in this
melancholy abodel” he said, kindly. “Suppose I


The Yellow Fiend 129
ask your grandfather to let me take you to the thea-
tre some evening?”
“You are wonderfully good to me!” exclaimed
Madge, with a sudden outburst of gratitude, very
unusual with her. “I cannot express what I feel
very well, but I do feel.”
“I can well believe it,” thought Brook, meeting
her eyes with a sympathetic glance.
“I do, indeed,” pursued Madge, beginning to put
away her drawings. “But don't waste your time
asking my grandfather to let me go with you to the
theatre. I shall be only too delighted, and give my-
self leave fast enough ! Keep all your thoughts, all
your brain power, dear Mr. Brook, to persuade him
to pay for my lessons. The sort of lessons I mean,
that is, to attend some studio—where I shall want
brushes and paints and canvas, and—ohl heaps of
things. You will never succeed, I fear !”
“I shall certainly make the attempt. Already a
lovely scheme is dawning upon me. It will take a
little time to mature, but you must trust me.”
“I will ! I do! I feel you are my only friend—
except Mrs. Pinnock. She has been more to me
than I can describe. Only for her, I should have
killed myself, or my grandfather, the first week I
was here.”
“Are you such a desperate young woman?” asked
Brook, with an indulgent smile, but conscious of a
curious thrill that shivered through him at the fire
which gleamed for an instant in her eyes, the pas-
sion in her low, rich tones. “I am half afraid of
you!”


130 The Yellow Fiend
‘Afraid? No, you laugh at me, and I deserve it.
I always deserve it when I let myself go. I do not
often shew the weakness of violence in this way. I
always repent it when I do.”
“Not, I hope, when you shew your natural anger
and despondency to me? I think that already I un-
derstand you.”
“If you do, it is more than I do myself. Now,
we had better go downstairs again. I don't think
Mr. Ardell would like you to come up here except
to see him.”
“Perhaps so! Well, Miss Ardell, when I have
thought out my scheme, can I write to you, to give
you an idea what it is and how you can second me?”
“Oh, yes! I might correspond with Beelzebub
for all Mr. Ardell would care! Don't you think
Satan's letters would be very spirituel? I do.”
“Some fellow once wrote ‘Letters from Hell,’”
returned Brook, laughing.
“They would be quite different, and rather
dreary, full of weeping and wailing and gnashing
of teeth !”
This speech brought them to the hall, and, seeing
that Madge looked a little uneasy, Brook rather re-
luctantly said good-bye and departed.
When she was alone, Madge sat down in the
sacred dining-room, and thought long and rather
confusedly. She felt a sensation of vague hope
mixed with pleasure, which had long been unknown
to her. Brook gave her an impression of power, of
being able to lift her out of the cruel abyss into
which she had fallen. He was a smiling, civil,


The Yellow Fiend 3 I
smooth-tongued, ordinary, well-dressed man of
business. Yet he filled her with confidence in his
force of will, his experience, his readiness to be-
friend her.
Presently Mrs. Pinnock, now convalescent—for
it was nearly three weeks since she had sprained her
ankle—limped into the room.
“Well, Miss Margaret, we are getting onl” she
exclaimed. “Here's a lettter for you, written so nice
and pretty, and one for me into the bargain! That
artist gentleman my boy wrote to me about has been
away, and only found the note, you wrote telling
him we could not go and see his place, on account
of my accident, when he came back. He does write
so kind, and asks us to name another day. You will
fix one, won't you, Miss Margaret?”
But Margaret was deep in her note.
“It is from Constance—Mrs. Grey, I mean. She
wants me to go to tea with her any afternoon before
the 30th, as her husband will be away till that date.”
“A nasty, jealous, cantankerous creature, I'm
sure! Why does he want to shut her up?”
“She seems extremely fond of him,” said Madge.
“And,” resumed Mrs. Pinnock, “here's Mr. War-
ing writing to beg you will fix your own time to
look at his pictures.”
“We are quite in request, Pinny dear!” cried
Madge, laughing.
“I wish you'd laugh oftener, miss!” said Mrs.
Pinnock, admiringly. “You look another creature
when you do.”
“I had forgotten how. But for some unreason-


132 The Yellow Fiend
able reason, I feel a little wintry gleam of hope to-
day.”
“So do I, Miss Margaret. I dreamt last night
that my precious boy was coming home next week.”
“I hope he will, I am sure. Now, tell me, what
day shall we go to see Mr. Waring's studio?”
After some calculation as to the next periodical
visit of Mrs. Dabbs, the charwoman, Wednesday
in the following week was decided on, and Madge
went to her own room to write for “partner and
self” with her usual swift illegibility.
Having secured this important appointment, she
wrote a few grateful lines to her recovered school-
friend. Then, pushing her letters, envelopes and *
a ragged scrap of blotting-paper into a much-
rubbed, shabby writing book, she rested her elbows
on the table, and her small firm chin in the hollow of
her palms. She recalled what seemed to her the
events of the day.
“Nothing striking or strange!” she thought. Mr.
Brook is sorry for such an unfortunate miserable
little creature as I am, and will try to help me. But
will he remember his promises to me. Perhaps—
for a while, at any rate. What an idiot I am to sit
here, wasting time over a lot of unanswerable ques-
tions! I will try to draw Cecil Brook's face from
memory. If he keeps his word about taking me to
the theatre, it will be quite heavenly. I do not fancy
he will forget.”
She rose, and, going into the empty drawing-
room, which was next her own, she began to search
for a clean piece of cardboard, which, when found,


The Yellow Fiend 133
she carried into her special apartment, collected
her pencils, and set to work to reproduce the
features which had stamped themselves so vividly
on her imagination, becoming so absorbed that she
disregarded Mrs. Pinnock's bell for tea, and worked
on till the warm shadows of a July night began to
close around her.
>k >k >k × xk × ×
Mr. Ardell always had his breakfast in his own
room, so Madge ate hers in dignified solitude. To
her great joy she found a letter on the following
morning lying beside her teacup. She opened it
swiftly. It ran:
“DEAR MIss ARDELL,-I have nearly matured my plans,
and hope to see Mr. Ardell in a day or two on (let me say)
our business. I write this to let you know that it is not
necessary for you to stay on the chance of assisting at the
interview. It might be better if you did not: I can write
you the result. Also let you know when I shall make
a second call.”
“He has not forgotten” murmured Madge to
herself. “But he says nothing about the theatre. I
suppose that will come. At all events, I shall go
and see Constance to-morrow.”


CHAPTER XIV.
To-MoRRow”—with the usual variability of Eng-
lish weather—was dull and cloudy, with a cold,
drizzling rain. Nevertheless, Madge set off early
in the afternoon, taking advantage of a partial lift-
ing of the clouds and cessation of the drizzle. She
picked her way along the greasy streets to the
Marylebone-road, saving a penny and catching an
omnibus which set her down near a road which was
close to her friend's abode.
She found Mrs. Grey sitting by a pleasant wood
fire, which gave delightful cheerfulness to the damp,
oppressive aspect of the day.
“So glad to see you, Madge,” cried Mrs. Grey.
“I was almost afraid you would not come. It is
such horrid weather.” -
“It is too good a chance to lose. I want a talk
with you so much.”
“And it seems so long since you were here. How
is your friend—Mrs.-I forget her name. Is she
able to walk yet?”
“She can walk, but lamely.”
“And are you better friends than you used to be
with your grandfather?”
“Not much better; but I don't dislike him as much
as I did. I begin to think he is not quite responsible,
and I feel less inclined to fly out at him. That is a
sort of relief, you know. And you, Constance?
How is your little girl? I hope you have not ban-


The Yellow Fiend 135
ished her because I am an unnatural monster and do
not like children?”
“No, I assure you. I have given her a litttle treat
to-day. She has another baby to tea and some new
toys. So she will be quite happy in the seclusion of
her nursery. I am so specially anxious to see you,
because we are going to a little village in Switzer-
land, a sore of eyrie high up among the mountains.
It is a favourite summer haunt of my husband's,
on the Italian side, and as he will have some busi-
ness in Italy I shall be nearer to him than if I stayed
here.”
“I should like to see your husband, Constance.
Have you a photograph of him?”
“No. He never would be photographed,” replied
Mrs. Grey, colouring as she spoke. “I am very
vexed that I cannot introduce you to him, but he is
a little peculiar, though exceedingly nice. I am
sure you would like him. But his visits here are
so short, so hurried, and he has so much business of
great importance to transact—business which
obliges him to keep out of sight—that I cannot in-
dulge myself by asking you to stay with us, as I am
sure you know I would like to do, don't you, dear
Madge?”
“I know I should like to stay with you. But what
is the matter with Mr. Grey? He is not an Anar-
chist, is he? You said he was an engineer. Is he
going to blow up Rome or Turin?”
Mrs. Grey laughed. “Oh, no. Bertie is always
on the side of law and order, as people will find out
one of these days. Now tell me, dear, about your
own affairs. Are things looking a little brighter?”


136 The Yellow Fiend
“Well, yes. I have just a little gleam of hope.”
And Madge proceeded to tell her friend of her in-
terview with a real artist, Mr. Waring, of his ap-
proval of Mrs. Pinnock's portrait, of his invitation
to visit his studio, and the kind interest one of her
grandfather's friends took in her work and how he
had promised to help her.
“This all looks promising,” said Mrs. Grey. “Is
your artist friend young—or good looking?”
“I am not quite sure. I think he is younger than
he looks, but he is certainly not good-looking. He
is tall and big, with rather wild hair and keen grey
eyes, looking out under bushy eyebrows, rather like
a gigantic Skye terrier. But I fancy he is very kind,
and I am dying to see his studio.”
“Has he a wife?”
“I haven’t a notion whether he has or not.”
“Well, dear, do not fall in love with him. These
benevolent artistic men are very dangerous.”
“Are they? How is it that if a man is a little
kind and civil to a girl, she is always supposed to fall
in love with him? I am not at all disposed to such
vagaries.”
“Perhaps not, Madge. In fact, I do not fancy
anyone ever knew what you are disposed to be or
to do. I only wish you to make a good, happy mar-
riage. There is no companion so delightful as a
kind, sympathetic husband.”
“Ah—” Madge hesitated. “That is if he has
any brains.”
“Well, men generally have more brains than
women; at all events, they have seen more.”


The Yellow Fiend 137
“That's true, but—do you never grow tired of
him?”
“No, oh, no! I sometimes fear he may grow tired
of me.” -
“I suppose there is always a chance of that. His
being away so much must be rather an advantage,”
said Madge, reflectively.
“Not in my opinion,” cried Mrs. Grey, laughing.
“Sometimes I wish he would tell me more of what
he has seen and done while he was away. But I
know he is mixed up with grave political matters,
so I don't trouble him with questions. Latterly he
has been especially silent, which means even more
serious business than usual. But I hope to see more
of him when we are in Switzerland.”
“In your place I should be seriously jealous,”
ejaculated Madge.
“Not if you were married to a man like—my hus-
band.”
“You are constant by name and by nature, so you
judge of others by yourself. I do not know that I
am very constant, therefore I doubt.”
“We always thought you a true-hearted girl at
school. You were certainly a favourite. Do you
remember the first day I went to ‘Abend-brod” with
you and your aunt? How good everything
seemed.”
The school-friends plunged into reminiscences
which absorbed them both—of games and studies,
feuds and friendships. At last they came to a pause,
which Madge broke by asking:
“When do you start for Switzerland?”


138 The Yellow Fiend
“Wednesday in next week.”
“I suppose there is no use in asking you to write
to me, Constance?”
“Not the least, dear. I am keeping very much out
of sight at present. But in another year I hope to
have a nice house of my own in town, when my dear
husband will reap the reward of his work and wait-
ing. I know you are the safest of little women,
Madge, and will never mention our meeting to any-
one.”
“Yes, you may trust me,” said Madge, slowly.
“When we return to London—if we do—I will let
you know.”
“If you do not where are you likely to go?”
“I am not very sure. Possibly to Russia.”
“Russia! Oh, that is suggestive of Anarchists
and underground dungeons, and all sorts of things.”
“I am not afraid,” Mrs. Grey was beginning,
when the servant entered with a telegram. Mrs.
Grey changed colour and hastily opened it. “No
answer,” she exclaimed when she had glanced at
it. “It is from my husband,” she continued. “He
will arrive sooner than I expected, and hopes to be
with me at seven this evening. He telegraphs
from »
She stopped abruptly, and Madge, divining the
cause of her hesitation, exclaimed:
“Why, it is a quarter to six now! I will run
away, and shall not expect to hear from you till a
letter comes.”
“I cannot ask you to stay, but you need not hurry


The Yellow Fiend 139
away. See, Madge, I have a little present for you.”
She went to her writing-table and took a packet
from it. “I have a purse for you, and trust it will
bring you luck.” She unrolled the paper and dis-
played a pretty green crocodile-skin purse bound
with silver.
“It is a beauty 1" cried Madge. “I hope it may
not prove a mockery.”
“I have ventured to put a little something in it,
Madge, dear. Don't you remember, when I was
weeping over my hopelessly shabby condition, our
kind, good auntie (for she was mine as well as
yours) gave me two beautiful English sovereigns
and set me up for ever. My luck turned after that.
Well, I have only repaid you what she gave, and a
little silver as interest. Don't refuse, child. When
your portraits are hung on the line you shall repay
me.”
“Refuse! No, that I shall not. But do you un-
derstand how grateful I am, though I am not able
to say it? Now, are you sure it is no inconven-
ience?”
“Not in the least. My husband insists on my
taking a dress allowance quite beyond what I need
in our present position. Now I will let you go. My
landlady is going out; she will take you by the back
way and put you in a cab. It is raining, get away
home. I wish you had a real home, my poor dear.
But all will turn out right. That's what I always
feel when my husband is coming.”
A hearty kiss and Madge departed. She obeyed


14o The Yellow Fiend
her friend's injunction, and felt prospectively rich
as she jolted along in a four-wheeler. Yet she did
not feel quite happy about her former schoolmate.
“I do hope she is not mixed up with something
dreadful. Supposing this fascinating Mr. Grey is
married Suppose he is married to someone quite
different. Constance is not the sort of woman to
be comforted by punishing him. But she must be
married, safe enough. That queer old father of hers
seems to have been present at the ceremony, and he
was far too sharp to be taken in. What a good
thing it is he did not live to worry her.”
Arrived at Osborne-place the front door was
opened almost at the first touch of the bell, and Mrs.
Pinnock's face presented itself with an eager expres-
sion.
“Come in, my dear. I hope you have not got wet
It's a horrid evening. I have been looking out for
you this hour and more. Mr. Ardell is not at home.
He went off to dine with Mr. Brook. What do you
think of that? Mr. Brook called about four o'clock,
just as the master had finished writing some letters
(he got a heap to-day). He hadn't been long come
when the parlour bell rang. ‘Here,’ says Mr. Ar-
dell to me, ‘you know where my granddaughter
keeps her daubs, or drawings, or whatever they are?
This gentleman wants to see them. Shew them
to him.’ It's just as well you gave me a word, Miss
Margaret, for knowing you had no objection I
walked him upstairs. It's not much he looked at
them, of course; I knew he had spent nigh an hour
turning them over the other day. He walked up


The Yellow Fiend 141
and down, and stood meditating in one of the win-
dows frowning to himself. Then he says: “Thank
you, Mrs. Pinnock that will do.’ And downstairs he
went quite brisk. The door was wide open as he
spoke, and I heard him say: ‘They are very good,
Mr. Ardell, much better than I expected. I really
think Miss Ardell has great ability.” With that your
grandpapa gave a sort of grunt and said something
about a draught. So Mr. Brook shut the door. He
is a nice gentleman, that Mr. Brook, and a real
friend of yours, Miss Margaret. Have you had tea,
my dear?”
“Oh, yes, and lovely cake. I do not want any-
thing more. I had a nice, pleasant couple of hours.
We talked over our school-days and battles, and
laughed and nearly cried, only I am not a crying
character.”
“And did you see the husband?” eagerly.
“No. But he is coming to fetch her and the baby
for a trip abroad.”
“Well, I hope he is a nice kind man to match such
a sweet lady as she is l”
“Yes, he must be, from what she says,” returned
Madge, who rarely bestowed any unnecessary infor-
mation on her interlocutors.
xk >k >k >k >k xk , k
The next morning Mrs. Pinnock suggested that
Madge should take his breakfast to her grandfather,
just to see if he would say anything respecting
Brook's opinion of her work.
The old man was a very early riser, and was
usually sitting at his bureau when Mrs. Pinnock en-


142 The Yellow Fiend
tered his room. Here Madge found him, and was,
as usual, conscious of being an intruder.
“I hope you don't mind my bringing your break-
fast,” she said.
He started at the sound of her soft, pleasant voice.
“Why do you bring it?” he asked abruptly, turn-
ing his thin, birdlike face and suspicious eyes
towards her.
Madge hesitated a moment, and then spoke the
truth.
“Mrs. Pinnock told me Mr. Brook was here yes-
terday, and went upstairs to see my drawings, and I
am a little anxious to know what he thought of
them.”
“He knows nothing about such things—nothing
at all! He says so. He said your things are good,
but his opinion has no value. You are not the sort
of creature to have talent—genius—and it takes a
lot of genius to make money. Anyhow, he is going
to bring a friend here in a day or two, a dealer in
these sort of things. He'll put your pretensions
to the money test. If he will pay money for one of
your productions, I will have some little belief in
you.”
“Ah, then, I am sure I shall not stand the test.
Only an artist—a real artist—could perceive prom-
ise in such a mere beginner as I am. I am sorry I
troubled you. Do you want anything more?”
“No-wait. Can you speak truth?”
“I fancy I can, but I am not sure. I know myself
very little.”
“Would you like to make money? Look at me.”


144. The Yellow Fiend
That day, however, ended in a hopeful haze for
Mrs. Pinnock and her young protégée. The evening
post brought the confederates each a letter.
Madge's said:
“So far, my plot has gone all right. I have now, with
your grandfather's knowledge, made the acquaintance of
your works of art. On Monday or Tuesday next I shall
bring a real judge to pronounce upon them. Pray be at
home. I shall try to get leave for you to come out with
me to see some pictures. Follow my lead, and I shall
manage. The more I see your work the more I like it.
“Yours very truly,
“H. C. BROOK.”
Before she had quite reached the end, a joyous
exclamation from Mrs. Pinnock attracted her at-
tention. They were enjoying a frugal supper of
bread and butter and radishes in the kitchen, with
a jam turn-over for Madge's delectation.
“You have good news, too, Pinny?”
“Yes, I have. My dear, blessed boy will be in
London on Sunday. He has had a long round this
time—near six months. We must give him a real
good dinner, and lots of vegetables. Mr. Ardell al-
ways knows he must dine with me on Sunday when
he is in town. Won't he be pleased to find what a
nice young lady I have to keep me company?”
“I should like to paint him,” said Madge, pen-
sively.
“Well, I am sure you will think him a good-look-
ing young fellow, Miss Margaret. And that kind
and considerate.”
“Ah! Pinny dear, you are lucky to have someone
belonging to you—someone you are glad to see.”


The Yellow Fiend 145
“Never mind, my dear. There will always be lots
of people glad to see you, anyway.”
“Do you think so?” said Madge, absently.
The two days which intervened between this joy-
ful announcement and the appearance of Mrs. Pin-
nock's sailor son were busily employed in rubbing
and polishing up all the kitchen tins and utensils,
and preparing some dainty dishes for the welcome
guest.
Mrs. Pinnock went upstairs in state to inform
Mr. Ardell of her son's return, and ask leave to in-
vite him. Her eccentric master scarcely took in
what she said at first.
“Ah, your boy has come back, ehl How has he
got on this time? Made any money? Has he a
trifle to invest, eh? I daresay I might suggest
something good, and as I'm not a regular broker,
I'd only charge a trifle.”
“I’m sure, sir, you are ever so good! But, you
see, he is going to take the fifth of a share in a fine
new steamer that's being built for his captain, so
he'll want all the cash he can muster for that,”
replied Mrs. Pinnock, who had of late years become
less reliant on her master's advice, not to say his
honesty. For, as Mr. Ardell grew more and more
of a recluse, the passion for accumulating grew
upon him to a degree that swallowed up all other
considerations.
“By no means a sound investment, Mrs. Pinnock,
by no means,” he returned. “I should not advise
your son to sink any money in such an undertak-
ing.” Then, as she was leaving the room, he added:


146 The Yellow Fiend
“If your son would like a little further advice, I
shall be happy to give it to him.”
Mrs. Pinnock thanked him, and beat as rapid a
retreat as she could.
“Won't you dine with your grandpapa on Sun-
day, my lamb?” she said, as she met Madge on the
kitchen stairs a little later.
“Ought I? Must I?” asked Madge, evidently
puzzled and a little anxious. “Would you rather
have your son all to yourself?”
“No, no, that's not it at all. But, my dear, it's
another thing dining with your grandpa's house-
keeper, all by ourselves, and you sitting down with
me and my son.”
“I do not see the difference. Why am I to punish
my grandfather and myself for a mere idea? If
you really don't mind, let me dine with you.” And
Mrs. Pinnock consented.
Allan Pinnock's appearance justified his mother's
pride. A fine, bronzed young fellow, with laughing
blue eyes, and curly fair hair, self-possessed, but
modest, and ready to talk, though leaving it to the
young lady, who was his superior, to take the lead.
Neither he nor his mother's young protégée found
any difficulty in keeping up a steady flow of conver-
sation, especially on the subject of his artist friend,
Dick Waring.
This led to the display of Mrs. Pinnock's por-
trait, with which her son professed himself en-
chanted.
Dinner over, however, Madge effaced herself,
promising her good friend to keep watch and ward


The Yellow Fiend 147
in the kitchen while mother and son enjoyed the
unwonted pleasure of a walk together.
That night, when their sailor guest was gone,
and the house locked up, Mrs. Pinnock tapped at
Madge's door, and asked if she might come in for
a few minutes.
“Yes, to be sure, Pinny! Has anything hap-
pened?”
“Well, no, my dear, but he has told me a secret
that makes me uneasy. I know I'll not rest till I
tell you.”
“Oh, tell me, then l’”
“You’ll say nothing, and take no notice, Miss Mar-
garet, my dear?”
“No, certainly not.”
“Well, then, as we were a-sitting in the Park, my
dear boy he opened his heart to me, and told me he
was far gone in love with his owner's daughter, and
I'm afraid he'll get nothing but sorrow out of it.”
“His owner's daughter!” repeated Madge, a
little puzzled by her expression.
“I mean the gentleman who owns the ship my
Allan sails on. She is brought up in an elegant
boarding-school, and though she may amuse her-
self with a good-looking young chap, no doubt she'll
want to marry a gentleman.”
“I would not trouble about it, my dear Pinny.
They will work through it all, or break their hearts,
whatever you try to do. Your son does not look
like a man that would fail, and the girl may be
honest and true. Believe me, all will end well till
it ends the other way. We are, every one of us,
helpless in the hands of fate.”


CHAPTER XV.
WHEN early on Monday afternoon Mrs. Pinnock
came to tell Madge that Mr. Brook and another
gentleman were with Mr. Ardell, and that Mr.
Brook had asked for her, Madge felt extraordinarily
nervous, a most unusual condition for her, for the
absence of hope generally gave her remarkable com-
posure.
Mr. Ardell was seated in his large armchair with
a newspaper in his hand, his usual company attitude.
Brook was standing on the hearthrug leaning against
the mantelpiece. A third man was sitting in front
of her grandfather and smiling radiantly upon him.
A thick-set, fleshly man, brown in colouring,
with a hooked nose, glittering black eyes, and curly,
oily-looking black hair. He was attired in new
glossy clothes, and had an air of almost insolent
prosperity.
“Good-morning, Miss Ardell,” said Brook, ad-
vancing to shake hands with her. “This is my friend
Mr. Marks, who is so good as to give me a few
minutes of his valuable time to inspect your sketches.
He is a well-known connoisseur. Mr. Marks, Miss
Ardell.”
Mr. Marks rose and made a short bow.
“You are very good, and I thank you,” said
Madge, with her soft and slightly foreign accent.
“You are very welcome, miss. According to my
friend Brook here, you are likely to be a new
Angelica Kauffman.”


The Yellow Fiend 14.9
Madge shook her head, saying: “Even Angelica
Kauffman succeeded more by favour than by
strength.”
“That does not matter much, so long as she suc-
ceeded.”
“Come, Mr. Marks, we must not detain you un-
necessarily,” said Brook. “May we go upstairs and
look at your work?”
“Oh, yes, of course. You know your way, Mr.
Brook. And need I go? I don't feel as if I could
stand still and wait for judgment.”
“No, no, you need not come.”
Both men left the room. Madge sat down almost
facing her grandfather, and listened with a throb-
bing pulse to the sound of their ascending feet, then
to their steps overhead as they moved to and fro,
probably trying to find the best light. Suddenly
Mr. Ardell gave a sort of cackling laugh with a con-
temptuous tone in it.
“That fat Jew will bless Brook for bringing him
all this way to look at a schoolgirl's daubs.”
Madge made no reply. She scarcely heard what
he said, though her eyes seemed riveted on his face.
“Don’t stare like that!” he cried, in sudden anger.
“I beg your pardon. I did not know.”
“I suppose you expect the great connoisseur to
come down and declare you would be the wonder of
the age, eh?”
“No, I do not. But if he says I have no gift, no
power, I may make up my mind to take a house-
maid’s place; for whatever happens I cannot live
here.” -


1 5 o The Yellow Fiend
Mr. Ardell spoke at some length in reply, but the
sense of his words did not reach his granddaughter's
mind, so intently did she listen for the returning
steps of her judge. At last they came.
Madge could hear their voices taking cheerfully
and laughing, rousing the echoes in the gruesome
house.
Marks entered first. He held two sketches in his
hand. One of a path through a pine wood, an open-
ing in which gave the view of distant mountains;
the other was a child's head on a piece of coarse
brown paper.
“My dear sir,” exclaimed the art critic to Mr.
Ardell, “your granddaughter has a touch of genius.
Good teaching and hard work would do wonders for
her. These are full of promise. The distance in this
is really excellent,” holding up the pinewood sketch.
“And so is this head of a suddenly awakened child.
You see the little fellow has just opened his eyes.
Yes, I like these. In fact, if you will part with them,
my dear young lady, I do not mind making you an
offer.”
As Marks uttered this amazing sentence old
Ardell sat up in his chair, pushed away his paper,
and, stretching out his arms on the table, his
withered hands clenched themselves, opening and
shutting with nervous twitchings.
“Of course, I shall be only too glad to sell any-
thing I have.”
“Well, then,” exclaimed Marks, with an air of
generous abandonment, “just to encourage you, I'll
give you twelve and sixpence for the two.”


The Yellow Fiend 1 5 I
“Thank you very much. You are extremely
good,” said Madge, simply.
“Of course, I do not pretend to understand such
wares,” began Mr. Ardell, with tremulous eagerness,
“but as my granddaughter is as ignorant as myself I
think it might be as well to take advice on the sub-
ject.”
“Oh, just as you like. There's my offer, take it
or leave it.”
“I take it gratefully,” put in Madge, before Mr.
Ardell could speak again. “That a man like you
should care to give anything for a drawing of mine
is a strong recommendation.”
“Well said, my dear,” said Marks, familiarly. “I
rather think you have the business faculty and that's
a fortune in itself. Here's your money, my dear
young lady.” Closing his teeth on a cigar he had
just lit, Mr. Marks dived into one of his trouser
pockets and produced a handful of gold and silver,
from which he picked out half-a-sovereign and half-
a-crown. “May it bring you luck,” he said, as he
pushed it over to her.
“My first earnings,” she returned, taking it with
the brief, sweet smile that made so great a change in
her usually quiet, sad little face.
“Well, I'll wish you good-day, Mr. Ardell. Very
pleased to have had the pleasure of meeting you, sir.
I have often heard of you. Good-day, Miss Ardell.
Glad to have been your first customer.”
Brook went with him to the door.
“Gad! You are a shrewd fellow, Mr. Brook. I
fancy you have this concern in the hollow of your


152 The Yellow Fiend
hand. Never saw a neater thing in female flesh than
the granddaughter. If the old fellow would just
give her the dibbs you'd carry everything before
you.”
When Brook returned to the dining-room Mr.
Ardell still sat with his arms outstretched upon the
table, but his hands had relaxed and lay limply, while
Madge stood opposite him, a slight smile upon her
lips and her eyes fixed on the bits of gold and silver
which remained where Marks had placed them.
“Well, Mr. Ardell, I do not think your grand-
daughter overestimates herself. What do you say?”
“A man like your friend,” returned Mr. Ardell,
“would not give money down unless he thought an
article worth that much, or more. I am surprised. I
wonder now if this child, this Margaret, may yet
find favour with the yellow fiend? It is all chance—
mere, mere chance. You must not waste that bit of
money, Margaret,” and he laughed a queer, dry,
mocking laugh. “Suppose now, suppose you give
this money, and any other little bits you may gather,
into my hands to keep just to help you, you know.”
He shifted his position and looked eagerly at her.
Madge picked up her money, and, laying it in the
palm of her left hand, looked at it steadily for a
moment.
“If I give you all I earn, will you help me to
earn by letting me attend a studio and giving me
sufficient clothes to appear in P’’
She played with the pieces of money, letting them
drop from the fingers of one hand into the palm of
the other.


The Yellow Fiend 153
“Neither of you ought to make a rash agreement,”
exclaimed Brook, who had looked on with great in-
terest.
“No,” said Madge. “I do not hesitate. I want
to see if my grandfather's yellow fiend will befriend
me. If he were kind to us both, grandpapa, how rich
we should become? There, take it,” and she passed
over the money, which the old man greedily seized,
ringing the half-sovereign on the table.
“I trust you to let me go to some class or studio;
and please give me a receipt for twelve and six-
pence.”
Ardell gazed at her, his mouth slightly open.
Then, with a sort of effort, exclaimed:
“Right, quite right. That is the proper spirit.
Give me pen and ink and a scrap of paper.”
There was a tussle over the wording of the
acknowledgment, until Brook, who could hardly
suppress his laughter, interfered.
“Do not waste this lovely afternoon,” he said.
“Just accept an acknowledgment of the amount re-
ceived by Mr. Ardell. You have me as your witness
as to what you are to get in exchange. I think, my
dear sir, we can manage this severe young lady be-
tween us.”
Ardell grinned.
“She has more sense than I thought, decidedly
more sense. If she is lucky— But I'm afraid, Mr.
Brook, I must leave you to write some letters of im-
portance—great importance.”
“Certainly, sir. One word more. Will you allow
me to take your granddaughter to see the studio of


154. The Yellow Fiend
a really great artist, a friend of mine? He might
interest himself in Miss Ardell's studies.”
“Oh, yes, to be sure. Wherever you like, only
she must not come and disturb me when she re-
turns.”
“Oh, of course not, certainly not. Good-morn-
ing, my dear sir, good-morning.”
Brook held the door open, and the moment the
old man had passed the threshold he exclaimed, in a
carefully lowered tone:
“Excuse my familiarity, but pray put on your hat.
I have a nice plan for the whole afternoon to wind
up with the new play, ‘Forging the Fetters.’”
“How delicious !” cried Madge, her eyes spark-
ling, her face dimpled with smiles. “I shall not
keep you five minutes.” -
“Be sure you arrange with the housekeeper when
you are to return, and that she shall be ready to let
you in,” said Brook, emphatically. “You must cul-
tivate her carefully.”
Madge nodded her assent and ran off.
Brook picked up the newspaper, and seating him-
self in the old man's chair fell into a fit of deep
thought. Madge entered immediately, it seemed to
him, and her little dainty figure, the Parisian style
of her simple straw hat, surprised him.
“A sort of girl no man need be ashamed of being
seen with,” was his mental ejaculation.
“You are better than your word,” he exclaimed.
“Let us be off. It is a delicious day. Have you any
place you would like to go to?” he asked.
“Dear Mr. Brook, I know nobody and nothing. I
shall like any place you choose to take me to ”


1 56 The Yellow Fiend
peas made a delightful atmosphere, and finding a
pleasant shady seat they grew more and more con-
fidential in their talk.
“Tell me,” asked Brook, suddenly, “why did you
let your rapacious relative sweep away the price of
your pretty pictures?”
“Did you not see? It was a bid for my grand-
father's favour. Just a suggestion that I, too, had
some idea of a bargain. But I fear he dislikes me
too much to be won over.”
“It is well worth trying,” returned Brook, look-
ing at her compassionately. “But I hope to have
many opportunities of consulting with you about
your plans. To-day I want you to enjoy yourself.
Do not think of the future; believe that all will go
well. That will neither hinder nor hasten destiny.
Besides, I am selfish. I have seized my last free
afternoon in London for at least a month. I am
going over to The Hague the day after to-morrow,
and on my return 25
“You will find me mending my clothes and cook-
ing the vegetables to help Mrs. Pinnock,” put in
Madge.” -
“I may have some information for you. At all
events, you believe I am your friend?”
“Yes, I do. There is someone else I want to make
a friend of who might be useful.”
“Ah! you only care for useful friends, my
Fräulein,” said Brook, smiling. “Who is this
fortunate individual?”
“An artist friend of Mrs. Pinnock's, or rather of
her son. His name is Waring.”


The Yellow Fiend 157
“Waring !” repeated Brook, a good deal surprised.
“Not Waring whose portrait of Lord H. has been
so much admired in the Academy this year?”
“I do not know about that. He is a tall, big,
reddish man.”
“Yes, I fancy that must be Dick Waring.”
“He said I must come with Mrs. Pinnock one day
and see his pictures.”
“The deuce he did?”
“Why? Is it not right? Is it worse than going
to dine with you?”
“No, no, of course not. Only it seems amazing
that you should have found another acquaintance.”
Madge laughed low but merrily.
“Then, you see, we are both artists and under-
stand each other.”
Brook gazed at her steadily for a moment, and
then, watching the soft faint colour rise in her cheek,
said:
“I suspect there is a vein of devilry in your com-
position.”
“Perhaps 1” she returned, quietly.
“Come,” said Brook, rising, “let us stroll away
under the trees to the Bayswater-road. There we
must think of dinner. What are your favourite
dishes?”
“I cannot tell. My experience is limited. Order
what you like yourself. I daresay you have very
good taste.”
“Your confidence is touching. I will do the best
I can.”
Brook always looked back to that afternoon's pro-
longed tâte-à-tête with a sense of peculiar, pungent


158 The Yellow Fiend
enjoyment. He seemed exploring a new and
fascinating country, green and fresh, with sudden
depths, all gloom and darkness. Then came sunny,
rippling bays, where sirens might have sung and
lured the unwary to destruction. There was such a
curious mixture of recklessness and strength in his
interesting companion. She seemed a creature
whose strongest temptations would come from her-
self. -
She was highly pleased with her dinner, eating
daintily and with discrimination, also evincing pro-
found interest in the composition of the dishes.
The play exhibited her in a new light. The plot
told of the reunion of a couple, who, through early
misunderstandings and want of self-control, flew
for relief to the divorce-court, and meeting in after
years renewed their attachment and were finally
united.
Brook was surprised to see the effect some of the
more touching situations produced on his com-
panion. Big tears welled up, hung on her long eye-
lashes, and then slowly rolled down, while she
seemed almost unconscious she was weeping. At
last it was over and everything satisfactorily settled.
“I am afraid I made a fool of myself,” murmured
Madge, as they drove towards Osborne-place; “but
I don't care much about it.”
“It was a delicious suggestion of the natural
sweetness you strive to conceal,” said Brook,
warmly.
“How silly those happy endings are !” exclaimed
Madge. “In reality he would have married some


The Yellow Fiend I 59
colourless, irreproachable fool, or she would have
wedded some prig who couldn't understand her, and
both would be bound hand and foot in misery for
ever.”
“You appalling little pessimist!” cried Brook,
taking her hand. “Promise me you will not indulge
in these gloomy thoughts when I am away?”
“I will not,” said Madge, returning his hand
pressure, gently but unmistakably. “I will only
think of the happy day I owe to you. Oh, I have en-
joyed it!” She drew her hand away.
“As soon as I come back we must have another.
It can be easily managed. Probably Waring may
suggest an expedition; but do not be too ready to
accept. I don’t know much about him.”
“He seemed very nice. But he is so English. I
think I should like you better.”
“Merci, mademoisellel Shall we stop here and
walk the length of Osborne-place?”
“Yes, certainly. Pinny said she would leave the
area gate unlocked and wait in the kitchen till I
tapped on the window.”
“Well arranged. Good-night. Remember I have
to thank you for a most charming day. I do not
think you know what a delightful companion you
are.”
“Indeed I do not. Good-night.”
She ran lightly down the steps and in another
moment disappeared within the door.
“If I were wise,” said Brook to himself, as he
strolled towards Holborn, “I’d never let myself look
at that little witch again. But I feel I shall not be
wise. Elle est plus fort que moi.”


CHAPTER XVI.
Dick WARING had reached that delightful turn-
ing-point in his career, when the road began to trend
upwards. His portrait of the celebrated lawyer,
which had been so highly praised in all the notices
of the Royal Academy Exhibition, was his first im-
portant success, and already commissions had begun
to pour in upon him.
As Madge had perceived, he was an extremely
English Englishman, hard working, patient, res-
olute, with a certain confidence in himself, which
was widely different from conceit.
He was very popular among a certain set of the
Bohemian brotherhood, the men who loved and ap-
preciated nature, and did not wear out their brains
and imaginations trying to find more in her than
her Maker put there. He painted what he saw faith-
fully, and as he was strongly sympathetic, he was
particularly successful in portraits—men's portraits.
He had gone on living in the same house where
he had, not without serious hesitation, first ventured
to engage a studio, and as his fortunes improved,
he gradually descended from his eyrie next the roof
until at the present date he occupied the central posi-
tion of both first and second floors, and was the most
important tenant among the various occupiers of the
old house in Street, a well-known thorough-
fare in the artist quarter near Tottenham Court-
road.


The Yellow Fiend 161
Waring's studio was very simply furnished, com-
pared with the decorative elegance of most artistic
ateliers. Some very good Oriental carpets, specimens
of old English carved oak and some from the South
of France, with an immense supply of quaint
crockery, gathered from peasants’ abodes along the
coasts of Spain, Italy, and Dalmatia; some dainty
little pictures, old bits of brocade, to make back-
grounds, and a large piece of tapestry as a curtain
to shelter a huge window, possessing a North light,
which had absorbed two of the regular size, over-
looking three or four mournful gardens, were among
its principal contents.
It was a sunny morning, and Dick Waring was
whistling as he worked at a small picture—two
figures—in the dress of the Cavalier-Roundhead
period. A demure Puritan maiden in grey and white
was sitting in a richly-carved oaken chair. At her
feet knelt a splendid cavalier, his feathered hat on
the carpet beside him. His outstretched hands held
a skein of silk, which the young lady was diligently
winding.
The sitter's chair was occupied by an extremely
slight, fair girl, with pale golden fluffy hair, who
lounged in a sulky, sleepy fashion against the side.
“Do look more alive, Ella!” exclaimed Waring.
“If you had a gallant cavalier, like that gentleman,
at your feet, you would be as full of airs and graces
as a cartful of peacocks!”
“You are very rude! I am no worse than my
neighbours.”
“I don't suppose you are. I just want to get in


162 The Yellow Fiend
that arm of the chair with the end of your sleeve
hanging over it. Then I will let you go.”
“Very well. Do make haste!” Then, after a
pause, she resumed. “Mrs. West has sent out cards
for a fancy dress ball on the 30th. It will be the
last fête of the season. I wish you would lend me
this dress for it. I think it becomes me.”
“Yes, it's the very thing. I don't mind if I do;
but you must take care not to spill coffee or claret-
cup over it.”
“Oh, of course I'll take care.” Another pause,
broken by Waring this time.
“I expect two ladies to see me this afternoon. I
wish you and your mother would come in to tea.”
“Are they swells or models?”
“Neither. One is elderly, and comes to take care
of the other. She is housekeeper to a rich old miser;
the other is his granddaughter. He may leave her
all his money. Then she will be a great heiress, and
the society papers will write paragraphs about her.
Or he may turn her out of doors, and let her die of
starvation.”
“What a horrible old creature!” cried Ella, deeply
interested. “These cruel old men ought to be obliged
by law to provide for their girl relatives. Is she
pretty?”
“No-not a bit.”
“That is a pity. If she were, you might marry
her, and make friends with the miser. Anyone
would be pleased to marry his daughter to you now-
adays. Then you might have all the money. In fact,


The Yellow Fiend 163
you might marry her anyhow; you do not care much
about beauty. It is not so much matter at your age.”
“Oh, no, of course not! At five-and-thirty one
usually turns one's back on such vanities.”
“Thirty-five! Why, I thought you were older
than my father.”
“In years I was his junior, but he really looked
the younger of the two. You'll tell your mother,
Ella P”
“Yes. I fancy she will come. She will be curious,
so am I. Tell me, suppose the old miser gives her
all his money, how much will she have?”
“Oh, I can’t tell.”
“Ten thousand a year?” persisted Ella.
“Ten thousand? Yes. Twenty, thirty—thcre's
no saying how much.”
“Good gracious ! It is getting late, Uncle Dick,
and I promised to take mother some strawberries for
her dinner. I had better go.”
“No, you must not stir for ten minutes. Get into
position again. What a fidget you are l’”
“You are so exigeant, and I get so sleepy.”
Waring made no reply. He painted diligently for
what seemed an age to his impatient sitter, and then
suddenly laid aside his palette.
“You may go now,” he said.
Whereupon Miss Ella stepped down from the
platform and began to put on her hat.
“Of course,” she said, “I am not sure that mother
would like to meet the housekeeper. You know she
is very particular.”
“She can do as she likes,” said Waring, indiffer-


The Yellow Fiend 165
Mr. Ardell did not answer immediately. He
seemed to think.
“No, I cannot say I think you have; but you dis-
turb me—disturb me very much. Go away now.
Send Mrs. Pinnock; I want my boots. I—you are
going to see pictures? Remember, I will not pay for
anything. Take some of your own daubs and sell
them.”
“Very well,” returned Madge, submissively, and
she left the room.
Mrs. Pinnock did not keep her long.
“The master is in a queer mood to-day. He has
been thinking about you, my dear. Do you know, he
asked me if I thought you were a good or an evil
spirit, and said he fancied you were uncanny?”
“Poor old man! I wish he could like me. On
the whole, he has a miserable life.”
“That's true. Then he is so strange! He asked
if you had a big appetite. Dear me! that's three
o'clock striking, and I must not stay out long.”
Madge and her chaperon were walking towards
Waring's studio as they talked, and the anticipated
joy of ranging through a studio, of inhaling the
mingled odours of paint and oil, banished her grand-
father and his crotchets from Madge's mind.
Mr. Waring was at home, they were informed
by the servant who responded to their summons, and
they were conducted upstairs, where, at the door of
the magic apartment, Waring met them, and held
back the heavy portière which screened the door on
the inside.
“I began to be afraid I should never have the


The Yellow Fiend 167
things. There, that bit of wild sea-coast, the grey
rocks, the sea dashing in amongst them, and the old
fisherman looking out to sea through his glass—that
tells a story!” -
“I see you are an unsparing critic!”
“I do not know enough to be a critic. I have a
few rough ideas. Alas! I shall never know much
more. My grandfather is hopelessly averse to my
studying, or rather to paying for my studies, al-
though a friend of his and of mine brought a sort
of dealer, a Mr. Marks, to look at my works, and he
bought two sketches.”
“What!” cried Waring. “Did old Josh Marks
give you money down for your sketches? This is
a wonderful tribute to your ability. I congratulate
you!”
“Yes. I was very pleased. Then I gave the
money to my grandfather, hoping to put him in
good humour. He took the gold, but will not help
me!”
“What an infamous shame!” cried Waring. “But
did Marks give you gold? Excuse me, it is not idle
curiosity.”
“I do not mind if it is. He gave me twelve and
sixpence for two drawings.”
“That will not break him. Come! We must defy
the grandfather. You are welcome to work in my
studio every afternoon; I keep the mornings for
myself.”
“I do not think I ought to accept so great a favour
when I have no means of ” Here the door
opened to admit two ladies, and Madge's lips closed.


I 68 The Yellow Fiend
The new-comers were well but rather gaily
dressed, and at first sight seemed much of the same
age and size. Both had abundant golden fuzzy hair;
both were brilliantly fair, with delicate pink cheeks
and large, babyish blue eyes. A second glance
shewed, however, that one was a little taller, a little
plumper, a little pinkier, a trifle less babyish than the
other. They were almost dressed alike. A delicate
shade of lilac predominated in their toilets, but the
hat of the taller and elder-looking one was more
elaborate in its decoration, and she wore a fall of
black net covered with tiny spots, which shewed her
delicate complexion to great advantage.
“Oh, how do you do,” said Waring. “Much
obliged to you for coming early. Miss Ardell, this
is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Waring. My niece, Miss
Ella Waring. Mrs. Pinnock—Mrs. Waring, Miss
Waring.”
Mrs. Waring bent her head in a gracious fashion
twice, her daughter offered her hand to Madge in a
pretty, childish way, and the mother at once plunged
into ready talk, first seating herself on a picturesque
yellow velvet sofa.
“I was quite surprised to have my brother's
message this morning,” she said, addressing Madge.
“You know—or must I tell you?—he is rather a
surly, unapproachable sort of a lion, and I was quite
surprised to hear he expected ladies to tea. So I said
to Ella: “We must stand by your uncle, my dear.”
He is terribly shy?"
“Is he?” murmured Madge.
“Oh, yes. Never did himself justice. Now, of


The Yellow Fiend 171
both young ladies to Hampstead the following after-
noon as the weather seemed settled, and that all three
should try to catch some sunset effects, and if they
were fairly successful, make further appointments.
Madge hesitated a good deal. She knew she had
only a scrap or two of canvas, and two or three old
brushes. How could she possibly throw herself on
the bounty of a stranger! She must explain to him
the state of artistic destitution to which she had been
reduced. Still, for this one day she would enjoy the
old delight of trying to reproduce nature.
At last, Mrs. Waring remembered that she was
engaged to dinner, and must leave at once.
The whole party set out together, but soon
separated, Mrs. Waring and her daughter to find an
omnibus, Dick Waring and his charge to seek
Osborne-place by a somewhat circuitous route, as
he wished to point out some of the old landmarks of
famous London town.
“To-morrow, then, at three o'clock, I shall hope
to see you at my place, and we'll start to immortalise
the famous Heath,” were his last words.


CHAPTER XVII.
THIS visit proved an auspicious event for Madge.
Once more she enjoyed the dear delight of dabbling
with paints and brushes, and revelled in the effort
to transfer the first lovely tints of autumn to her
canvas. Waring was a good and sympathetic
teacher, and, if exacting in his demands on her care
and accuracy, by no means discouraging.
He found the means, too, of reconciling his sensi-
tive pupil to the acceptance of what she justly con-
sidered an immense obligation.
“You see I am very anxious to give my poor
brother's daughter a good, that is, a useful educa-
tion. Now, I fancy you could help her with German
and French. The great thing is to get her to speak.
If you will talk with her and give her some prac-
tice in that way, I shall consider myself amply re-
paid for any help I can give you.”
“You are not the less generous,” returned Madge.
“But I fear I shall not find it easy to induce Miss
Waring to speak either French or German with
me.”
“No, you will not. Ella is a hopeless idler. She
is never in real earnest about anything but dress.
She might make some money by painting flowers and
Christmas-cards, or she might do still better. But
she has no ambition. Now, you are too eager and
too distrustful of yourself. You must study black
and white; you might make your living in that way,


The Yellow Fiend 17.3
and then indulge your fancy in colour. Colour is
such a joy!”
“Yes, is it not? It is like music.”
Waring and his new pupil were walking towards
the Heath station, after putting Ella into a Totten-
ham Court-road omnibus, for Waring wished to
introduce Madge to a friend of his who did a large
amount of work in illustrating periodicals.
“You have been very well trained at the begin-
ning, Miss Ardell,” resumed Waring; “and your
time has not been wasted. When I go away at the
end of next month I shall give you and Ella the
freedom of my studio and a task to do; then we'll
see what we shall see.”
“I find my hand rather rusty,” returned Madge.
“But what joy and hope you have given me!”
“I’m glad of that,” he said, looking down on his
slender companion with a sunny, kindly smile.
“Don’t let me hear any more pessimistic rubbish,
my dear young lady. I'll see your pictures on the
line yet, when I am beginning to be forgotten.”
Madge laughed and gave him an answering
glance as he paused at the door of an ivy-grown
cottage, and after a few questions and answers ex-
changed with a servant girl, they were admitted and
very kindly received by Waring's friend. Here
they spent a pleasant half-hour, drinking tea and
talking shop.
The whole aspect of life was changed for our
despondent little heroine. She began to think she
might possibly earn her bread some day by the
exercise of what seemed to her a divine art. And


The Yellow Fiend 175
said one day, when Dick Waring was good-natur-
edly grouping some of his picturesque belongings
to form a “still life study,” which his pupils might
work at during his absence, as he had accepted an
invitation for a week in the country. And laying
down her palette she began to fan herself.
“It is quite too horrid to think we must stay in
town all the season, isn't it?” she cried, appealing to
Madge.
“Oh, I do not mind. Of course, I should prefer
being in the Forest of Fontainebleau, for instance.
But that cannot be, so I do not think about it.”
“Like a wise girl,” added Waring.
“Well, I cannot help thinking about it,” said Ella,
“when I see poor dear mother looking so ghastly
ill. By the way, uncle, she wants to know if she
may bring an old friend of my father's, a Mr. Mar-
tin, to see you and your pictures?”
“Martin l” repeated her uncle. “Is he the man on
the Stock Exchange?”
“I think he is. He is very, very rich,” returned
Ella, solemnly.
“Yes, of course, he may come and buy as many
pictures as he likes. Where did you meet him?”
“Oh, at the Andersons'—our rector's, you know.
There was a concert in aid of the schoolhouse fund,
and Mr. Martin, who had given very handsomely
towards it, came with Mrs. Anderson and went back
to supper. So mother said she remembered him,
and they got talking about poor father, and I saw
the tears in mother's eyes. A Sunday or two after,
Mr. Martin called and took us to the Zoological


176 The Yellow Fiend
Gardens. Now he is going down to a seaside place
he has near Tenby, and wants us to try a month
there. He says the air is very delightful.”
“No doubt,” remarked Waring, drily. “Pray,
are you going?”
“Why, how could we? The journey there and
back would cost quite ten or twelve pounds, and
then board and lodging, and Oh! it is quite
out of the question.”
“I’m afraid so, Ella. Still, if your mother really
wants a change we might manage Margate, which
has finer air than Tenby, and you can get a second
return fare for ten shillings. ”
“Margate!” echoed Ella, an expression of deep
disgust coming over her face.
“I suppose your grandfather manages to exist
without change of air, Miss Ardell?” said Dick,
standing back to consider his arrangement.
“I rather think change of any kind would be more
likely to kill than to cure him. However, he has
been much nicer to me of late. I sometimes hope
he may end in liking me.”
“That would be extraordinary,” said Dick, with
a good-humoured laugh. “You must try and please
him, and not let him leave all his money to some
stranger.”
“I should certainly like some of it, but I am a
great stranger to him.”
“I suppose he has some old friends?”
“I do not think so. He has a young one who
comes to see him occasionally, and has been very


The Yellow Fiend 177
good to me. He brought Mr. Marks (who bought
my sketches) to see my work.”
“Yes, that was a real service. Now, young ladies,
do you think you can do a good picture of this bit of
still life? I will give you no hints. Just study it
well, and reproduce it faithfully. I'll give a prize
to the best of the two. If you like, you may come
and work at ten o'clock in the morning all the time
I am away. Soon it will be too late to begin at 2.30,
but we'll see what is to be done. I must bid you
good-bye for the present. Miss Ardell, you have
done some very good, careful work. I think you
are almost sure to make a living by your brush, but
do not be too anxious about it. You are looking
white and tired, my dear child. You, and this com-
panion victim of yours, had better come down to
Margate with me. We'll all sit on the pier and eat
periwinkles with a big pin.”
“Ah, uncle, you make me sick,” cried Ella, with
a grimace. “When shall you return? I want to tell
mother.”
“On Wednesday next, and Thursday she may trot
out Martin. Then on Friday we'll fly to Margate,
its pier and periwinkles.” -
-k >k >k >k xk >k >k
After the first day or two of Waring's absence his
niece ceased to present herself at the studio, and left
her first rough sketch of the “still life” subject un-
touched.
Madge rather enjoyed working alone. She
studied every detail of her picture with profound
attention, and, perhaps, unconsciously, put a sur-


178 The Yellow Fiend
prising amount of expression into it. Her hours of
work were also hours of freedom from the painful
longing for a glimpse of Cecil Brook's attractive
face, which made her heart burn with indignation
against her weak self and thrill with pleasure at the
prospect of soon beholding him. For, she thought,
it is more than six weeks since he went away. He
cannot be much longer; business never permits of
long holidays.
It was the Saturday after Waring's departure,
and Madge was busy in the studio. The afternoon
was fine and sunny, and cheered by the idea that
she was not doing so badly she was lingering over
some last touches before returning to Osborne-place
and tea with Mrs. Pinnock, when an elderly slavey,
the locum tenens of the servant who had been given
a few days’ holiday, came suddenly into the room, a
card in her grubby fingers, and saying “A gentle-
man for you, miss,” laid it on a remote table and dis-
appeared.
Madge, greatly surprised, turned to face the open
door and stood motionless, a funny little square
figure in her painting overall, besprinkled with dabs
of paint, her palette in her hand. Yet it seemed
quite right and natural that the visitor should be as
he proved—Brook.
The idea came to her in a kind of electric flash,
but she was not aware of the sudden gleam of joyous
light which illuminated her face and made her large
brown eyes gloriously beautiful for a second, at all
events to the man who understood perfectly well the
cause of their startling lustre.


The Yellow Fiend 17.9
“I hope I am not an intrusive idiot for hunting
you up in this way,” exclaimed Brook, coming
quickly across to where she stood and taking her
hand in both his.
“How—how did you find me?” asked Madge, re-
covering herself quickly.
“I went to see your grandfather. He was out, so
I asked for you. Mrs. Pinnock told me with glee
that you were working at Mr. Waring's studio, gave
me his address, and here I am—even at the risk of
being summarily ejected from the artistic precinct.”
“Mr. Waring is not in town, and even if he were
he would be pleased to see any friend of mine,” said
Madge.
“Quite sure of that, are you?” returned Brook,
with a searching glance, and in a very interrogative
tone.
“Yes, quite sure. He knows I have very few.”
“At present. Remember you only want the
chance, and you'll make plenty. Well, this is a
pleasant room compared with the melancholy desert
in Osborne-place. What have you been doing?
Any of your work to be seen?”
“Not a great deal. I have been trying very hard
to learn how to work in black and white. And Mr.
Waring has sent some of my efforts away to a friend
of his who has promised to help me. Now, as you
see, I am doing this ‘still-leben.’”
“It is uncommonly nice. I can see you have
painted, so far, with all your heart. Does your new
friend speak German?”
“Not very well. He has been more in France


18o The Yellow Fiend
and speaks French better. But he is wonderfully
good and kind.”
“Yes? I suppose so—to you.”
“To most people. Look!” turning the little
“genre” picture before described, which was stand-
ing in a corner with its face to the wall.
“That's a charming little thing. What a sweet
Puritan l’”
“That is Ella Waring, his niece, and I rather think
Mr. Waring has done everything for her since his
only brother, Ella's father, died some years ago,
and for the widow too. Ella studies here with me.
I help her with French and German.”
“Ah, I understand. The niece does propriety.”
“Oh, no. I do not think that would be necessary
—not to me at least. I am unconventional enough
not to mind painting alone with any man. You do
not know how absorbing art is.”
“Oh, very likely. I may not know much about
art, but I have known artists, and a deuced queer lot
they are. Is there a portrait of your friend Waring
anywhere about?”
“Yes, there is an old one somewhere,” and Madge
began to look among a number of dusty canvases
that stood along the wall with their backs to the
company, touching them with infinite care.
“Yes, here it is.”
She lifted the sketch on to a large easel, turned it
to the light, and dusted it gently.
“He looks older and larger and graver now,” said
Madge, contemplating it with interest.
“Not a bad-looking fellow,” remarked Brook,


I 82 The Yellow Fiend
length, “but I am afraid it would be very difficult
to prove it.”
“Would you wish to prove it?”
“For some reasons, perhaps yes. It might make
an enormous difference to you. Suppose he were un-
able to make a will?”
“I imagine he must have made one long ago. Do
you think he would leave his yellow fiend’ to
chance?”
“I have some reason to believe he has made sev-
eral. It is immensely difficult to ascertain what he
has, and what he has not, done with his money.”
“Why I think him mad is that I feel a sort of
dread of him when he glares at me with those
strange wild eyes of his. And yet a curious kind of
pity seems to have banished the daring antagonism
I felt against him when I first came. That man has
suffered terribly. I seem to know it.”
“I should not say you are a specially sympathetic
woman, Madge. A thousand pardons! I always
think of you as Madge, so it is hard to keep the
name from my lips. For you are often in my
thoughts, my sweet little friend.”
“Call me Madge if you like,” she returned, care-
lessly.
“Yes, I do like it. I like anything that seems to
draw the links of our friendship closer.”
Madge looked at him gravely for a moment, and
a quiet, thoughtful smile stole over her face.
“Curious little creature!” thought Brook. “What
does she doubt?” “Why do you smile?” he said
aloud.


The Yellow Fiend 183
“Because it seems so strange that you should care
for my friendship. But I am exceedingly glad you
do. Yet you don't give me the idea of a man to
whom anyone would be essential.”
“Essential is a strong word,” he returned, sud-
denly remembering that he must put on the curb,
and profoundly piqued to perceive that his little
girlish chum seemed to have her feelings, or senses,
better in hand than his more experienced self. “One
can be sincerely interested in some attractive per-
sonality which yet is not essential to one's hap-
piness.”
“No doubt. I quite understand that,” said Madge,
with complete concurrence.
“One reason why I was so anxious to see you to-
day,” resumed Brook, after a short pause, “is be-
cause I have a delightful project for Sunday next.
I promised a friend of mine, who is detained in Hol-
land, to inspect a cottage of his at Weybridge, and
ascertain if the caretaker is taking care of it. Now,
as I suppose you still enjoy the sort of desolate
freedom Mr. Ardell gave you, will you come with
me if the weather is fine? It is a pretty spot, and
the expedition will do you good. I shall not be in
London again until the middle of October, so you
must do me this favour.”
“Of course I will. Thank you a thousand times
for thinking of it. May I take my sketch-book?”
“Well, perhaps you had better not. I will explain
afterwards. Will you meet me at the corner of
Southampton-row at Io.3o? We can have a de-
lightful long day. You must make everything


184. The Yellow Fiend
square with the housekeeper. By the way, do you
think she is safe?” -
“Safe? Yes, I am sure she is. But how do you
mean?”
“She will not betray you to old Ardell?”
“There is nothing to betray. I do not mind the
least who knows that I go to spend a day in the
country with a friend, though the friend does hap-
pen to be a man.”
“But I do,” thought Brook.
“Bravo!” he said, aloud. “Then, people of your
friend Mrs. Pinnock's class are accustomed to young
men and women ‘keeping company,’ as they call it?”
“Oh, I suppose so,” carelessly. “On Sunday,
then, at 10.30, if fine!”
“You are the most puzzling little witch I ever
met!” cried Brook, rising and taking her hand.
“Good-bye, my sweet Madge. Pray the gods for
fine weather.”
“I will indeed! Good-bye.”


CHAPTER XVIII.
Soon after a delightful day in the Pine Woods,
where Madge and her confidential friend enjoyed
the pleasure of exchanging thoughts, opinions, rec-
ollections, with all the understanding of sympathy,
the sweetness of personal liking, a long spell of iso-
lation set in.
The only gleam of light which relieved the gloom
was Dick Waring's permission to use his studio,
and the dim hope which kept her so diligent with her
black and white work.
Waring, indeed, seemed the only person who re-
membered her. He sent occasional brief letters, for
he was not given to writing, and gave Madge a droll
picture of the finery and fashion assembled by Mr.
Martin at his seaside abode (whither in the end he
had gone with the Warings), and the ecstasy with
which Ella entered into the novel pleasures of boat-
ing and riding, in a borrowed habit. Still time
rolled on and August was well-nigh gone.
“Miss Margaret,” said Mrs. Pinnock one morn-
ing, “will you put on your hat and go round to Dr.
Felton? Your grandpapa caught a nasty cold yester-
day, and he's that bad with a cough and wheezing,
that I don't like to take any more responsibility.
He'll be terrible angry when he sees the doctor, but
I can't help that. I can't think how he's caught
cold.”


186 The Yellow Fiend
“I will go at once!” cried Madge. “I do hope he
is not going to be ill.”
Mrs. Pinnock's anticipations were fully justified.
The sight of the doctor roused Mr. Ardell to fury.
He was—well—perfectly well. What did Mrs. Pin-
nock mean by such infernal audacity as to treat him
like a baby? He'd trouble Dr. Felton to take notice
that he (Ardell himself) had not sent for him, and
was not responsible for any expenses incurred.
The doctor, however, knew his man. He had at-
tended him before, and had his account satisfactorily
settled by the old man's solicitor after several warn-
ings.
“Come, come, my dear sir,”he said, good-humour-
edly, “you ought to know by this time that I treat
you on very favourable terms. If you do not let me
attend you for this very serious attack, I'll not
answer for the consequences. Why, anyone would
say you were mad to dream of refusing medical as-
sistance. Light a fire in Mr. Ardell's room at once,
if you please. These autumn nights are chilly; and,
anyway, we'll need it for the bronchitis kettle. Have
you such a thing? Never mind, I’ll lend you one.
Please give me pen and ink.”
These Madge hastened to place before him.
“I’ll have you to know, sir,” said Ardell, putting
on an air of dignity, “that I am as sane as you are.”
“I have no doubt of it—perhaps more so. Save
on one point—your own health.”
“Then pray avoid such allusions. Smaller sug-
gestions have been made the means of secluding
perfectly sound, sane men out of reach of their


The Yellow Fiend 187
>>
friends and advisers, and He had run on ex-
citedly, and now stopped short.
“Pray, who do you suspect of such villainy?”
asked the doctor, laughing; “this young lady, or
myself, or—Mrs. Pinnock?”
The old man's eager, restless eyes glanced at each
one mentioned with pitiful suspicion.
“No, no, of course not, of course not! Old men
get cranky, you know, doctor, but they needn't be
mad, eh? I wish you could see my accounts—there's
order and regularity for you! Not a blot or an
erasure in a hundred pages.”
While he talked, Mrs. Pinnock disappeared to
build the fire. -
“At any rate, you have two capital nurses. I know
what your housekeeper was when you had that touch
of influenza a few years ago; and I saw how well
this young lady could manage when Mrs. Pinnock
sprained her ankle.”
This was the beginning of several weeks of very
arduous nursing. At first there was prolonged night
watching, but the worst period was when the patient
began to feel returning strength and wanted to do
everything for himself.
Half-way through this time of trouble, Madge was
agitated, yet revived, by a visit from Brook. At
first she thought her grandfather had written to him,
but his look of surprise and uneasiness when she
said how ill Mr. Ardell had been, convinced her that
he had not had any tidings from Osborne-place.
“I can imagine the old man had a bad time of it


I 88 The Yellow Fiend
from your ill looks. You have been wearing your-
self out.”
“I have shared Mrs. Pinnock's fatigues and cares.
Then my grandfather did not write to you?”
“No. I came on the chance of seeing him and you.
I thought it wiser, for more reasons than one, to
abstain from coming till to-day. Besides, I have not
been in London all the time since I saw you last.”
“What a wanderer you are I" said Madge, with a
smile.
“May I tell you the secret of my wanderings some
day?”
“Yes, to be sure. And I can keep my lips closed.”
“I can well believe that. That is one of the rea-
sons why you are such a delightful companion, and
might be such a useful 33
“Accomplice!” put in Madge, with smiling eyes.
“Accomplice?” he repeated, with sudden anima-
tion. “Precisely—exactly. Cool and guarded and
silent. What more can man desire?”
“Pray how do you know I am all these? But I
had better let Mr. Ardell know you are here. I fancy
he has been wishing to see you, though he has not
mentioned you. He has shewn me curious glimpses
of himself, in the silent night watches, when he did
not know who I was.”
“And do you still think him slightly off the mental
balance?” he asked, detaining her.
“Yes; more than ever!” And she went away to
the old man.
Mr. Ardell brightened visibly when he heard that
Brook wished to see him.


The Yellow Fiend 189
“Remember, he is not to stay long. You are not
to be excited.”
“Oh, Brook will help me to keep quiet. He knows
so much—so much of finance, and Stock Exchange
secrets. A clever fellow—very clever! Got you
twelve and sixpence. Let him come in.”
“My grandfather will see you,” said Madge, re-
turning to the dining-room. “But do not stay long.”
“No. Indeed, I have not much time. Pray let
me find you here before I go.”
Madge nodded assent, and conducted Brook to
the next room. She placed a chair near to Mr.
Ardell, whose hearing was not as keen as it used to
be, and left them.
She could see that her grandfather brightened up
at the sight of his visitor, and wondered for a
minute or two what it was that attracted Brook to
the old man. Possibly his money! Then, again, no
sensible man of the world would count on the “un-
ruly will” of so eccentric and unsatisfactory a miser.
Whatever one wished him to do was, most probably,
the very thing he would not.
The visit was, indeed, a short one—at least, it
seemed so to Madge—although she sat with folded
hands, waiting.
“The old man has had a shake,” said Brook, walk-
ing over to the window, and back again. “No, thank
you. I will not sit down. He looks greatly aged.
But I fancy you have gained ground with him. He
said you had deft fingers, and that he didn't see the
“yellow fiend' looking so often out of your eyes as he
used. Nevertheless, I would not count on deriving


190 The Yellow Fiend
much benefit from his last will and testament, my
sweet little friend.”
“Who-me?” in a tone of amazement. “I never
give it a thought.”
“Yet you are too sensible a girl not to know the
value of money.”
“I know the hatefulness of poverty better. What
I should consider comfortable competence, you
would think penury.”
“I am not an extravagant fellow, Madge, but it
is hard to gain anything of a position if you haven't
the yellow fiend’ at your back. Come, be con-
fidential, Madge. I do not ask from mere curiosity
—are you quite penniless?”
“Oh, no! I have still a big and a little gold piece,
and a few shillings.”
“Bravo! Now, have you any little sketches— .
pretty little bits that decorative householders might
put up in morning rooms, or downstairs breakfast
rooms? Just put them into cheap frames, and offer
them, with or without frames, to that man Lewis, in
Tottenham Court-road, half-way up on the left side.
He is really an employé of Marks; and hold out for
ten shillings each.”
“Do you think he would give me all that?” cried
Madge, opening her eyes.
“Try, and let me know the result. You want a
little change—a breath of fresh air sadly. When
can you steal a day in the country with me? I want
a long talk with you.”
“Oh, it is too delightful to think of !” cried Madge,
impulsively. “But I could not leave my grand-


192 The Yellow Fiend
“Very well. I promise not to touch it. Do please
take your beef-tea.”
Meanwhile, Brook hailed a hansom and drove
quickly to the picture dealer's in Tottenham Court-
road. There he talked for some little time with the
manager, and next ordered the driver to Lincoln's
Inn Fields, where he had a long interview with Mr.
Briggs, old Ardell's special adviser in the firm.
His face was generally set to the key he chose,
but it looked a little brighter—a trifle less rigid—
when he left the office and took his way past the
Law Courts into the Strand, than when he asked if
he could see Mr. Briggs.
During these trying days, Waring was not forget-
ful of his favourite pupil. He had written brief
notes, sometimes hastily-scrawled post-cards, of in-
quiry and condolence. The first two or three had
produced no reply, for Madge's hands were full, and
she hated writing. But, seeing the tone of sincere
interest and anxiety which pervaded Waring's
effusions, she managed to send him more frequent
reports. And, until Brook reappeared, this inter-
mittent correspondence was her chief comfort.
The time at which she expected Waring to return
and settle for the winter was now at hand, and still
no word had reached her from her fellow-student,
Ella. But this was no great disappointment: Ella
did not convey an idea of constancy.
Now that Mr. Ardell was gathering strength, the
doctor was extremely anxious that he should go out
for a short drive two or three times, to accustom
himself to the air, before venturing to walk. But it


The Yellow Fiend 193
was impossible to persuade him that such a tremen-
dous outlay could be necessary. He would go out
for a few minutes, and Mrs. Pinnock would give
him her arm. He would not have his granddaughter.
No; a young, slim creature like that had no strength.
“Besides”—and he went off into indistinct mutter-
ings, amid which Mrs. Pinnock dimly distinguished
the words: “Ill omen,” “may be well disposed,”
“quite as likely not.”
“Well, that's quite true, sir. A slim creature of
her sort could not be the use to you I could be.”
And, making the best of his provoking opposition,
the housekeeper prepared herself and her master for
the trial trip on foot.
It was extremely brief, and the old man could
hardly ascend the steps on his return; he was so
exhausted. But he had gained his point; and a long
sleep in his chair restored him considerably.
Brook called at intervals to inquire for and visit
him. But Madge, unless she happened to be in the
room when he came, rarely presented herself.
She did not fail, however, to select and touch up
a few old sketches, made in the neighbourhood of
Paris, and offer them to the Tottenham Court-road
dealer. She did not consider that the work she had
done under Waring's direction was her own to sell;
certainly not without asking his permission. Her
joy was great when she found herself the proud
possessor of one pound ten in exchange for four
pictures of various sizes—chiefly of woodland sub-
jects. And hardly daring to speak to Brook on any
subject in her grandfather's presence, or anywhere


194. The Yellow Fiend
that a whisper could by any possibility reach his ear,
she wrote to let her friend and patron know the re-
sult of his good advice.
Returning from posting this note, she nearly ran
against a very smart young lady, who was coming
round the corner from an opposite direction.
“O Madge! I was just going to the studio, hop-
ing to see you.”
“Miss Waring ! When did you come back?”
“Oh, about a fortnight ago. We stayed longer
than we intended, and had such a glorious time.
Come with me. Mother hasn't an idea what has be-
come of uncle. Do come.”
Madge turned with her.
“I haven't been to the studio for a long time,” she
said. “My grandfather has been very seriously ill.”
“Has he? I have not heard anything about any-
one—at least, since uncle went away. He stayed
only three weeks at Tenby, and certainly he made
a splendid portrait of Mr. Martin, who was so de-
lighted with himself on canvas. He is one of the
nicest, kindest, most generous men that ever lived t”
“Who? Your uncle?”
“Oh, no! Uncle Dick was that cantankerous and
disagreeable we were quite glad when he went away.
But we had a lovely time for all that. Mr. Martin's
sister was there, and her husband and three children,
nice little things. Then several men came down
from town, and we drove about, and sailed and
rowed in the boat. And—but here we are l Do
come in, and I'll tell you all about everything. Is


The Yellow Fiend 195
my uncle at home?” This to the woman who opened
the door.
“Oh, no, miss. He hasn't come back yet, and
won't, missus says, for another fortnight.”
“Well, I want to come in, and go up to the studio.”
“Very well, miss. It's not to say very clean, but
Mr. Waring he forbid us from laying a finger, much
less a brush, on anything, till he came back.”
“Never mind the dust. Come and sit down for a
few minutes; I want to tell you about the delightful
time we had at Tenby. Do you know, I have been
learning to ride!”
She ran on with a fluent description of all her
adventures, and the admiration she had met with ; of
the lovely dresses Mrs. Gifford, their host's sister,
wore, &c., till Madge, who knew she could ill be
spared, said good-bye and returned home.


CHAPTER XIX.
THE following afternoon Madge, who had been
mourning over and endeavouring to arrest the decay
of some of her garments, had put away her needle-
work and made something of a renewed toilet as she
thought of going to see Ella Waring, who had fre-
quently asked her to call, when she was startled by
a sharp, decided peal of the front door bell. She
hastened to open the door and found Brook stand-
ing before it.
It struck her that he looked brighter and better
than when last she had seen him. He had an air of
alertness and decision which made him appear
younger and seemed to revive her own spirit.
“So glad to see you,” he exclaimed, taking her
hand. “How is Mr. Ardell? Is he visible?”
“He is better and stronger, but just now I think
he is sleeping. I will go and see.”
“One moment. I am going to play a bold stroke;
mind you back me!”
Madge opened her eyes with a questioning ex-
pression and went quietly into the dining-room, now
a little less gloomy than in the summer time, for Mrs.
Pinnock insisted on keeping up a fairly good fire,
and the old man unconsciously enjoyed the comfort
of sleeping in the warmth. He was awake, however,
or partially awake when Madge went in.
“Who-who,” he asked, “rang so loud?”
“Mr. Brook has called.”


The Yellow Fiend 197
“Oh, yes, of course I will see him. There's a log
of wood there, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Then you might put it on.”
Madge complied, and ushered Brook into the
1 OOIn.
“Very glad to see you. What's your business to-
day?”
“Nothing special. Have just looked in to see how
you are going on. You seem better and stronger
than when I was here last.” -
“Yes, I am, I am,” murmured the old man. “I’ll
live to get rid of all doubtful securities yet. Tell
Briggs I said so, and say I’d like to see him.”
“He spoke of calling to-morrow,” said Brook.
“Now, Mr. Ardell, I am going to ask a personal
favour. Will you allow Miss Ardell to come for a
little excursion into the country under my charge?
She looks white and weary. No doubt the anxiety
of your illness, the strain of watching, has fatigued
her, and a day in the country would do her a great
deal of good.”
“What time did Briggs say he would call?” was
Mr. Ardell's not very relevant reply.
“Oh, after luncheon. But did you hear my sug-
gestion?”
“Yes, to take that child Margaret into the country.
Yes, but you must bring her back to this door, mind.
I have no money to hire carriages for her, or—
Or »y
“My dear sir,” interrupted Brook. “Do you think
I should be so impolite, so undeserving to be trusted,


198 The Yellow Fiend
as to let your granddaughter out of my sight until
I restored her to your guardianship?”
“Oh, very well. If you like to spend your money
in these sorts of follies I do not mind. Do as you
please.”
“Then as the weather promises to be settled, and
I shall be leaving town on Saturday, will it suit you,
Miss Ardell, to fix to-morrow? I will call for you
here about twelve. I propose shewing you one of the
'stately homes of England,’ the name of which you
may know, Hatfield. It is not more than half-an-
hour from King's Cross, and the park is quite charm-
ing at this season.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Brook. It will be a
great treat for me,” exclaimed Madge, her eyes
aglow with pleasure, the colour creeping up over her
pale cheeks as she met his responsive glance.
“Of course the pleasure is mine, eh, Mr. Ardell?”
“Pleasure!” repeated the old man, dreamily, with
a faraway look. “I forget what it is. Something
like what I used to think pleasure came to me some-
times in my sleep when I was ill, and I am sorry I
ever woke up. Only”—confidentially to Brook—“I
have still to get the better of my enemy, and I will!"
“No doubt,” cheerfully. “A little longer and you
will be quite out of his power.”
“Ah, Brook, you are a clever fellow,” with a sigh.
“The day I feel I am quite safe I will sleep—sleep
sound.”
“You may do that already, my dear sir. You have
most faithful attendants. Now I must leave. I have
a good deal to do before I can earn my holiday to-
morrow.”


The Yellow Fiend 199
Brook shook hands and departed. And as soon as
she had brought her grandfather his tea Madge
escaped to tell Mrs. Pinnock.
“Mr. Brook has actually asked my grandfather
to let me go into the country with him to-morrow,”
she said. “I was quite surprised.”
“And what did Mr. Ardell say?”
“That Mr. Brook might do what he pleased.”
“Well, and I am glad. Of course, one does not
think of talking to Mr. Ardell as you would to any-
one else, but it just shews Mr. Brook is all right.
Next he'll be asking leave to take you away al-
together, and then, my dear young lady, your
troubles will be over !”
“Or only going to begin in earnest. I can run
away from my grandfather, but not from a husband.
For you mean Mr. Brook will wish to marry me?”
“Well, yes, Miss Margaret. And why shouldn't
he P”
“Or why should he? There is no use conjectur-
ing,” said Madge, laughing. -
>k >k >k >k >k xk x
The next morning was dull and misty, with a hint
that the sun was laughing somewhere behind the
clouds. Before noon rang forth from the various
church clocks in the neighbourhood, mist and cloud
had cleared away, and a glorious golden autumn day
had beamed forth.
Madge had only just completed her toilet, and
stood before Mrs. Pinnock a dainty, graceful, but
rather un-English little figure when a hansom
rattled up to the door, and Brook alighted.


2 OO The Yellow Fiend
“Miss Margaret is quite ready, sir,” said Mrs.
Pinnock; “but she thought you might like to see the
master.”
“Yes, of course I should. All right, Mrs. Pin-
nock. I hope you have good news of your son?”
“Very good, indeed, thank you, sir,” with a
curtsey, and she opened the door of Mr. Ardell's
own private apartment.
The old man was busy over a sheet of paper
covered with columns of figures and did not seem
to like being disturbed, so Brook soon escaped.
Madge awaited him in the hall, and his keen, ad-
miring eyes took in all the details of her pretty dress
and attractive tout ensemble.
In another moment they were in the hansom and
bowling along towards the “Great Northern.”
“The gods are propitious!” cried Brook. “We
shall have delicious weather, unclouded skies, and a
conscience void of offence; for have we not the
sanction of your sainted grandpapa? The longer I
live the more I see the wisdom of those two emphatic
words, beyond which advice cannot go—“Be bold!’”
“But one may be too bold, I suppose?”
“Oh, of course, a man must make up his mind to
the risk. And, remember, that in most things human
it is double or quits. Also that under the most
favourable circumstances we play with a masked
antagonist, and can only guess the card she holds.
Let us apply my philosophy. To-day is fine and is
ours; let us enjoy it. ‘Advienne que pourra' to-mor-
row.”
“It is my philosophy, too, so far as I have any,"


The Yellow Fiend 2 or
said Madge. “Only, unfortunately, it is my ten-
dency to anticipate evil rather than good.”
“That is the weaker half of yourself, so you must
look out for a daring, hopeful other half to complete
your being. I'll have something to say on that sub-
ject presently.”
Here they drew up at the entrance to the departure
side of the station, and Brook went to get the tickets.
He was never hurried, yet rarely in all his journeys
lost a train or failed to catch a steamer.
“Come along,” he said, returning to Madge. “We
are in time, but have none to spare.”
As they walked along the platform Madge
observed a tall, slight, lady-like woman in plain, suit-
able morning dress, looking at her with fixed at-
tention, and, at a second glance, recognised Mrs.
Waring.
Madge immediately bowed and smiled. “How do
you do?” she cried. “We are rushing to catch the
train,” and in another moment found herself in an
unoccupied carriage with Brook, who was drawing
up one of the windows.
“Who is your friend?” he asked, placing himself
opposite her.
“She is Mr. Waring's sister-in-law.”
“Ah!”—a long-drawn “ah.” “What a story she
will tell of your going off with a strange man—God
knows where!”
“Perhaps. I do not much mind. Everyone I
know is a stranger to her, and she is nothing to me.”
“She will tell her brother-in-law.”
“Very likely. But do you suppose he would care?


2O2 The Yellow Fiend
Why, he is an artist, and has the artist inclination to
lawlessness.”
“Indeed! I did not know that lawlessness was
an artistic qualification. Do you also possess it?”
“I am not sure, but I suspect I do.”
“Well, you are a delightful little outlaw.”
The country soon began to look picturesque, and
Madge gazed delighted at the many-tinted woods,
the increasing stretches of pasture land and undulat-
ing country. It seemed a very short distance to
Hatfield, where they alighted, and found luncheon
awaiting them in the rustic little inn.
Over this refreshment they did not linger long.
“This is not, unfortunately, one of the days on
which visitors are admitted to the house. But, after
all, a house is a house; and I think you and I will
enjoy the endless variety of the park, which will be
quite gorgeous on such a day as this. Of course,
you'll miss seeing Queen Elizabeth's straw hat.”
“I don't care much. I prefer rambling about the
park to either hats or houses. I wish I had brought
my sketch-book.”
“Why didn't you?”
“The time we went to Weybridge you seemed to
think I had better not; so—”
“What a thoughtful, prévoyante little darling you
are, Madge! I may call you Madge? Next time
you shall. But ‘next time’ will bring us into the
dreary winter. With the dear grandpapa's ap-
proval, we may find other ways of enlivening a holi-
day.”
“Do not laugh at my grandfather. To me he is


The Yellow Fiend 203
a most tragic figure. I could even be fond of him—
and I care for so few—oh, so few—only I fear him.
Indeed, I am not a coward, but there are times when
he hates me, and then I do fear him.”
“Do you?” exclaimed Brook, taking her hand and
looking into her eyes, his own full of tenderness
and passion. “If he produces this effect upon you,
might we not manage to seclude him from all chance
of doing you or anyone mischief?”
“What! Put him in an asylum?” cried Madge,
unhesitatingly translating Brook's suggestion into
plain English. “Oh, no; it would hurt him cruelly.
He is not bad enough for that! Generally, he is
quite quiet, and if no one rubs him the wrong
way about his money xx
“Don’t let us speak again about anything un-
pleasant,” interrupted Brook. “Come. It is a long
time since I was here; but I can guide you into the
sylvan glades and bosky thickets of this fair do-
main.”
An English park on a glowing autumnal day!
Where can a fairer scene be found? The beech has
grown red in the October sunshine, and the birds
which feed upon the fallen mast fly up as footsteps
draw near and shake from the branches a shower of
colour. Trailing sprays of bramble glow with vivid
tints. The bent bracken is rich with yellow and
brown and mossy green, and the odour of the frag-
rant woods swept up by the occasional sighingbreeze
which seems to bid farewell to summer, produces a
softening effect, not untinged with a desire for home
and shelter,
#
-
º


The Yellow Fiend 205
“No, certainly not! He is quite unconscious of
having done me any service, yet he did. He gave
me the means of managing a big coup, by which he,
too, made some money, and certainly lost nothing.
Let me, therefore, repay the let us say loan—to
you. Will you make me this promise?”
Madge thought for a moment, and then said, very
seriously:
“Yes, I do promise.”
“I thank you heartily, my dear little friend. One
more favour. Send me a few lines from time to
time, just to keep me in touch. Address me there.”
He handed her a slip of paper with an address in
London on it. “Enclose your letter to that address.
Post it yourself, and post early in the day.”
“I will!” returned Madge, doubling up the
slip of paper and placing it in her little old porte-
monnaie. “I should like to have a word from you
sometimes,” she resumed; “that is, if it does not
trouble you too much. If you write, I will burn
every scrap as soon as I have read it.”
“Why?” he asked, looking at her earnestly.
“Why do you make this offer? Do you think I
want to keep our correspondence a secret?”
“I do. Why, I cannot tell, but I seem to know
it.”
“There are reasons which I shall be able to ex-
plain before long; but—”
“Ah! You need not trouble about explaining,”
said Madge, with much equanimity. “I do not want
any explanation. Your life, your aims, your am-
bitions, are all unknown to me. You are a very


206 The Yellow Fiend
ambitious man, I suspect. I like you the better for
so being; and I shall never ask you a question—
why should I? You are far too good—too useful
a friend to worry or presume upon. And I am not
curious.”
“Well, Madge, I am. Tell me, is this friendly
artist of yours in love with you?”
“No”—slowly and thoughtfully. “I should say
certainly not.”
“Why?”
“Why should he be? Cannot a man be kindly in-
terested in a girl without being in love with her?”
“It generally ends in that.”
“Perhaps; but I know nothing about it.”
“Remember, my sweet friend, Waring could give
you a comfortable home. He is a rising man.”
“He may be. But I imagine he has a wife and a
daughter, who like fine things more than I do, al-
ready.”
“Why, didn't you tell me he was not married?”
“He is not, but I am almost sure he supports his
brother's wife and daughter.”
“Tant pis for you! Still, he might get over that.
And I should be an indifferent friend if I did not
point out that a tranquil, sheltered life, sufficiently
provided with necessaries, is a consummation de-
voutly to be wished for.”
“It is,” she returned, breaking the leaves from a
branch she had picked up. “Still, food and lodg-
ing and clothes cost dear when marriage is the price.
I like change; I do not think I am naturally con-
stant.”


The Yellow Fiend 207
“This is a terrible look-out !” cried Brook, laugh-
ing. “I am quite sure you do yourself injustice.
When I come back, you must ask leave to take me
to the studio. Then I'll tell you what I think of
Waring. I have some insight into character.”
“No doubt you have,” said Madge.
“I confess I haven't made you out yet, you little
witch!” She laughed. “But I will,” he added, reso-
lutely. “You shall reveal yourself to me.”
“The sun is going down,” exclaimed Madge.
“It is indeed.” And Brook looked at his watch.
“Come, we shall have time to walk down that glade
and round by some rather curious rocks before
the train is due. I could almost wish that this rare,
delightful day would run on endlessly.”


The Yellow Fiend 2 og
Poor Mrs. Pinnock fished in vain for some indi-
cation of what had happened during her dear Miss
Margaret's “outing.” That young lady gave an ac-
curate account of her luncheon, of the park, of the
outside of the great house. She also shewed some
sprays of briar and branchlets with brilliantly-col-
oured leaves still clinging to them, and described
how she meant to introduce these into some decora-
tive designs she thought of attempting. But a syl-
lable on the subject respecting which Mrs. Pinnock
was dying for information she never breathed.
“So you are going back to that weary studio
again?” said the housekeeper, meeting Madge on
the stairs in her hat and jacket a few days later
when October was hardening into November, as
that month grew nearer.
“It is not weary, Pinny. It is the only thing that
keeps me from weariness. But I wish Mr. Waring
would come back. I want his help, for I lost so
much time while my grandfather was ill.”
“Well, you'll be in in good time for your dinner,
Miss Margaret? I’ve a ‘toad in the hole' for you,
and I think you'll like it.”
“I am sure I shall.” And Madge went off.
Yes, it was a relief to find herself among the
brushes and paints, and many-coloured palettes
again. What a shameful state everything had been
left in. She would apply herself to “cleaning up.”
Her good friend should find his painting things in
order, at any rate his brushes clean.
This was sufficient work for one morning, and
Madge rejoiced to find that the old interest and


The Yellow Fiend 2 I I
Highlands, and was tempted to make an expedi-
tion to the Hebrides. Oh, I have lots of sketches
to shew you. Couldn't you stay and have lunch
with me? I must go and make myself fit to be seen.
I started by the last down train from Glasgow last
night, and stopped at Peterborough to have a look
at the cathedral, which will account for my coming
in here at this hour. By Jovel It was nice to find
you at work.”
“I should like to lunch with you very much, but
Mrs. Pinnock expects me to dinner, and would be
quite uneasy if I did not return. If it grows a little
brighter in the afternoon and you are free I shall
come back to see your sketches.”
“Oh, I am perfectly free. No one knows I am in
town. Now don't let me keep you or you'll lose your
dinner. But do come back. I think the day is clear-
ing up and you'll be able to see.”
When Madge returned she found a great array of
canvases set forth for her inspection, and the re-
maining hours of daylight were delightfully oc-
cupied by what Waring disrespectfully termed “talk-
ing shop” and examining the results of his labour.
Then he insisted on walking home with her through
the fast gathering gloom.
“We must not put off work to the afternoon at
this time of the year,” said Waring. “Mind you
present yourself to-morrow about ten o'clock.”
“But you will want the morning hours for your
own work?”
“No, not now when you have ceased to be a
stranger. I used to be afraid of Ella's chatter, and


2 I 2 The Yellow Fiend
yours, too, I confess, till I knew what an honest
worker you are. But it is not easy to concentrate
one's mind on a subject when tongues are going hard
all round. Do not let your notions of designing slip
from you. They may prove money-making.”
“And Ella? Will she come early, too?”
“I don't know, and I do not care—if you do not.
She is a hopeless idler. She is a mere pleasure lover,
and would sell her diminutive soul for fine clothes,
and gaiety, and admiration.”
“They must all be very nice, and she is very
young,” said Madge, thoughtfully.
“How much younger than yourself?”
“I don't know. I shall be twenty in December.”
“Humph! I know Ella's birthday is in January.”
“Then she was born younger than I was and is
quite different.”
“That's true,” emphatically. “Well, here we are,”
Miss Ardell. “It is a ghastly barrack for a young
creature like you to be shut up in,” said Waring, as
they paused at the door of her unhomelike home.
“I am much happier than I was, though,” said
Madge, softly, as if to herself.
“Glad to hear it. And why?”
“Chiefly because I have work which I love. Next
because I understand my poor grandfather better
and do not dislike him now. And then there is a
glimmer of hope.”
“Three excellent reasons. At ten o'clock to-mor-
row. So good-bye for the present.”
Madge was unusually communicative to her friend
and ally, “Pinny,” that evening. She described the


The Yellow Fiend 2 13
various sketches which pleased her most among
Waring's many performances, and repeated the ac-
count of his expedition to the wild Western Isles.
Mrs. Pinnock listened with great interest, but she
was not entirely satisfied with the result she de-
duced from her dear Miss Margaret's fluent talk.
“It’s that Mr. Waring that interferes with my nice
Mr. Brook,” she mused as she tied on her night-cap
previous to laying her head on the pillow. “Not that
Mr. Waring isn't a nice, straightforward gentleman,
too. Only them painting ones never have any
money. Mr. Waring doesn't seem poor; he has a
lot of beautiful things in that studio of his. But then
Mr. Brook would never be such a favourite of my
poor master's, if he hadn't real, hard ready money
down, stowed away in the bank. I wish Miss Mar-
garet would take him.”
These thoughts occupied the elderly brain of the
faithful Pinny; while the youthful one of her much-
loved young lady was asking its owner some lead-
ing questions. -
The best tonic Madge found was work, and she
gladly resumed her former life. Ella did not al-
together forsake her uncle's studio, but her visits
were rare and most irregular; and it was quite im-
possible to impose silence upon her. Indeed, it
seemed to Madge that she was under the influence
of some suppressed excitement which tended to in-
crease chatter and giggling. Waring constantly
checked her prattle, and told her that unless she
intended to work, she had better keep away.
“Well, I will !” she exclaimed, considerably of—


The Yellow Fiend 2 15
“More than a month since we said good-bye, and no
word from you yet! I hope this means that all's well. In
any case, send me a few lines. I have nearly finished my
business, and hope to return in about a fortnight. I am
told my old friend keeps fairly well, though feeble; give
me your report.
“I am in a curious old-world corner of Holland; shall
bring you some photographs. You are often in my
thoughts.
“Yours ever,
“C.”
Madge’s reply was as brief.
“No need to trouble you with a letter, for all is well.
I am busy; you must look at my work when you come.
Your old friend is better than I ever expected to see him
again. At times he speaks of you, and, I think, wishes to
see you. He bears with me less reluctantly than he used.
Thank you very much for writing.
“Yours,
“M. A.”
“I hope the spelling is all right,” she mused, as
she read it over. “Mr. Brook would be terribly
shocked at mistakes of that kind—much more than
my dear master. Trifles are of less importance to
Mr. Waring.”
That Brook should have written first was a great
satisfaction to Madge, and she read his few unim-
portant lines several times; then struck a match and
carefully burnt his note in her fireless grate before
she left her room, the morning after she had re-
ceived it.
It so happened that the afternoon turned out dark,
damp and drizzling. But Madge had promised Ella
to go and match some ribbons at a special shop be-


2 16 The Yellow Fiend
fore they were all gone—she herself being engaged
to a luncheon party at Mrs. Gifford's—and Madge
started, in spite of the weather, to fulfil her promise.
As she turned from Tottenham Court-road into
Oxford-street, she recognised in a four-wheeler,
whose progress was arrested by a temporary block,
her friend, Constance Grey. To put her hand through
the open window was her immediate impulse. Yet
it was a relief to find it seized and warmly held. For
she had begun to fear that Constance had slipped
out of her life.
“Madge, dear Madge! Come in. How damp you
seemſ I am so glad to see you. Make haste; we
are moving on.”
“I thought I had lost you!” cried Madge. “Why,
it is more than three months since I heard anything
of you.”
“Yes, I know. And I am so afraid you will think
my friendship mere lip service, which, indeed, it is
not. I have thought of you, Madge, but not as
often as I should have done. Only I have been un-
well, and a little unhappy, or rather puzzled. Where
are you going, Madge? I am quite free, and can
take you anywhere you like, as soon as I have seen
some new kind of perambulators at a shop near
Mudie's. Kitty's was broken on our journey back.”
“I have a little shopping to do near the Circus."
“Then can you come home with me?” cried Con-
stance, eagerly.
“I would do so gladly, only I never like to leave
Mrs. Pinnock—you remember Mrs. Pinnock?—in
ignorance of my whereabouts.”


The Yellow Fiend 2 17
“Well, it is rather early,” returned Mrs. Grey,
and paused. “At any rate, come with me to look at
the perambulators, and then I will help you to shop.
That must do for to-day. But promise to spend to-
morrow evening with me? Come about seven. Kitty
goes to bed at half-past six, and I generally sit by
her till she falls asleep. She begins to notice and
talk about everything now, and I so want an un-
broken chat with you ! If you will stay till ten, I
will send you home in a cab.”
“That is not at all necessary, Constance. I know
my way about now quite well, and can take care of
myself.”
Very little more was said of a confidential nature.
Both friends found great interest in selecting the
perambulator, Madge feeling some surprise at the
large price Mrs. Grey seemed quite willing to give
for the pretty little vehicle. Then they proceeded to
match ribbons and lace—an exhausting exercise
necessitating the examination of many shops.
Finally Constance set down her friend very near
Mrs. Waring's, with a renewed injunction to be
faithful to her engagement for the following even-
1ng.


CHAPTER XXI.
THIS very unexpected meeting gave Madge a
mixed feeling of pleasure and uneasiness.
To be with Constance had always been a joy to
her. Moreover, though her junior, the little taciturn,
resolute brunette had always lorded it over her fair,
affectionate, stately-looking friend, who, in spite of
her imposing aspect, found it a difficult task to say
“No.”
Poetry and fiction were the favourite reading of
Constance, while Madge did not care much for
books, and what she did like, were odd, out-of-the-
way volumes, which were quite unattractive to the
general reader. -
Constance was ardently religious, and subject to
fits of passionate contrition, for what seemed to her
the evil acts and thoughts of her innocent life.
Madge's cool, reasoning type of mind delivered her
from such imaginative pains.
“If I told lies, or was actively unkind, or did any-
one a real wrong, I should know no rest till I undid
it. But I don't do such things; I am not inclined.
Wait till I am tempted, then you'll see what I'm
really made of. There is trouble enough and pain
enough provided for us every day without going
up in a balloon to bring down more from the skies.
You are an angel compared to me. Why do you
worry?”
Such conversations often took place between the


The Yellow Fiend 219
comrades in the rambling school-garden, or on the
balcony of the elevated Étage, which was Madge's
home during her German schooldays. How tenderly
she now looked back to that period, which then
seemed monotonous and tiresome enough to call
forth rather unlimited grumbling!
The next day was dry, and a brisk breeze made
the streets tolerably passable.
After a morning of diligent and solitary work (for
Waring had gone out early), Madge returned to
assist Mrs. Pinnock in some household matters, and
change her dress.
“Mrs. Grey is always so charmingly dressed,” she
said, “I must do my best to look nice.”
“Oh, of course you must. And you can do it,
Miss Margaret,” ejaculated the sympathetic Mrs.
Pinnock, from the top of a ladder, whereon she stood
to hand down the uppermost plates on the kitchen
dresser. “I’m sure I'm quite glad you are going to
tea with that nice, elegant lady. Maybe, you will
meet her husband this evening.”
“Maybe,” said Madge, doubtfully.
“As to him, I must say I don't like the look of
things,” resumed Mrs. Pinnock, shaking her head.
“I wonder what ails him that he should hide himself
the way he does. No good, or I'm much mistaken.
There, there, my dear, that's the master's bell. Go
and see what he wants.”
Madge hastened to ascertain and soon returned.
“He wants me to read the paper to him. I am to
bring one candle and sit a little behind him. He
likes to listen in the dark.”


The Yellow Fiend 22 I
Mrs. Grey talked of her little girl; of her physical
growth and mental development. Madge listened
indulgently, and admired the last photograph taken
of the little lady in Paris.
“She is going to be like you, Con.”
“Yes, I am afraid so. I should much prefer her
being like her father.”
“Then he must be very good-looking.”
“Not so much good-looking as distinguished-look-
ing. Now, Madge, come and sit here by the fire
and tell me all about yourself. What have you been
doing since we parted?”
“Very little. My grandfather was seriously ill,
and I helped to nurse him. That was my principal
event, for I do not think he dislikes me as much as he
did.”
“I am so glad to hear it. If he begins to like, he
will end in loving you dearly. Do you still paint at
that man's studio—I forget his name?”
“Mr. Waring? Yes. It is the greatest pleasure
I have,” returned Madge, not quite truthfully, but
the joy of her platonic friendship with Brook was too
dear a secret to be lightly touched upon.
“Is he very nice?”
“‘Nice’ is rather a small word to apply to Mr.
Waring,” said Madge, laughing. “He is altogether
large, tall and broad-shouldered. His voice is deep
and strong, but sometimes so kind and full of feel-
ing; and he has a large way of looking at things,
though he is so simple—a regular Englishman. He
never splits straws. I really have nothing to tell,
except that I am less miserable than I used to be.”


22.2 The Yellow Fiend
There was a pause. Mrs. Grey gazed at the fire
with eyes that evidently saw much further away.
“Now tell me, Con,” resumed Madge, “what has
gone wrong with you? You do not look well, you
are pale. Those big eyes of yours have a strained
look as if you thought of distressful things.”
“I believe I am physically in excellent health, but
” She paused. Her face cleared a little. Then
she smiled and said: “I am inclined to chase away
my bogies by describing them to you. You are such
a safe little creature. And really I have no reason to
find fault with anyone. You will keep all I am going
to say absolutely to yourself?”
“I will,” said Madge.
“Oh, what a relief it will be to open my heart!
Yet I know I ought not. Well, Madge, I believe my
complaint—and it is a very cruel one—is jealousy!"
“Yes, it must be very bad. Of whom are you
jealous?”
“I don't know. Of the whole world.”
“Oh, there must be safety in such a multitude.”
“Ah, Madge, it is too, too true an instinct. My
husband does not love me as he used. He is as kind,
as generous at times, as agreeable as ever, as careful
of my comfort, as sympathetic as ever. But, oh! how
can I define the change that has come over him!
The little cloud like a man's hand, only smaller,
much smaller, that hides his heart from me. You
see, dear, we are so often separated. I know he
cannot help it—that he is quietly building up a fine
position. But how do I know what numbers of
charming women he may meet, and men are not


The Yellow Fiend 223
naturally faithful. Then I am growing dull in this
constant seclusion. He comes to meet me with the
same caresses, the same expressions of joy; but the
life, the reality, has gone out of them. They are the
merest rechauffé. Then he never cared for my
sweet little Kitty half enough, now he is quite in-
different. He is dreadfully afraid of hurting me; I
can see it. And, oh, it cuts me to the soul to see how
perpetually he is on guard. What shall I do,
Madge? What shall I do?”
Madge was silent for a second or two.
“What do I know that I should speak?” she said
at last. “And you have really told me nothing
tangible. These may all be mere imaginings. Were
you much alone in the Alps?”
“No, Bertie was a good deal with us there. And
it is not when I am alone these thoughts torment me,
but when my husband is with me.”
“From all I have read and heard,” said Madge,
thoughtfully, “if your husband is a little tired of
you, nothing you do is of the slightest use. So I
do not know what to suggest. I never had a lover.
I am afraid I should be horribly jealous if I had.
Yet I think I understand being inconstant, too.
Could you forgive Mr. Grey if he forgot you for a
little while?”
“And came back to me?” interrupted Constance,
eagerly. “Yes, I could. I have no spirit, as it is
called. I want his whole heart; I cannot live without
it. He is my life, and he has been so good, he is
so good. Oh, Madge, do not laugh at my folly and
weakness!”


224. The Yellow Fiend
“You will laugh at your own dreams, perhaps,
when Mr. Grey next comes back. You ought not
to torment yourself in this way. You have simply
fallen a victim to your own imagination. You ought
to trust him more, and you have no reason to doubt
him.”
Mrs. Grey coloured at the implied rebuke.
“I suppose I am an unreasonable goose,” she ex-
claimed. “But it has done me good to air my
imaginary wrongs. Yet I wish I had not. I feel I
have been disloyal. You will forget all I have said,
will you not, Madge?”
“Yes, everything.”
Then Mrs. Grey told her friend of a delightful
project her husband had evolved. It was to settle
themselves in Paris for the winter. He could be
much more with them, he said, as business would
call him more frequently to that queen of cities than
hitherto.
“I do not think we shall be long in London, so
try and spend an evening with me next week. I will
write and fix one. If I could only see you, Madge,
whenever I like, it would be so reviving. And if I
might ask you to stay with us in Paris!”
Then they discussed whereabouts Mrs. Grey should
select an appartement in Paris, and the evening was
over before they had said half that crowded their
busy brains.
Mrs. Grey insisted that Madge should return in a
cab. The roads just near Ivy Lodge were so lonely,
she said, and, in spite of her young friend's
objections and assurances that she was well ac-


The Yellow Fiend 225
customed to take care of herself, sent the house
servant to fetch one. And so they parted with
promises to meet again soon.
“She will make herself unhappy, in spite of all
I can say,” thought Madge, as she drove home-
wards. “How extraordinary it is that such a fancy
should take hold of her l Can the possibility of such
a sorrow cast its shadow before? Her power of
anticipating good will intensify evil when it comes.
Still, she enjoys more than I can.”
Madge Ardell hardly knew whether to be pleased
or displeased at the change which, about this time,
began to steal over her grandfather. Instead of his
old aversion to her presence, he gradually grew into
the habit of asking for her as the light grew dim in
the short winter days, and telling her to read certain
portions of the newspaper, which he had not been
able to master in the morning. And, though she was
glad he seemed so far reconciled to her presence, she
felt it rather irksome to be tied to the house from an
early hour of the afternoon.
His hours, too, were also changing. He did not
want his breakfast till an hour or more later than
when first Madge came. Mrs. Pinnock believed that
the old man lay long awake after his brief first sleep,
and that towards morning sheer weariness induced
heavy slumber, from which he did not rouse himself
till late.
Indeed, Madge fancied she heard him creeping
about the house in the dead of the night, a sound
which seemed to her exceedingly gruesome, and
made her very careful about locking her door.


226 The Yellow Fiend
Sometimes the old man accepted her services
without a word of thanks or notice. Sometimes he
talked to her as if thinking aloud, and occasionally
—but rarely—asked her to look at him, and let him
see if it was the yellow fiend or the one he loved best
that looked out of her eyes. She generally replied,
when he waited for an answer, that she would gladly
be of use to him, and comfort him, if he would let
her.
Mrs. Pinnock, who generally went to bed tired and
slept profoundly, would not listen to Madge's idea
that the old man rambled about the house at night.
“He hasn't the strength for it, Miss Margaret,”
she said. “Why, it's years since he was upstairs.
He'll never go up again, mark my words. You see
how seldom he goes out of the house; and I don't
think he ever tries to go and hear cases in court as he
used. I’m sure I wish Mr. Brook would come back,
or call. I feel uneasy about the poor, dear old gentle-
man.”
“I really think you are fond of him, Pinny.”
“Well, indeed I am. He has been good in a way
to me, and trustful, which draws one to a fellow-
creature.”
“I suppose so. But when I came first he was
curiously inhuman. I hated him—now I do not. I
feel so sure he is not responsible, I have only pity
and some fear for him.”
“Well, Miss Margaret, I am pretty sure he is sen-
sible enough to buy and sell most people. Are you
going out, miss?”
“Yes. Mr. Waring has a sort of party this after-


The Yellow Fiend 229
the portrait, as she rearranged her bonnet-strings,
and beckoned Ella to pin her “fall.”
“You ought to have brought that good-looking
friend of yours, Miss Ardell, the gentleman I met
you with at the Great Northern last autumn.”
“He is not in town,” returned Madge, calmly.
“Indeed, he asked me if he may come and see Mr.
Waring's studio.”
“Who is this?” asked Waring, sharply.
“A Mr. Brook—a friend of my grandfather's.”
“Is he Brook who is a partner in Joyce and Gran-
ton's P’’ asked Mr. Martin. “I have done business
with him sometimes. He is the real manager of the
firm. Clever fellow, and keen as a needle !”
“I really know nothing about him, except that he
comes to see my grandfather, who seems to like him
better than anyone else.”
“Pray, is Mr. Ardell, of Osborne-place, your
grandfather?” Mr. Martin asked, with some inter-
est.
“He is,” returned Madge, much surprised.
“I haven't seen the old gentleman for a long time;
in fact, I did not know he was still alive. Mrs.
Waring, let me give you and your daughter a lift
home; my brougham is here, and it's roomy
enough.”
“Thank you very much. If it is not taking you
out of your way, I should be very glad.”
“Certainly—by all means. Come along. Good-
day, Waring. Ever so much obliged to you for im-
mortalising me. Capital portrait, by Jove! I feel it's
like. Good-morning, Miss Ardell.”
Mrs. Waring and her daughter made their adieux


23 o The Yellow Fiend
hastily, and departed, leaving Waring and his fa-
vourite pupil together.
“That was a sudden exit!” cried Waring, looking
after his sister-in-law.
“As they have gone,” said Madge, “I can put
away your cakes and things. Why, there are two or
three still uncut !”
“Oh, don't trouble yourself about them. The
people below have a lot of children, and they will
polish off any amount of scraps. It is growing
dusk and chilly; let us make up a big fire and have
a chat over it.” He began to add both coal and
wood.
“Here—here is a diminutive armchair, just suited
to a sprite like yourself.”
“Thank you. This is delightful!” said Madge,
nestling into it.
“I certainly think so. This is the hour to be con-
fidential; but, for a young lady of nineteen, you
know remarkably well how to keep your lips
closed.”
“I am very nearly twenty! Then there is very
little in my life that is worth talking about—or even
thinking about.”
“Heavens ! You must be a very exceptional girl
if you do not picture your future.”
“I may build castles in the air, like other girls,
but I never fail to see through these airy edifices
the stern stones, the bolts and bars, the dark dun-
geons, and secret stairs of the real castle.”
“My dear child, I don't like to hear you talk in
this way. Never mind probabilities so long as you


The Yellow Fiend 231
can cling to a sunny outlook. Trying to nail your-
self to realities, you only cheat yourself of your
youth, and do not help your maturity forward an
inch.”
“Never mind. You and I have a joy that every-
one has not—though mine is a very humble share.
We can steal bits of nature and hang them in our
rooms; and faces, too—faces we love.” She stopped,
as if feeling she was speaking too much.
“You are an uncommon sort of girl, and I do
not think I quite understand you. But we were
going to be confidential, eh?”
“Were We?”
“Yes. At least, I want to ask you some questions,
if you will promise not to paralyse me by your
offended dignity.” -
Madge laughed. Her laugh was very pleasant,
arch and sweet, and the teeth it revealed white and
pearly.
“Ask what you like. I shall not be offended.”
“Well, then,” began Waring, and paused to break
an obdurate lump of coal. He resumed, in a quick
tone: “Who is this Brook? I never heard of him
before.”
“Yes, I am sure you did. I told you of his having
brought Mr. Marks, the picture dealer, to look at
my early attempts.”
“Oh, was that the man? Yes, I remember. Has
old Marks made any more liberal purchases from
you?” -
“No, but Mr. Brook recommended me to offer
some of my old things to a man in Tottenham Court-


232 The Yellow Fiend
road, so I did; things I had done in Paris. He
bought three pictures, two quite little.”
“Oh! Have I ever seen them?”
“No. Of course, I would not touch anything I
have done in your studio under your direction.
They are as much yours as mine.”
“No, I do not agree with you. I should be very
pleased if you could make a little money by your
work. For I fear grandpapa does not give you a
very liberal dress allowance.”
Madge laughed. “A man of his years and ways
can hardly take in feminine necessities in the way
of clothes.”
“So Brook was the man who introduced you to
old Marks. Is he a City man?”
“I think so. He never talks to my grandfather
about anything except money—investments—shares
—things like that. I fancy Mr. Brook is rather
eager to be rich, too.”
“Is he young?”
“About your own age, I imagine,” looking keenly
at him; “though in some ways he seems older.”
“Money-grubbing ages a man.”
“I should not call him a money-grubber,” said
Madge, clasping her long, slender fingers round her
knee, reflectively. “He is fond of pleasure, and is
awfully sorry for me because I never have any.
That is the reason he took me to spend the day at
Hatfield, when I met Mrs. Waring. And it was very
delightful.”
“Oh, indeed! I daresay it was,” said Dick War-
ing, not in a very amicable tone. “Mr. Ardell must


The Yellow Fiend 233
know this man very well to trust you with him for
these long expeditions.”
“Oh, of that he never thinks. Mr. Brook brings
him lots of information about money, that means
all possible excellence to the old man. How aston-
ished French people would be, wouldn't they?”
asked Madge, with an amused smile.
“They make too much fuss, but perhaps err on the
right side,” said Waring, gruffly.
“Even in France,” urged Madge, “they do not
mind artist women not being exactly ‘on the line.’”
“Do you wish for this sort of liberty?” asked
Waring, somewhat sternly.
“I don't wish about it,” she returned, dreamily; “I
take it. There can be no real wrong in making an
expedition with a pleasant companion—man or
woman.”
A short silence ensued. Then Waring asked, care-
lessly:
“Is this Brook married ?”
“I do not know in the least. He doesn't look
married.”
Waring laughed. “How does the outward and
visible man shew whether he is married or not?”
“An unmarried man is brisker and smarter and
better dressed; carries himself with an air, and looks
as if he didn't dine with the same person every
day.”
“Why, I had no idea you were such an accom-
plished worldling, Miss Ardell. Then you do not
approve of matrimony?”
“In the present state of society it isn't bad for the


234. The Yellow Fiend
generality of women,” she replied, as if thinking
aloud; “but if I were a man, I should never marry.”
“As it is, you have not registered a vow against
that holy state?”
“No, nor against anything else. One can never
tell what you may be forced to do.”
“You are a wise little woman' So you do not
know if your friend Brook is married or not. Does
Mr. Ardell ?”
“I cannot tell. If he ever knew, he probably for-
gets.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Waring, starting up,
and making one or two turns up and down the room.
“How absolutely unprotected you are l’”
“I do not see that it matters much.”
“I should like to meet this Mr. Brook,” said War-
ing, not heeding her.
“That can be easily managed. He asked me one
day if he might come and see your studio, and what
I have been doing.”
“Oh, he did? Well, pray tell him I shall be de-
lighted to see him. He is still away, I under-
stand?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I have no idea. He comes and goes in the most
unexpected way.”
“Then he does not keep you informed of his move-
ments? He does not write to you?”
“He has written to me once to ask how my grand-
father and everything was going on, and I replied.”
Here Waring, looking up suddenly, caught
Madge's eyes fixed upon him with an expression of


The Yellow Fiend 235
drollery and amusement that brought the colour to
his brown cheek.
“You disrespectful little puss! I believe you are
bamboozling and laughing at your grave and rever-
end master.”
“Not bamboozling!”—laughing a little bit.
“What is it you distrust or dislike in Mr. Brook?”
“He is young,” said Dick, throwing himself into
his chair again, “good-looking, agreeable, daring,
dangerous, and he doesn't bring his wife to see
you!”
Madge laughed heartily.
“Poor man! Must he marry a wife that he may
call upon me? You must wait till you see him be-
fore forming an opinion. And now, Mr. Waring,
I must go back.”
“One moment, Miss Ardell. Pray come early
to-morrow. I think I have found a bit of paying
work for you—if you will undertake it. I will ex-
plain everything to-morrow.”
“What a nice fire to leave!” said Madge.
“I wish to Heaven you could stay!” exclaimed
Dick. “Put on your wraps, and I will walk home
with you.” -
“I suppose there is no just cause or impediment
why you should not,” she returned, with a laughing,
half-defiant glance.
“I see you think I am a prig, because—”
“I think you are one of the best and most gener-
ous of friends,” interrupted Madge.
“Good! With that flattering sentence this discus-
sion shall end.”
And they set forth most amicably.


CHAPTER XXII.
“CoME as early as you can to-morrow,” were
Waring's last words before leaving Madge at her
grandfather's door, and they sent her home in what
would have been radiant spirits, with a more hopeful
disposition. Indeed, Madge felt unusually cheerful,
and even disposed to “dream bright dreams”—a
mood encouraged by finding a litttle note from Mrs.
Grey awaiting her.
It was to beg that she would come to tea on the
following Tuesday.
“It may possibly be the last time I can see you
before leaving London, as Mr. Grey seems anxious
to settle in Paris, and there is a good deal to be done
before we can leave. I earnestly hope we may meet
in Paris where, I think, things promise to be
brighter. Send me a card, dear, “Yes' or ‘No.’”
“Your grandpapa has been asking for you, Miss
Margaret,” said Mrs. Pinnock, as Madge folded up
the note and put it in her pocket. “He is sitting
writing in his bedroom, and is not one bit sleepy.
He has been abusing me uphill and down dale for
bringing up another scuttle full of coals. What we
are to do with him when the weather gets colder, I
am sure I don't know. You have had tea, I sup-
pose, miss? Well, then, just take off your hat and
go in to him.”
Madge did so, and found Mr. Ardell in his old
grey winter dressing-gown sitting in front of his


The Yellow Fiend 237
bureau, on which a reading-lamp that Brook had
given him some years before stood.”
“Where—where have you been? I want you to
read a paragraph I can't quite make out in the even-
ing paper. It is disgracefully printed. All the
papers are now. Where have you been?”
“At the studio.”
“Are you making any money?” in a hoarse, eager
whisper. “If you have—” He paused.
“Yes, I know,” Madge put in, “some of it ought
to be yours. But I am not earning anything just
now. I hope to do so soon.”
“Hope—hope—aye, how long I hoped At last
the yellow fiend gave me what I wanted, and man-
aged to cheat me all the same; and now he is at his
old tricks again making a scourge of you. Maybe
you don't know—maybe- Do get the paper,
there is something I want. There it is in my big
chair. You shall sit here and read by the lamp.
But stay. I will lock the bureau first. Remember
you are never to lay a finger on it or on anything in
it.”
“I assure you I should never think of taking so
great a liberty.”
“Very well, very well; bring me the paper.
There, on the third page, I think, where they have
bits of City news.”
He ran his finger along the column, holding the
paper close to the lamp, and then, digging the point
of his claw-like nail into it, held it out to Madge.
The paragraph was headed: “Sudden death of a
City Magnate.” “We regret extremely to announce


The Yellow Fiend 23.9
his chair and said, abruptly: “Go, fetch me this
morning's paper. Look in the Law Reports, the
will case, Levitt versus Levitt and Badger. You
began it and then went away. You mustn't do that
again. I only got to—”
“I thought you had gone to sleep for your after-
noon doze,” said Madge, apologetically.
“Make surer another time.”
She went in silence, and bringing the paper read
what were to her the dreary details of a disputed
will case.
Mr. Ardell threw in many shrewd remarks shew-
ing his interest in the case. Then he suddenly ex-
claimed:
“That will do! I must write a few lines before I
sleep. Tell Mrs. Pinnock she must go and post
letter for me. Tell her to come here.” -
“Shall I return?” asked Madge.
“No, no, go to bed. I hope you don't sit wasting
candles and reading silly books?”
“No, I do not, indeed. Good-night.”
Mr. Ardell did not notice this civility.
“I declare he is growing quite accustomed to you,”
said Mrs. Pinnock, with great satisfaction. “I was
just getting him a drop of arrowroot and port wine.
He hardly took a bite at his dinner. You see he
knows there's a goodish few bottles of wine in the
cellar that never cost him anything.”
“Who gave them to him?” asked Madge.
“They were there when Mr. Ardell came into
possession. It was years and years before he would
touch a drop of anything stronger than water, but


The Yellow Fiend 241
rangements Constance spoke contentedly and hope-
fully.
But Madge observed that the pained, faraway look
had not left her eyes. Nor was her speech as
spontaneous and unguarded as when they last met.
“I will write to you,” said Mrs. Grey, when they
were parting, “and you must answer. Do not let me
lose sight of you again. But never write to me ex-
cept between certain dates, which I will give you.
God bless you, dear! I so long for the day when I
can introduce my husband to you. I am sure you
will like him. And do not fancy dreadful things be-
cause he is obliged to keep his private life dark just
at present.”
“I do hope you will be well and happy, Constance.
Be sure you write to me.”
It is to the credit of our little heroine that, in
spite of the dazzling prospect of meeting Brook be-
fore long, she kept her thoughts steadily on her
work. The tinge of joy imparted to her fancy by her
anticipations lent something of pretty playfulness to
her designs, which drew sincere praise from War-
ing, who was very little in his studio during the week
after Madge had begun her task.
Ella flew in and out and disturbed her a good deal,
but she made no pretence of doing anything. She
seemed in high spirits and rather excited, while her
thoughts appeared chiefly occupied with clothes.
“I am obliged to get some new things, you know,”
she said, “for I am going to spend Christmas with
Mrs. Gifford, and she will probably give some dinner
parties.”


242 The Yellow Fiend
“Won't your mother be very lonely?” asked
Madge.
“Oh, no, not at all,” cried Ella, with a laugh, as if
Madge had said something ridiculous, and then con-
tinued: “I believe I am to go to school in Paris for
some months, so I needn't worry about lessons here.
I must collect some exercise books I left here last
summer when we began. What a quiet little prig I
thought you at first, Madge, but you were a trump
to me afterwards. I wonder now if you would be so
nice and kind as to design an evening dress for me.
You have so much taste. Why do you work away
so hard here? You would get ever so much more for
designing fashions.”
“I prefer this. But I will try to do something for
you; only I must see some fashions, for I do not
know what is worn now.”
“Oh, thank you a thousand times | I am sure you
must be sick of being here all day. And Uncle Dick
is not exhilarating. He is so solid and serious,
makes an old man of himself. Never mind, you shall
come to us often when She stopped abruptly
and coloured. -
“I shall have to stay at home more, I expect, as
my grandfather often wants me to read to him in
these long dark evenings.”
“Does he?” with great interest. “Then he is com-
ing round to you. Perhaps, after all, he will leave
you his money, and what an heiress you will be!”
“Oh, I am sure he will not. How did you know
he is rich P”
“People say so. Mr. Martin says he is reported


The Yellow Fiend 243
to have lots of money. However, one never knows.
what to believe. Tell Uncle Dick that I came for my
books and belongings. Won't Mr. Ardell think it
rather odd your coming here every morning by your-
Self?”
“No. Why should he? Do you?”
“Oh, I'm not at all straitlaced, but mother is, you
know. Of course, it is all nonsense. Good-bye,
dear. You will not forget the design? And you
need not go in for too strict economy. I'll tell
mother you'll come to tea when you have finished it.”
She blew a kiss to her useful friend and departed.


CHAPTER XXIII.
MADGE had no opportunity of giving Dick his
niece's message, for he did not return till after she
had left the studio. Indeed, Madge supposed he had
some important business, as she did not see much of
him just then.
Was it seven days, or weeks, or months, that
Madge's state of restless expectancy, and almost
“fearful” looking forward to a great joy or a terrible
sorrow, lasted?
It was really little more than a week after she had
promised to design a dress for Ella when a letter at
last reached her. As usual, it bore no address, but
was dated two days back. It was very brief.
“I shall be in London on Thursday, and will call on
Mr. A. late in the afternoon. You will try to be at home?
“Yours ever,
“C”
Madge scarcely knew how to live through the in-
tervening forty-eight hours. Yet she mastered her-
self sufficiently to work hard and finish the amount
of illustrations to which she was limited. Then,
with a sense of thankfulness that she was com-
paratively free, she left them in the studio, with a
little note, asking Waring to look over them if he
had time, and she would come next morning to hear
his verdict.
Evening had closed in, and Mr. Ardell, having
finished his meal, had had the greater part of the
newspaper read aloud to him. The lamp and a good


The Yellow Fiend 245
fire made his ordinarily cheerless bedroom look al-
most comfortable when, about seven o'clock, a ring
at the house-bell set Madge's heart beating so loud
and strong that she could hardly see or hear.
“It’s Mr. Brook, sir,” said Mrs. Pinnock, entering
almost the next moment. “He asks if it is too late
to come in.”
“No, no, by no means !” cried Mr. Ardell, who had
grown drowsy, waking up. “Tell him to come in.”
Madge instinctively drew back into the shadow at
the further side of the fire, and hesitated whether to
stay or go, as she so often did when Brook came to
see Mr. Ardell.
The old man rose to receive his visitor. “You’ve
been away a long time. Began to think I should
never see you again!” he said, with the nearest ap-
proach to cordiality he ever shewed.
“Glad to see you looking so much better!” cried
Brook, cheerily. “I hardly hoped to see such an im-
provement. And how is »y
He stopped and looked round. Perceiving
Madge, he turned quickly, and took her hand, and
his back being towards Mr. Ardell, he made no at-
tempt to hide the joy, the sudden radiance, that lit
up his eyes and played round his lips, as he pressed
her hand softly and warmly.
“I did not see you at first. Much travelling has
made me dull.”
“Sit down, sit down,” said Mr. Ardell, im-
patiently. “I never see anyone, or hear anything
when you are away. And though I am on my last
legs, I like to know what is going on in the City.


246 The Yellow Fiend
You have lost your partner, I see. How does that
affect you? You may go, child”—to Madge. “I
don't want you—nor does Mr. Brook. Go, go, go!”
“One moment,” cried Brook, laughing. “Tell me,
Miss Ardell, have you had a holiday since we went
to Hatfield?”
“No, none whatever.”
“Well, then, Mr. Ardell must let you come and see
a charming fairy piece they have at the Gaiety. It is
the last night but three or four, and I do not know
when I can do anything so frivolous again. If we
can get there by 8.15, it will do. And I can give you
the intermediate time and lots of gossip, my dear
Sir.”
“Yes, yes. Go if you like. But I have no change
about me, mind. You mustn't go out at the time I
want you to read to me, for a month—two months!
Sit down, Brook, sit down.”
“Mrs. Pinnock will let you know when I am free,”
said Brook, lowering his voice, to Madge.
She gave him an answering smile and a delightful
blush as she turned to leave the room.
It was nearly an hour (what a portentously long
hour!) before Mrs. Pinnock came to summon her
dear “Miss Margaret,” and her kind, strong face lit
up with pleasure at the notion of a treat for her
young lady.
“I’m sure Mr. Brook is a nice gentleman, if ever
there was one! He's that kind and pleasant. Mr.
Ardell is regular tired out with all the talk and the
news: he is going to bed directly. Mr. Brook says
the theatre will be over early, as it's a sort of


The Yellow Fiend 247
children's play, and you'll be home by 9.30. So I'll
just sit down and darn the master's socks a bit, till
you come in. Indeed, you’ve made yourself look
downright pretty l’”
Madge smiled, and ran downstairs. Brook was
waiting at the open door, through which she saw a
hansom waiting. They descended the steps in
silence, and, having helped his companion into the
vehicle, he took her hand in both his own, exclaim-
ing:
“At last! We are not going to the theatre, you
know. Do you mind?” said Brook, after a short
pause, as they drove towards the Strand. “I have
so much to say that I cannot go and listen to other
people's talk; but I hope you will not be bored by a
quiet dinner with me.”
“I think I can excuse the theatre to-night,” said
Madge, gravely.
“And you will have something to tell me, I sup-
pose?”
“Little or nothing,” she returned. “My life has
been extremely monotonous. My chief event hap-
pened little more than a fortnight ago. Mr. War-
ing ” The horse shying at something startled
her, and Brook filled up her sudden pause by add-
ing:
“Has declared his love for you?”
“No, indeed. He has done better. He has found
me some delightful work—to illustrate a child's
book. Work that is well paid, too.”
“Is that better than offering himself?”
“Yes, it is. My work is more my own than Mr.
Waring or any other man ever would be.”


248 The Yellow Fiend
“What a shrewd little sceptic you are "exclaimed
Brook.
Here they stopped at the door of an Italian
restaurant, supposed to be of high excellence. The
large hall on the entrance floor was quite full, but,
at a word from Brook, a waiter conducted them up-
stairs to a small but prettily decorated private room,
where the table was laid for two.
“Here,” said Brook, “we can speak freely. Take
off your hat, my little friend, and let me fancy my-
self at home with you.”
Madge immediately complied, and laid it on a
console table at the back, without glancing at the
glass.
“It is charming to see a girl not troubling about
her looks,” observed Brook, admiringly.
“If you mean that I do not trouble about my looks,
you are quite mistaken,” she replied. “I think a
great deal about them. I put on that hat with the
greatest care in order to be able to take it off easily
and safely.”
“Pray leave me some illusions, you uncompromis-
ing philosopher l’”
The entrance of the waiter with dinner inter-
rupted them, and during the elegant little repast,
which they proceeded to discuss, Brook talked
lightly and pleasantly of his travels among the dead
cities of the Zuyder Zee; whether lately or during
some former visit to Holland, Madge did not exactly
find out.
They did not linger long over their evening meal,
and as soon as they had taken the post-prandial
coffee, Brook drew forward a low couch to the fire-


The Yellow Fiend 249
place, where some logs of wood blazed and crackled,
and begged Madge to let him make her comfortable,
which he did by placing cushions behind her.
“I don't believe you have an easy chair or an avail-
able cushion in all the funereal chambers of your
grandfather's melancholy abode,” he said. “I do not
know how you exist; and women are credited with
finding a certain degree of ease and luxury indis-
pensable. Tell me, did you think I had stayed away
an unconscionable time?”
“No, the time had nothing to do with your con-
science,” said Madge, a soft colour rising in her
usually colourless cheeks, and a smile dimpling
round her mouth. “But I am very glad you have
come back.”
“Thank you for such a gracious speech. But, hav-
ing constituted myself your guardian, in a sense, it
is my duty to see as much as I can of you. Now,
for a while, this will be rather difficult. You know—
or at least I believe you know—that I am junior
partner in an important firm—a sort of fly on the
wheel. The man who was senior to me died the
other day.”
“Yes, I know,” said Madge.
“Do you?”—in a surprised tone. “Have you
taken to reading the newspapers?”
“I read them to my grandfather, and he had a
great deal to say about it. He says the yellow fiend
is on your side, and that everything you touch will
succeed.”
“I hope so,” said Brook, drinking a glass of wine,
and then rising to pace the room slowly. “This


25o The Yellow Fiend
man's death is a great chance for me. He leaves
no son, but some of his capital goes to his widow,
who is also to be paid a heavy percentage on what
remains in the business. If I can introduce a certain
amount of money to fill up the vacuum, my name
... will be added to that of the firm. This will be the
first really upward step of my life; but all this must
be Greek to you. However, you can understand
that these changes imply a great amount of work—
an absolute absence of leisure for some little time
to come.”
“Of course, I can see that.”
“Then if I seem negligent in any way, Madge,
you will know that I am not to blame. I am a slave
to the exigencies of my situation. You will trust
me, you will write to me unhesitatingly if you want
help of any kind? For a woman you are marvel-
lously abstemious in the matter of writing letters.”
“Have you corresponded with a great many?”
asked Madge, quietly. -
“Not a great many,” said Brook, laughing.
“Some are charming correspondents, some are bores.
But I have had no time for some years to indulge
in such delectable avocations.”
“I have a great dread of being tiresome to any-
one. It is such a mistake, such a confession of
weakness, to crave for “answers,’ ‘a place in the
memory dearest,’ and all that sort of thing. No
one ever does anything for a bore.”
“I rather think, my sweetest little Madge, that
you were a mature woman of the world in long
clothes!” exclaimed Brook, much amused. “You


The Yellow Fiend 251
are like these extraordinary French girls who step
from the snow-white innocence and world ignorance
of the conventual parlour to the full-blown tact and
comprehension of the Parisian salon.”
“I don't think I ever was very young,” said
Madge, reflectively.
“Perhaps so,” he returned, gravely. “But you
are developing some germs of youth. What did
you do all the long weeks I was away? For I
flatter myself you have no confidential friend save
myself.”
“I have not, indeed,” said Madge, almost in a
whisper, the tears standing in her big brown eyes.
“I often wonder why you are so good to me.”
“I will explain all that to you some day,” mur-
mured Brook, his eyes dwelling on her with a lin-
gering, loving look, that sent a wild thrill of delight
vibrating through her veins, and made her avert
her eyes in instinctive self-defence. “Did you man-
age any dealings with my old Jew in Tottenham
Court-road P”
“Yes. He bought altogether five sketches from
me.”
“At how much apiece?”
“I forget exactly, but he gave me thirty-five shil-
lings, and I was delighted.”
Brook did not reply.
“I thought of you often,” he resumed, after a
brief pause. “In my thinking I found a little gift
that will, I hope, please you.”
He drew a small parcel from his pocket and came
to sit beside her. Opening his packet, he produced


252 The Yellow Fiend
a little case from which he took a curious, old-
fashioned ring set with a variety of coloured stones
in a quaint and graceful design.
“It took my fancy in a Parisian curiosity shop.
Let me put it on for you.”
He took her left hand and slipped it on the third
finger.
“What long, slender fingers!” he said. “A real
artist's hand—so long and flexible. Wear it for my
sake, Madge.”
“I will wear it always with pleasure. What a
charming ring, quite unlike anything I have ever
seen.”
“You have made me a large promise—to wear it
always.” He still held her hand, and, lifting it,
kissed the long, tapering fingers gently. “Are you
a true-hearted, constant little girl?”
“I cannot tell,” said Madge, drawing her hand
softly away, and gazing admiringly at her ring. “I
do not care for many, and I can fancy being incon-
stant. Of course, if a strong man keepeth the house,
all's well; but if a stronger than he—”
“Ah! That is indeed a confession,” interrupted
Brook. “If you are right about yourself, why, no
man ought to trust you, and who can love where he
cannot trust?”
“Perhaps not. But men and women, as far as I
can gather, don't fall in love with the best and most
trustworthy people they know, but with those that
take their fancy, however worthless they may be.”
“Go on, you little witch! I like to hear your
original philosophy. It must be original, for you
cannot have collected it from experience.”


The Yellow Fiend 253
“I suppose not. I scarcely know where I found
my notions. They just come to me.”
“At any rate, promise me to keep that ring before
your eyes to remind you of one friend who will be
both constant and true.”
“Can you promise that?” said Madge, looking
steadily into his eyes. “A man has so many diver-
sions and temptations! Ambition, the power of
choice, riches, impunity; and a man scarcely de-
serves the name if he is not ambitious! I am sure
3you are very.”
“Perhaps so,” said Brook. “Thanks for your
opinion. But, Madge, mere riches would not satisfy
me. I want power and place. I feel capable of good
work and I want to do it. In England the road to
distinction lies through the fens and morasses of
politics. To make these passable you must pave
your path with gold.”
“I understand. You will succeed, I fancy, for
you would be daring to seize what you desire to
have, and ruthless in sweeping away what stands
between you and it.”
“What a strange girl you are, Madge. And how
dare you give me so bad a character! What put
such ideas into your pretty little brown head?”
“I do not know. My mother had Highland blood.
Perhaps it is a touch of second sight.”
“Worse and worse,” cried Brook, laughing. Then
his face darkened suddenly and his deep blue eyes
lit up with a quick fire. “My God! Madge,” he ex-
claimed, “if ever you meet a man strong enough to
dominate you, if you threw sense, philosophy, self-


The Yellow Fiend 255
“Just get to bed at once, Miss Margaret,” she con-
tinued. “The master has been that restless and un-
easy that I have felt quite anxious about him. I
think he has gone to sleep now, and it would never
do to wake him up.”
“Do you think he is ill?”
“He can't be well. He went to bed directly you
drove away and I had got out my needlework, when
about an hour after he came downstairs in his dress-
ing-gown as I was sitting by the kitchen fire, a
thing he hasn't done, not for years, my dear. Says
he: “Why does that young man trouble about a plain
little girl like my granddaughter?’ ‘I suppose partly
because he is young,' I made answer, setting a chair
for him. He sat down. “I don't think I'd make a
fool of myself for a girl like that.' You'll not mind
my repeating his words, Miss Margaret?”
“Not at all,” said Madge.
They had crept softly up to the latter's bedroom,
and then spoke in subdued tones.
“‘Ah,’ says he,” continued Mrs. Pinnock, ““if
you had seen the girl I loved and that loved me, and
gave herself to me to be poor and starving—oh, my
God! my God!’ And the poor dear old man covered
up his face and rocked himself to and fro. “That
girl reminds me of her sometimes, with stray looks
and tones. I don’t know whether I hate her or not
for it. There are moments when I’d like to starve
her!' he says, quite fierce-like. “When I seem to
know she is sent by the yellow fiend to distract me,
yet her eyes draw me to her. How sweet the other
eyes were ! They were full of love to the last.”


The Yellow Fiend 257
spoke as if his words were a curse. With that he
got up, lit his candle and went away upstairs. I
heard him creeping about some time after, but he
has been in his room, and quite quiet for some time.
I am thankful to have you back.”
“It was all very eerie,” said Madge, and paused.
“I hope he will leave some of his money to Mr.
Brook.”
“Will you give him a hint?”
“Perhaps so! But it will not be easy,” returned
Madge, with a smile. “Good-night, Pinny dear. I
am tired, but I have enjoyed myself. My poor old
grandfather! What bitter memories he must havel
I wish we could sweep them away.”
“I wish he'd come to his right mind and leave his
money, or most of it, to you!” rejoined Mrs. Pin-
nock. “I’ve stayed too long,” and, carefully lighting
her candle with the remains of a defunct match, she
departed to her own room, which, Madge rejoiced
to think, was next door.
Though somewhat disturbed by Mrs. Pinnock's
narrative, the recollection of the delightful hours
she had passed with Brook obliterated everything,
and the sound of his rich, refined voice was still
in her ears as sleep stole over her.
The next morning, however, she was up betimes,
anxious to ascertain Waring's opinion of her work.
“Shall I take my grandfather his breakfast?” she
asked Mrs. Pinnock. “I am a little curious to see
how he will look upon me.” -
“He is sleeping still, and I'll let him sleep. It is
just meat and drink to him. Bless me, Miss Mar-
garet, what a beautiful ring you have ſ”


258 The Yellow Fiend
“Yes, isn't it? Mr. Brook bought it for me in
Paris.”
“Well, Miss Margaret, I'm sure he is a real gen-
tleman, and generous. Don't you see what he
means? He means you are to wear that ring till
he puts another plainer one on.”
“Do you really think he means that?”
“Of course he does! It is as plain as the nose on
your face. I only wish ” Mrs. Pinnock stopped
short.
“What do you wish?”
“Oh, never mind. I’d vex you if I went on.”
“Then I had better go to the studio. I am very
anxious to know what Mr. Waring will say about
my illustrations.”
Waring was already expecting his pupil when she
arrived. He was in high spirits, and looked, Madge
thought, so bright, so kindly, so animated, that he
was absolutely handsome.
“I thought you intended to be early this morn-
ing,” he exclaimed, shaking hands cordially, “and
it is half-past ten!”
“Did you expect me sooner? I was afraid I was a
little too soon.”
“As if such a pupil as you are could ever be too
soon! Come, take off your hat, and we'll go through
your illustrations. I have been remiss of late as
regards my duties towards you, but I have had a lot
of business to attend to. I shall be a better guide,
philosopher, and friend’ (if you will allow me to call
myself so) in future. I am very pleased with your
work. Really, some of it is excellent.” And he took


The Yellow Fiend 259
her long, slender, cold hand into his own large one,
with a kindly, friendly pressure, which Madge un-
hesitatingly returned, smiling up in his face and
saying:
“If anyone could bring me luck, it would be your-
self.”
“We'll see,” returned Waring, cheerfully. And
he turned to a table, whereon Madge's drawings
were laid out, and went into a profound discussion
of their merits and demerits, from which Madge
gathered many useful hints.
“Next week,” said Waring, “I have a model com-
ing to pose for that picture I intend doing for the
Academy, and I want you also to paint her. Women
are more difficult than men. Now, I am obliged to
go out on a most important errand I"
“That generally means to the Stock Exchange,
doesn’t it?”
“No, no. I’ll not fritter away the few pounds I
make. I go rather to expend than to acquire. I am
going to my tailor to be fitted for my wedding coat!”
“Your wedding coat!” echoed Madge, her eyes
lighting up with interest. “Oh, to whom are you
going to be married, and where? I must come and
see your wedding.”
“Mine? Oh, I am going to wither on in old
bachelorhood. But I am going to be best man to
Martin at his marriage to my sister-in-law. He is
a very good fellow, and she is in great lack. Indeed,
so am I.”
Madge opened her brown eyes, and then burst out
laughing.
“Now I understand Ellal” she said.


262 The Yellow Fiend
despairing sigh at her own caligraphic imperfections,
closed and stamped it, taking it herself to the post.
The next few days were diversified by visits from
Mr. Briggs and a much more distinguished-looking
person, who was, Mrs. Pinnock asserted, his clerk.
Christmas was now close at hand, and Mrs. War-
ing's wedding-day had dawned, an auspicious morn-
ing which brought Madge a somewhat thick en-
velope by a messenger. This proved to be a few
lines from Waring, enclosing a couple of bank notes,
and stating that he had made the publishers of the
child's book pay up, and telling her that they must
begin serious work on the following week, when the
wedding festivities would be over and almost for-
gotten. Also a still more precious note from Brook.
“You are the sweetest and most thoughtful little friend
any man was ever blessed with possessing. I thank you
heartily for your information. There was a time when
ignorance of your grandfather's intentions might have
been very unlucky to me. It is no longer of much matter.
I am sure his testamentary dispositions will be very eccen-
tric. Let us hope this may defeat his own ends, and his
property may then go to his natural heir or heiress. I
have acted on your sensible suggestion and destroyed your
letter. The most innocent scribblings are liable to strange
misconstructions, so you had better ‘do as you would be
done by.” I hope for another confidential talk in two or
three days, for I have had a long fast.
“Yours ever,
“H. C. B.”
Life seemed a far better thing to Margaret Ardell
now than it had done seven or eight months ago,
when, feeling herself to be the most desolate and


The Yellow Fiend 263
hopeless little waif in the whole world, she sobbed
herself to sleep that first wretched night under her
grandfather's inhospitable roof.
Brook was a source of delight not unmixed with
pain. But there was also her good and generous
friend, Dick Waring. His services to her could
never be repaid. He had given her the chance of
earning her own bread; of independence which could
never be taken from her so long as health and
strength were hers.
“How good and true and simple he is,” she
thought. “And what a real artist! What a broad
way he has of looking at things. I do hope he will
not marry. His wife would never like me nor I her.
Artists, male or female, are better unmarried.”
So Madge determined to take courage, to look
forward with hope, and to work diligently in the
present.
Meantime, Mr. Ardell had frequent and pro-
longed visits from his solicitor, and made many al-
terations in his deeply-pondered will, over the clauses
of which he had various differences of opinion with
his legal adviser. The old man gave Mrs. Pinnock
and Madge less trouble than formerly, as he now
seldom asked to go out of doors. A remark from
his granddaughter seemed to have impressed him.
He was almost feverishly desirous of going to the
Law Courts one very cold, unsuitable day, and
Madge ventured to suggest the likelihood of his tak-
ing cold, adding:
“You must now allow the yellow fiend a chance
of having it all his own way. If you killed your-


CHAPTER XXV.
ONE afternoon, early in the New Year, Madge
had settled, after due consultation with “Pinny,” to
devote the remaining hour or two of daylight to
shopping, as she needed some items of clothing, with
which she could not well dispense, and for which she
thanked God she could pay. She even had her hat
on and was looking for her worst pair of gloves
when Mrs. Pinnock came rapidly upstairs.
“Miss Margaret, my dear, you mustn't go out just
yet. The master says Mr. Briggs and someone else
are coming at four o'clock, and he will want you to
be present. So keep indoors. Maybe he is going to
tell you he has made his will in your favour after all.
He has been growing quite fond of you just lately,
my dear lamb l’”
Madge shook her head. “Don’t fancy anything of
the kind, Pinny,” she said. “There is always a dash
of dislike in my grandfather's liking. But, of course,
I will not go out.” -
“Well, that's all I ask. The poor old gentleman
is all of a tremble. I’m going to coax him to take
a cup of arrowroot with a little port wine. You'll
make your hair nice and tidy, miss, won't you?”
Madge smiled, and promised proper attention to
her appearance; postponing her shopping expedition
with regret.
She certainly felt a little curious as to what her
grandfather could possibly want with her. She


266 The Yellow Fiend
seemed to count for so little in his life. This made
her unoccupied waiting for Mr. Briggs extremely
irksome, for he was considerably behind time.
The evening had closed in, and the lamp had just
been lit, when the legal adviser and a clerk arrived,
and Madge was then summoned.
“Miss Ardell, I presume?” said the solicitor, an
old-fashioned, polite personage, rising and making
her an elaborate bow.
“Yes, yes. Tell her, Briggs—tell her,” returned
Mr. Ardell.
“The business on which we are met together is a
very simple matter,” resumed Mr. Briggs. “It
is ” Here a loud ring at the door bell made him
pause.
“I can't see anyone. I won't see anyone!” cried
Mr. Ardell, as if exasperated.
No one stirred, and the next moment Mrs. Pin-
nock opened the door, saying, in a loud voice:
“Mr. Brook, sir.”
Madge's heart gave a great throb, and then
seemed to stand still. She flashed one irrepressible
glance at him all aglow with the joy his presence
gave her, and then moved a step back into the
shadow.
“Brook!” cried the old man, rising from his chair.
“The very person I wanted. You shall be my second
witness.”
“I am quite at your service for any purpose,” re-
turned Brook, shaking hands with Madge and then
the lawyer, who greeted him with some empresse-
ment.


The Yellow Fiend 267
“I was just about to explain to Miss Ardell what
she has to do as witness to her grandfather's will.”
“Yes, yes,” exclaimed the old man, with a chuckle.
“It is very simple, and Mr. Brook here, who has
been my good friend, will put his name beside hers
as witness also to my signature.”
He laughed, not a pleasant laugh. Then he took
up his pen, and was about to put his name on the
paper, which the clerk smoothed out and held down
before him.
“One moment, my dear sir,” cried Brook, suavely.
“I may be mistaken, but I do not think Miss Ardell
is of age.”
“Oh! Uml Indeed! May I ask what—how old
you really are?” said Mr. Briggs.
“I was twenty in December,” replied Madge, with
a pretty, faint blush.
“Oh, indeed! Just a year too young. Well, Mr.
Alton,” to his clerk, “we shall have to trouble you
after all.”
“Ha! I forgot about her age,” cried Ardell. “I
thought she was of age.” There was a tone of dis-
appointment in his voice. “However, let us get
through with the business.” And he hastily wrote
his name in wonderfully clear, firm characters, for
so apparently weak a person. Brook followed, and
then the clerk.
“She needn't stay,” said the old man, nodding
towards Madge, who immediately rose and left the
room.
“I am sure, my dear sir,” said the courteous


The Yellow Fiend 269
you I have fought him tooth and nail over every
clause. It is unjust—extremely unjust. But, of
course, a professional secret must be respected.”
“Has it any weak places?” asked Brook, with a
smile.
“I fear not—I greatly fear not. But perhaps
you'll look in at my office. Saturday, about two, is
a good hour. Eh P’’
“I’ll come,” was the brief reply. Then they ex-
changed good-mornings, and Brook shut the door
after them.
Returning to Mr. Ardell with a cheerful face,
Brook at once began to speak about indifferent mat-
ters, and gave him some interesting details respect-
ing a once very prosperous joint stock company, now
gone into liquidation. Also of an expected lawsuit
concerning a large property in the north. The old
man grew interested and gracious, and at the right
moment Brook rose to say good-bye. -
“By the way,” he exclaimed, as if with a sudden
thought, “would you object to Miss Ardell coming
with me to see the pantomime at Drury-lane? It is
something extra fine this year, and will amuse a
young lady who has not much variety.”
“Eh P What is it? Oh, the theatre again! It is
nothing to me; you understand my ideas pretty well,
so do as you like.”
“Exactly,” returned Brook, with emphasis.
“Well, may I see Miss Ardell and ask what evening
she is disengaged?”
“Yes, yes; ring the bell. But she is never en-
gaged. How could she be? She has no friends.”


The Yellow Fiend 271
erally grave and thoughful, she had a keen sense of
humour, which added considerably to the piquancy
and charm of her personality.
Brook was genuinely sorry when the evening was
over, and tried to make Madge confess she was
equally sorry to part. This she did with a frankness
which neutralised the flattery and was really the
most subtle coquetry.
“It would be strange indeed if I did not regret
saying good-night to so kind and agreeable a com-
panion as yourself, to return to such a gloomy
dungeon as my grandfather's house. I do wish he
would leave you all his money, if he has a great
deal.”
“Don’t you want some yourself, you strange little
philosopher?”
“Artists don't want much. I do not care for fine
houses, or clothes, or anything that costs much. I
daresay you would give me something to go on with
till I made enough for myself, though that might
not be for a very long time.”
“I wish I dare tell you all I should like to give
you,” murmured Brook, pressing her arm against
him (they were leaving the theatre), and feeling the
slight tremor she could not suppress, which shivered
through her at his words and the warmth with which
they were uttered. -
He was silent nearly all the way back to Osborne-
place and they parted with a promise to meet again
SOOn.
It was more than a week before Waring settled
down to his picture, as the model he had engaged


272 The Yellow Fiend
chose to have a bad cold. Then the weather was
dark and foggy. But they got to work at last, and
Madge was not a little disappointed with her own
attempts. Dick Waring was infinitely patient and
encouraging.
“Perseverance is the largest ingredient in suc-
cess,” he said. “Just go on. “Try, try, try again,’ as
the nursery rhyme says.”
“Then I waste such heaps of paint,” moaned
Madge. “Now that I have made some money by
illustrating, I should like to buy my own paints.”
“Come, come, Miss Ardell ! You must not be
querulous and ungracious. Your grandfather is
rather crotchety, I believe. Do you think I might call
on him and ask him to come here and see the prog-
ress you are making? Then he might be persuaded
to give you an allowance for the etceteras of your
art.”
“It is quite out of the question, I am sorry to say.
He never sees anyone except his lawyer and his
great, his only friend, Mr. Brook.”
“What! The man who took you to Hatfield?”
“Yes. My grandfather is very strange. He has
a curious strain of ill-nature in him. I could not
help laughing one day some little time back,” and
Madge went on to describe the scene when Mr.
Ardell signed his will, adding:
“As I am his only relation, and Mr. Brook his
only friend, he evidently wished to put an end at
once to any absurd hopes we might have built upon
his will. He looked quite disappointed when he


274 The Yellow Fiend
also are free, for your grandfather has practically
disowned you. Come to me, and your life shall be as
happy and tranquil as the hearty affection of one de-
voted to you can make it.”
A moment of dead silence followed Waring's
startling avowal, while Madge grew white, and then
flushed to the roots of her hair.
“Speak to me!” he urged.
“I am the most unlucky girl in the world,” she
broke out. “I like you so much. I think you have so
fine a nature. I am so grateful to you, yet I cannot
marry you.”
“Why? Have you promised yourself to another?”
“No. But I cannot love you as you ought to be
loved, as your wife ought to love you.”
“Can I not try to win you?”
“It would only give you pain and trouble.”
“Tell me,” asked Waring, very gravely, “have you
pledged yourself to this friend of your grandfather's
—Brook?”
“No, oh, no, indeed!”
“What is it, then, that keeps you from me?”
Madge was silent, and seemed to think deeply for
a few seconds. Then she spoke with some hesitation.
“I was more than nineteen when I came to my
grandfather's house, and I had not lived in a con-
vent. Do you think that Mr. Brook and yourself
are the only two men I have ever met?”
“No, certainly not. I will question you no more;
I have no right. Do not imagine I flattered myself
that you gave me a serious thought, but I did hope
with all my soul that I might have a chance.”


The Yellow Fiend 279
Parting for a while was a relief to both; but
Madge felt she could not now use his rooms with
the unembarrassed frankness which made them so
great a resource.
The difficulty, however, was solved for her in
rather an unpleasant manner.
A day or two after Waring had left town, Madge
received a few lines from Brook, asking for tidings
of her, and expressing his annoyance at having been
hurried away without seeing her.
“This time,” he wrote, “it was the severe illness
of one in whom I am deeply interested which car-
ried me off so suddenly. I will tell you more when
we meet.”
“He can be very sympathetic,” mused Madge, as
she read this communication. “I wonder when he
will come back. I had better write a line at once,
for my head aches, and I feel as if I were going to
have a horrid cold. Then, as I must go out for
Pinny this afternoon, I can post it myself.”
It was a miserably wet day, raw, cold, and blow-
ing in gusts. Madge, having written a brief reply to
Brook, wrapped herself up to the best of her ability
and sallied forth. Before she had accomplished the
round of household shopping which Mrs. Pinnock's
commissions entailed, she felt that her boots must be
more defective than she was aware of. Her feet
were so cold and sloppy.
She passed a feverish, restless night, and, though
she rose the next morning, Mrs. Pinnock sent her to
bed before the day was over; and, to her surprise,
Madge found herself quite willing to go. An attack


28o The Yellow Fiend
of something like influenza ensued, which lingered
long, and reduced the patient considerably.
Wonderful to relate, at the remonstrance of Mr.
Briggs, who seemed miraculously informed of her
illness, her grandfather had immediately agreed to
Mrs. Pinnock's suggestion that a doctor should be
sent for.
“I don't want her to die in the house,” muttered
the old man. “No, I have had but one death in my
house, and that was worse than a hundred. It was
the yellow fiend's biggest triumph! If he succeeds
this time, he'll get the better of me in everything
else. She may be the victim, as well as the agent. I
wish I knew—I wish I knew if she is for or against
him.”
“Poor lamb] She only wishes well to you, sir!”
“Evil to me would do her no good, anyway. Try
and get her well soon. I like her to read the papers
to me. Yes, I like it.”


The Yellow Fiend 283
studio, where we were all much interested in her, I
ventured to call and ask the reason. I consider your
granddaughter a most promising pupil, and I am
sorry her studies should be interrupted.”
Mr. Ardell resumed his seat, and Dick Waring
drew a chair forward.
“Ah!” said the old man, taking off his spectacles
and playing with them, drawing them through his
fingers, opening and shutting them. “First of all,”
he returned, in a thin, weak, but well-bred voice, “I
never placed my granddaughter at your academy, or
whatever it may be; therefore, you have no claim
whatever on me for remuneration, or money ex-
pended, or anything else. You are aware of this, I
hope?”
“Certainly; quite aware of it. You see, my niece
was then working with me, and I thought it a pity
that Miss Ardell should not share her studies,
especially as your granddaughter had ability and
diligence. So she was quite welcome to any help I
could give her. In a year or two I believe she will
be able to stand alone and make her living without
troubling anyone.”
“Humph! Then she ought to refund what she
has cost me. She was thrown upon me when left
homeless and unprovided for, and it is now nearly
a year since I have given her board and lodging, and
all I have ever received from her was ten shillings.
All, upon my word!”
“I am sure Miss Ardell would gladly repay what
she has cost you, and no doubt will as she gets on.


284. The Yellow Fiend
But expenditure on her account must have been very
small?”
“Money had to be expended, nevertheless. And
what can a painter make?”
“Uncommonly little for many a day, as I know.
Then suddenly some day he strikes oil and makes
his pile.”
“Has that been your case, eh?”
“Well, yes. I have known some very hard times.
Now, without any special merit on my part, I get
good prices and more work than I can well do, while
I am half-ashamed to think how many better artists
than myself can scarcely gain bread enough.”
“Indeed! Then,” lowering his voice, “the yellow
fiend favours you, that is evident. There is nothing
so unjust, so intermittent as the yellow fiend.”
“Oh! I am not sure I caught the name. At any
rate, I do not understand the allusion.”
“Probably—probably. Very few people have
learnt the real explanation of luck and ill luck. The
yellow fiend is the spirit that governs or permeates
gold, or emanates from it. And everyone above a
pauper has to battle with it!”
“A curious and interesting theory,” said Waring,
looking keenly at him. “I fear Miss Ardell has had
rather a sharp attack of cold or influenza, but I hope
-she has a good doctor, and all possible care? She
may be a valuable ally in your battle—”
“My battle is nearly done,” returned the old man,
in a dreamy, distant tone. “I have now only to
secure the fruits of it. That is nearly done, too-
very nearly.” He was silent for a few instants.


286 The Yellow Fiend
words with you, to hear your voice? Send me a line
as soon as you can write without fatigue.”
Need it be said that Brook was not let wait long
for a reply.
The days were lengthening, and spring was mak-
ing its breath felt, sometimes genially, sometimes
with a touch of youthful bitterness, when Madge
was able to resume her reading to Mr. Ardell. And
it was under his curiously indifferent eyes that she
first interchanged her greeting with Brook, after a
separation of unusual length.
“I am glad to see Miss Ardell looking more like
herself,” said Brook. “But she will not recover
strength till she has some change and country air. I
wish you would commission me to look out quar-
ters for her. I think I know some that would suit,
and inexpensive ones into the bargain.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind!” cried the old
man, with vehemence. “Do you think I shall waste
the trifle I have saved on such follies when I want
every fraction I possess to combat my deadly foe?”
“Still ” began Brook.
“No, no. She can walk about the square. It is
good enough air for me and for everyone.”
“Then I shall say good-morning, since I cannot
move you,” returned Brook, with an amiable smile,
looking earnestly at Madge; and he succeeded in his
design of silently asking her to come out and speak
to him.
As he moved towards the door Madge rose, as she
had often done before, to open it, when, to her sur-


The Yellow Fiend 287
prise and dismay, her grandfather cried in a loud,
shrill tone:
“Stop!”
Brook paused and faced about.
“Stay where you are l’ continued the old man.
“You shall not go out of this room to plot against
me.”
Madge and Brook glanced at each other, and the
latter exclaimed, in a light tone:
“Ah, Mr. Ardell, you are as penetrating as ever.
Only this time you have gone a little bit too far on
the other side and missed the point.”
“There's many a true word spoken in jest. Come
and see me again soon. I like you, though I do not
trust you.”
“What a valediction l’’ exclaimed Brook. “For-
give me if I refuse to believe you. If you distrusted
me you could not like me. So, till you absolutely
forbid me the entrée of your house I shall have the
pleasure of paying my respects to you.” He bowed
and left the room.
There was profound silence for some minutes.
The evening had closed in, and the street lamps, in-
creasing in brilliancy as their surroundings grew
darker, shone into the dim chamber.
“Are you going to read to me?” asked Mr. Ardell,
impatiently.
“Yes, certainly,” returned Madge. “I will get a
light and close the shutters.”
She remembered seeing a half-consumed candle
and a box of matches on the sacred bureau in her
grandfather's bedroom, and, being anxious to divert


288 The Yellow Fiend
his thoughts to something less personal than the
irritable suspicion he had betrayed, she groped her
way into the next room.
It had not the advantage of light from the street,
and as she neared the bureau she stumbled against
a chair, making an amount of noise which surprised
her. The next moment she felt the matches in her
hand and struck a light. As she did so an inde-
finable sound, like a stealthy step, caught her ear.
Setting a light to the candle, she turned, and be-
held her grandfather standing in the doorway, his
hand on the lock, his wild, deep-set eyes flaring with
an unaccountable fury of indignation.
“Fool, fool, fool!” he cried, in a voice hoarse with
anger and contempt. “Did you think to trick me like
that! You shall never make a second attempt, never
—never! Serpent! Scorpion! Slave of the fiend!
I know you now!”
With supernatural activity he darted across the
room and seized her by the throat, his long, claw-
like nails digging into her soft white skin. Madge
struggled bravely.
“You are mistaken. I meant no wrong.”
But the impetus of his onset was more than she
could resist. She tottered and fell, the enraged
madman above, his grasp tightening on her slender
throat.
With a desperate effort she dragged his claws for
an instant from her throat and called for help. Then
the greedy fingers closed again upon her and she
knew no more.


292 The Yellow Fiend
“Well, sir, I can't help thinking he is pretty bad,
and I fancy so does the doctor. Of course, Miss
Ardell did not like to put it on paper, but—” And
she plunged into a brief and not exaggerated ac-
count of the old man's attack on his granddaughter.
Mr. Briggs listened with deep attention, his face
growing graver and more concerned.
“Well, yes, this is very serious indeed. How is
the poor young lady this morning? Have you let
Mr. Brook know. He has more influence with Mr.
Ardell than anyone else.”
“I am not sure, but I do not think Miss Ardell
has written to him, sir. Would you like to see Miss
Margaret?”
“No time just now, Mrs. Pinnock. I want to try
and see the doctor. He is close by, you say?”
“First turning to the left, No. 29,” returned Mrs.
Pinnock, succinctly.
“I’ll look in to-morrow on the way to my office.
I’m awfully busy, but this is a rather critical time
for our friend here and his granddaughter; also for
you and everyone. I must see Mr. Brook. A clever,
capable man and a very rising one. Extremely so.
He will be at the top of the tree before long.” So
saying the lawyer hurried away
This conversation was duly reported to Madge,
including Mr. Briggs's avowed intention of inform-
ing Brook, which added restless expectation to the
already disturbed state of Madge's nerves.
The doctor and Mr. Briggs arrived next day
almost together. But Mr. Ardell had rallied sur-
prisingly. He had insisted on rising and very nearly


The Yellow Fiend 293
dressed himself without assistance. However, he
allowed Mrs. Pinnock to persuade him to stay in
his bedroom, and, to her great surprise, he asked
for his granddaughter, adding that he could not
manage to read the papers himself.
“And if she does, sir, you mustn't use her bad,”
said Mrs. Pinnock, determined to ascertain if he re-
membered his own violence. “You half-killed her
the night before last.”
“That's a lie!” cried the old man, fiercely. “I
never touched her. But listen!” and he lowered his
voice nearly to a whisper. “Don’t tell Briggs. The
fiend is getting bolder, much bolder. As the Scrip-
tures say, he enters into Madge and makes her do
strange things. She isn't bad herself, no, she isn't.
It was the fiend I punished the other night, and had
I killed him, she would have been none the worse—
none.”
Mrs. Pinnock kept silence, but the danger of this
hallucination for Madge struck her with sudden
terror. The girl herself shewed great reluctance to
approach her grandfather, but Mr. Ardell made no
sign. Indeed, he seemed unusually placid and mild.
Madge was beginning to shew signs of fatigue,
when the door-bell gave token of a visitor.
“I must run away. Mr. Briggs (I suppose it is
Mr. Briggs) will not want me,” exclaimed Madge,
and she escaped to the renovated drawing-room.
It was Mr. Briggs, and also the doctor, who con-
sulted together before proceeding to visit the invalid.
The doctor, having announced his opinion—not a


2.94. The Yellow Fiend
favourable one—went on his way. As he went out
Brook entered and met Mrs. Pinnock.
“I’ll tell Mr. Briggs you are here,” she said, with
a friendly smile. And she opened the dining-room
door.
“I should like to see Mr. Briggs alone, if possi-
ble,” said Brook, rapidly, in a low tone. “But tell
me, how is Mr. Ardell ?”
Before Mrs. Pinnock could finish her report, Mr.
Briggs came from the next room.
“Very glad to see you,” he exclaimed. “Our poor
friend is, I fear, rather in a bad way,” said Briggs,
closing the door as Mrs. Pinnock retreated. “It
seems he made a really murderous attack on Miss
Ardell, and now he appears to forget all about it
and is comparatively quite himself. The doctor,
however, does not advise his seeing you. Evidently
he has some curious doubts about you.”
“I certainly will not intrude myself upon him.
But how does this sudden outbreak affect his will?”
“Not at all, I expect. You see, he appeared per-
fectly sane when he signed it, and for a considerable
time after. As I have told you, it is exceedingly
unjust and eccentric. Still, it would be very diffi-
cult to upset it. Nevertheless, I might, as executor,
be able to give Miss Ardell some help; but we must
not anticipate. The old gentleman may live several
years. But if—if he has another such outbreak,
why we must have legal as well as medical advice.”
Having escorted him to the door, Brook returned
and rang for Mrs. Pinnock.


296 The Yellow Fiend
on her throat, kissed them again and again with
passionate tenderness. Startled, amazed by this
unexpected outbreak, Madge attempted in vain to
draw back.
“To think that you were helpless and alone in the
hands of a madman, my darling, my beloved!” he
exclaimed. “It sets my blood on fire! Why do you
shrink from me? You know I love you. You must
have known the desperate struggle it has been to
keep up the thinnest disguise of friendship. Madge,
you do feel for me—with me? O God, how deeply,
how passionately I love you!”
“Ah! How sweet it is to be loved l’” she whis-
pered very low, as she yielded to the tenderness of
his embrace, and gave her soft, tremulous lips to
his kisses.
“You must leave this accursed house, my sweet
one! The strain is too much for you, although
this is not the time to declare an engagement. Give
me the right to advise—to direct your life.”
“No,” said Madge, rallying her strength and
spirit. “I may love you very much, but I shall never
give away my free will.” And she looked up in his
face with the smile, half-tender, half-defiant, which
he always felt to be so fascinating.
“Do what you like—be what you like—only love
me.”
“Let us be calm,” returned Madge, with a deep
sigh. “Why have you let yourself go in this way?"
“Rather, how have I been able to hold the reins
so long !” he exclaimed, releasing her. “You took
possession of me almost from the first hour we met.”


The Yellow Fiend 299
to consult you as to how we can manage to get Miss
Ardell away from this house—from London—for a
complete change. She is frightfully run down, and
the shock she has sustained is enough 33
“Yes, indeed, sir!” interrupted Mrs. Pinnock,
eagerly. “Enough to be the death of her! I have
said so from the first. She must go away if she is
ever to get up her strength. But what to do, I
cannot tell. I could have paid for three or four
weeks myself—for I don't deny that I have saved a
bit—but Miss Margaret would not hear of me pay-
ing for her, as you may be sure I should be pleased
to l’”
“I have some money of my own,” said Madge,
the colour rising in her cheeks at Brook's unexpected
announcement.
“Miss Ardell need not trouble herself on that
score. I shall speak to Mr. Briggs, who, as her
grandfather's agent and legal adviser, is able to do
what is needful. He will see that Mr. Ardell must
provide the necessary funds. The chief point is to
find some suitable abode for Miss Ardell during her
convalescence. Do you know anywhere you can
recommend?”
“Bless your heart, sir, I have been shut up here
so long, I know nothing, and nobody! But I'll ask
the doctor—Dr. Fenton—he is a nice, homely, sen-
sible man, and greatly taken up with Miss Mar-
garet. He'll be sure to know someone fit to look
after her.” -
“Thank you, Mrs. Pinnock, thank you heartily ſ”
said Brook, shaking hands with her. .


3oo The Yellow Fiend
With her handkerchief to her eyes, Mrs. Pinnock
left the room, and Brook went back to Madge's
side.
“Why did you tell her?” she asked, for she had
been a good deal surprised by his doing so.
“Because I thought it better for you.”
“But if an engagement is not to be completely
open and avowed it had better be kept profoundly
secret.”
“Yes, in a general way. But we (I may say we,
dearest) are rather peculiarly situated. We must
keep your grandfather calm, or we must confess his
insanity, and put him under restraint. I do not
think the poor old man can have more than a few
months of life, and it would be cruel to uproot him.
You do not care for wealth, Madge; and I only
want yourself. My own future promises fairly.”
“I do not know what ambition means, but I think
I could be ambitious for you,” said Madge, dream-
ily. “I should like to bring you wealth, but if you
do not care about it, neither do I.”
“Then, my sweet, you promise to be my wife—so
soon as matters can be arranged?”
“Yes, if you still wish it when the time comes.”
“Madge! Why, Madge, what a persistent
doubter you are l’”
“Perhaps it is because I have a dash of incon-
stancy in my own nature!”
“Take care, my darling! I can love passionately
—aye, and tenderly, too—but I could punish cruel-
ly. And as no woman ever struck so deeply into


The Yellow Fiend 301
my soul as you have, so should I revenge myself
devilishly if you were false.”
“I am a coward in some ways,” she said, in a
meditative tone, “but I don't think you would find it
easy to frighten me.”
Brook laughed. “My time is up: I must tear my-
self away, little witch! Is it not droll to end our
first interview as acknowledged lovers with mutual
threats?” He rose. “We part in peace, though,
Madge. My Madge, bid me a loving good-bye.”
She stood up as he held out his arms, hesitated
an instant, growing very white. Then she threw
herself into them, clinging close to him.
“Oh, my dear, my dear, I may be cross and slow
to confess, but I do love you! Love me, and I don't
care what comes.”
“What heaven the love of a real live woman like
you is l One more kiss. Another! Till to-morrow,
then »


The Yellow Fiend 3o4
“At his age and in his weakly condition cure is
hopeless. Soothing and quiet are the only means
we can try,” was the great man's dictum.
This brief interlude in Madge's life was the best
and brightest experience she had ever known. Her
heart's sunshine pervaded every corner of her ex-
istence, in spite of her deep but disregarded con-
viction that nothing so heavenly sweet could last.
For the time being she forgot her grandfather, her
rather hopeless outlook, her own deficiencies, and
revelled in the joy of being beloved—small and poor
and plain as she was—by a strong, capable, ambi-
tious man, who thought it well worth his while to
run down to her commonplace suburban abode every
moment he could spare in order to spend an hour or
two with her.
Miss Medlicott's was a very commonplace, sub-
urban house, but exceedingly well kept and comfort-
able. Madge soon made her two little rooms pretty,
and of flowers Brook took care she should have
abundance. There were pretty walks all round, and
Madge quickly learned her way about. Nor did she
hesitate to go alone. Loneliness was always accept-
able. In fact, unless Brook was her companion, she
preferred it; for had she not a troop of glorious and
delicious thoughts to bear her company?
But Brook was not her only visitor. As soon as
she had recovered from the fatigue of moving to
Laburnam Lodge she sent Dick Waring a little note,
telling him how ill she had been in consequence of
shock, but that she could not write about it now and
must wait till she saw him to tell him.


The Yellow Fiend 3o 5
“Indeed!” he exclaimed. “I assure you your
name is a household word at Osborne-place. As
representing Mr. Ardell, in a measure, let me thank
you heartily for all the kind assistance you have
given this young lady.”
Waring bowed and smiled, while he thought:
“A deucedly smooth-tongued fellow, and deuced-
ly good-looking, too!” “Oh, I was giving myself
pleasure,” he said, aloud. “If you knew what a
relief it is to any artist who pretends to teach, when
he finds ability and serious purpose in a pupil, espe-
cially a young lady pupil, you would not think I con-
ferred any obligation.”
Then their talk took the beaten track—inquiries
as to the invalid's health, the condition of Mr. Ar-
dell, the length of Miss Ardell's leave of absence,
the weather, etcetera. -
At last (a very long last, Brook thought), War-
ing took leave, Brook accompanying him politely to
the gate.
“How—where did that—did Mr. Waring get
your address?” asked Brook, rather grimly, when
he returned to the sitting-room, and stood on the
hearth-rug gazing at Madge as she arranged and
put away her drawings.
“From me.”
“Why did you give it to him?”
“You would not have me leave so good a friend
ignorant of my whereabouts? It would be ungrate-
ful and unwise.”
“Perhaps,” said Brook, relaxing. “But it will be
a nuisance having him here every day.”


306 The Yellow Fiend
“He is too busy to be here every day. And I
want you to know him and be friends with him.”
“I will try if you like. But I am afraid I am
rather disposed to be jealous.”
“I am sorry for that. It will make us both uncom-
fortable. Still, I suspect I am inclined to be jealous
myself. I don't think I should like the idea of your
paying long, confidential visits to any other woman.
And, somehow, I do not fancy you are very con-
stant.”
“Why? What reason have you for entertaining
so unjust an idea?”
“Oh, I never have any reasons. I have what is
much more unerring—instinct.”
“What a terrible little witch you are " he ex-
claimed, laughing. “Instinct, if not unerring, is, at
all events, impregnable, for it presents no salient
points of attack. Who can assault the indefinable?”
“That's true,” and placing her drawings in their
portfolio Madge came over to the fireplace. “You
have brought me a newspaper,” she said, taking up
one he had put on the mantelpiece in a neat roll.
“Newspapers do not interest you much?”
“Not much. I like to read about picture galleries,
and exhibitions, and new plays and modes. But I
do not understand much of the other things.”
“Well, I want you to read something extra dull,
a speech about money and mines, and—”
“Ah, that would be too much for me,” she inter-
rupted.
“I hope you will not disdain to read it, for I was
the speaker.”
“What, you? Ah, that is quite different. Of


The Yellow Fiend 307
course I will read it. I should like to hear you
speak. Your voice would do very well, and a voice
must go a long way. Do tell me what it was about,
it will be a help.”
“Very well,” taking her hand caressingly. “Some
foolish people in the city have been getting up a
company. I suppose you know what a company
means?” -
“The word is familiar enough. It's a sort of thing
people always lose their money by.”
Brook laughed. “A tolerably just epitome of the
matter,” he said. “You must know that my partner,
or rather principal, Mr. Joyce, was induced to buy
shares, and I am certain he will lose his money. He
is a curious, shy sort of fellow. Therefore, when
a meeting of shareholders was called I went and
made this speech, advising them to dissolve partner-
ship and return the money subscribed, or as much
as they could.”
“Very well. I’ll give it my best attention,” said
Madge, solemnly.
“The matter is not really of so much importance,
but you see, my darling, I want to make speeches
as often as I can and keep myself before the eyes
of my fellow-citizens as much as possible, in order
to become known. My knowledge of international
trade entitles me to speak. I am no impostor.”
“Oh, I shall read it with all my wits. I am sure
you are twice as keen and penetrating as all those
City money-grubbers.”
“I am a money-grubber, too,” said Brook. “Only
money is with me the means to an end—with most
money itself is the end.”


CHAPTER XXIX.
“WELL, it is a blessing to have you back!” ex-
claimed Mrs. Pinnock, as she sat watching Madge
unpack her things and thrust them away in her
wardrobe. “Oh, my dear, would you mind folding
up your underlinen a bit smoother? They don't
look even clean when they are all crumpledy.”
“I am neater than I used to be, Pinny—thanks to
you.”
“And I declare you look a new creature, with
just a trifle of colour in your cheeks land your
eyes! Ah, they may well light up, seeing, as they
do, the end of your troubles! I'm sure I little
thought, when you used to sit here too broken-
hearted to sort out your clothes, or swallow a mouth-
ful of food, that before a twelvemonth was well
over, you'd be engaged to such a fine, handsome
gentleman—and rich into the bargain! Oh, yes, I
am quite sure he is. Do you believe the poor old
master would think such a deal of him if he hadn't
a tidy sum of money to his name?”
“And do you think my grandfather is really bet-
ter? Calmer and safer now P”
“Yes, that I do! He only flew out once, that was
when he was giving me the monthly money. He
asked yesterday if you were ever coming back to
read.”
Such was Mrs. Pinnock's greeting to her dear
Miss Margaret.


The Yellow Fiend 317
Pinnock, “after cross-examining us all and the
doctor and Tom (who was that useful, I can't tell
you), if Mr. Briggs, who is a grand sort of gentle-
man, didn't go on his knees and poke about the
hearth, picking up every morsel of paper, even half-
burnt pieces. Then he asked Miss Margaret for a
large envelope, and put every bit into it, and that in-
side his breast pocket.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated Brook.
“Yes, that he did, sir! Then he said he would let
you know, for it was important you should. When
he came just now (he has only just gone), he shook
his head over the poor master, and said he had writ-
ten to you, but you were not in London at present,
so—but there's Miss Margaret: I hear her step in the
hall. What a comfort it will be for her to find you
here !”
The next moment Margaret entered. Mrs. Pin-
nock did not return, and Brook went towards her
with outstretched arms.
Madge threw herself into them, and clung to him,
trembling but not tearful.
“Is it not dreadful that the poor old man should
suffer in this way? But, in spite of the pain, he
seems more composed and content than I ever knew
him before. I do not fear him now. How thankful
I am you have come! You will stay for a while
now P”
“Nothing shall force me from you, light of my
eyes! until I see you through this time of trouble.”
And, for some precious moments, the joy of reunion


318 The Yellow Fiend
wrapped them in forgetfulness of all, save each
other.
x >k x × >k >k x
When at last Brook reached his office, a note from
Mr. Briggs awaited him.
“I have just heard of your return. Pray call here early
to-morrow. I am anxious to consult with you. Our poor
old friend, Mr. Ardell, has had a bad accident.
“Yours faithfully,
“ROBERT BRIGGS.”
It was barely noon when Brook's card was
brought to the head of the firm in Lincoln's Inn
Fields. He was at once admitted.
“Very much obliged to you for coming at once.
You are, I suppose, the only man, save myself, who
knows anything of poor Ardell's private life. He
was frank enough with me about his affairs, but I
never gathered anything from him about his family
matters, till that lady wrote from Paris, begging help
for his granddaughter. Then I had a great tussle to
get him to do anything for her. I do not know now
how I succeeded! I must have unknowingly touched
some spring, some superstition (for he had some
very curious crotchets). So at last he agreed to give
her the run of his house—she must have had a bad
time of it! What I wanted to speak to you about is
this: You know he made a new will some months
ago—a very unjust one, to my mind. When he met
with this accident—you have been to the house and
heard all about it?”
“I have, and seen Mr. Ardell,” returned Brook.


The Yellow Fiend 319
“What papers do you suppose he was destroy-
ing?”
“I have no idea,” said Brook.
“This identical will !” Briggs unlocked a drawer
in his knee-hole table and took out an envelope from
which he drew and unfolded a sheet of paper,
whereon were pasted a number of torn scraps of pa-
per, some blackened by fire till nearly illegible: some
clear, and unmistakably written by a clerk, or scriv-
ener, but, for all purposes of a testamentary nature,
effectually destroyed. There was no trace in any of
the fragments of Ardell's signature!”
“This is very extraordinary !” said Brook, ex-
amining it carefully.
“It is. And if the old man does not rally in a
wonderful way—which is not likely—your young
friend, Miss Ardell, is heir to all her grandfather's
accumulations.”
“Which are considerable, I presume?” said
Brook.
“Very considerable. Of course, if he dies in-
testate, all his elaborate precautions, all the ma-
chinery of executors, etcetera, are swept away, and
Miss Ardell has sole and complete possession of
everything—a trying position for so young a girl.
I earnestly hope she may fall into good hands.”
“If I have any say in the matter, I should advise
her to place herself in yours,” said Brook.
“Advice which I should reciprocate, my dear sir!
I sincerely believe the best thing the young lady
could do would be to commit herself to your guid-
ance for life.”


CHAPTER XXX.
LITTLE dreaming of the great change which pos-
sibly awaited her, Margaret Ardell did her very best
to assist Mrs. Pinnock in her nursing, and to lighten
her load. The facility with which everything the
old man could require was provided stirred her to
wonder where the money came from. Mrs. Pinnock
was perfectly splendid in her orders, and even
begged “Miss Margaret” to buy a new summer
dress and hat, which she steadily declined to do.
Her grandfather meanwhile remained in a curious
semi-conscious state, and though after some time his
intellect seemed to grow clearer, his bodily weakness
was great. He was extremely reluctant to make the
smallest exertion, and sometimes he was very
irritable, especially if he imagined he was kept wait-
ing for his food, but in general he was absolutely
placid.
He liked Madge to read the paper to him in the
late afternoon, but he almost always fell asleep dur-
ing the reading. The doctor said that, considering
the great care taken of him, he might linger some
months, but he could hardly recover strength enough
to be himself again.
Things, therefore, settled down into a natural
routine, and Madge even went to work again at the
studio, which Waring had begged her to use, at all
events while he was out of town.
Brook rarely omitted to call some time every day,


322 The Yellow Fiend
and Mr. Ardell always looked pleased to see him.
Occasionally he took Madge for short excursions
into the country, which were indeed refreshing, but
he could not conceal from her the gravity and pre-
occupation of his mood.
“You are not unhappy, Cecil?” she asked, as they
drove back one evening from the station after a de-
lightful ramble in Richmond Park.
“No, by no means, but I confess to feeling anxious.
The next two or three months are full of difficulties
for me, which require most judicious handling.
Your grandfather's condition is very precarious, and
if he goes off suddenly, I should like to have some
plan arranged for you.”
“Oh, I might go to Paris and get something to do.
You are often there, so I could see you.”
“I shall soon cease to go there, for I hope to be
more steady to London. There are changes before
us both, sweetheart.”
It was now near the end of July. Town was
empty: the weather thunderous, with heavy showers
and oppressive heat. And still Brook was steady to
his office and his friends. Madge remarked that he
had rarely stayed for so long a spell unbrokenly in
London.
A sort of hushed tranquillity seemed to have
settled down over the small household in Osborne-
place. Madge felt they were waiting for the end,
and was almost surprised at the tenderness and pity
which melted her heart when she thought of the
barren, isolated existence her grandfather had en-
dured.


The Yellow Fiend 323
It had been a day of overpowering heat, and
throughout it Mr. Ardell was greedy for iced water.
Yet his pulse was fairly good and his voice no
weaker than usual. His face had lost its eager, half-
fierce look, and shewed a faded reflection of the good
looks he once possessed.
Brook called in the evening about sunset, and did
not ask to see his old friend as it was so late. But
Mr. Ardell heard his voice and sent Mrs. Pinnock
to call him in.
“How do you feel this evening, sir?” asked Brook,
kindly.
“I am well, exceedingly well,” returned the old
man. “I have no pain and I am at rest. It seems to
me there is nothing going on, and that everyone is
at rest. Sit down, Brook.”
A long silence ensued. -
“Where—where is the paper?” asked Mr. Ardell,
moving his hands restlessly to and fro on the coun-
terpane.
“Shall I ask your granddaughter to read to you?”
“No, no, you can. It’s about that Hungarian
silver mine.”
“Oh, it is some days since the prospectus was in
the papers.”
“No matter. Have nothing to do with it, Brook.
Mines are bad, very bad. No one ever knows what
is under the ground. Don't touch it, Brook; no, not
with your little finger.”
“Very well, Mr. Ardell. I will be guided by your
advice.”
“You will not regret it, no, you will not regret it.”


3.24. The Yellow Fiend
He relapsed into silence, and thinking the old man
had fallen asleep, Brook kept quiet not to disturb
him. Suddenly he exclaimed, in a stronger voice:
“It was strange, wasn't it? Very strange!”
“What was strange, Mr. Ardell?” asked Brook,
softly.
“That she never came to me before—my poor
suffering wife. I have prayed and prayed—the only
thing I ever prayed for—that God would let me see
her once, if it were only once, with the brightness of
Heaven on her face, and let me see that the sorrow
and suffering I could not help were lifted off her.
But she never came—”
“Never?” murmured Brook.
“Except that one night when she was too strong
for him—the yellow fiend! She told me not to fear
and not to trouble. And the fiend tried to tear the
paper from me, but I succeeded. I gave it to her,
and then the fiend grasped me by the shoulder, and
you see—you see how deadly he can be. After that
he fled away.”
“Then he will trouble you no more?” said Brook,
greatly touched by the pitiful confession of the old
man's weary brain, the merciful vision given to, or
imagined, by him at last.
“No more,” echoed the failing voice, “no more.”
The last utterance was almost inaudible. He
turned his head on the pillow, heaved a deep sigh,
and seemed to fall into a profound sleep.
Brook stole quietly away and sought Mrs. Pin-
nock, who usually passed the night in an armchair
in the old man's room, and had been waiting to pre-
pare for her vigil.


The Yellow Fiend 325
At dawn next morning Madge crept into the sick-
room, feeling anxious to know how the night had
passed and to relieve Mrs. Pinnock.
“Just the same,” whispered the housekeeper, in
answer to her questioning look. “I’ve never heard
him breathe almost since he settled down between
eleven and twelve.” -
“He must want some nourishment,” said Madge,
going softly across the room to look at her grand-
father. “He looks better. His face looks wonder-
fully peaceful, but” touching the hand which lay
on the quilt, “he is terribly cold.”
Mrs. Pinnock came quickly across the room.
“God bless us! He hasn't passed away, surely?
Run downstairs, my dear. Wake up Susan” (a
resident assistant) “and ask her to run for Dr. Fen-
ton. Say he must come at once. Mr. Ardell is
dying !”
Margaret flew to obey.
It was all in vain. The quiet of the room, the
warmth of the night after a hard day's work, had
soothed the faithful housekeeper into sleep, and the
poor old miser had died as he had lived—alone.
>k >k >k >k >k >k >k
“You need not blame yourself in any way,” said
the doctor to Mrs. Pinnock, who wept rare tears at
the idea of having slept on while her master was
dying within a few yards of her. “You could have
done no good. I am sure your patient passed peace-
fully away in his sleep. You could not wish him a
more painless end.”
Then Mrs. Pinnock persuaded Madge to lie down


The Yellow Fiend 327
make so momentous a decision. Shall I ask her to
come and speak to you, and leave you together?”
“Pray do so.”
“Briggs wants to have a business talk with you,
Madge,” said Brook, when he had found her busy
with some needlework for Mrs. Pinnock. “You had
better see him alone, and as I have a lot of people to
see this morning we can talk over his communication
this evening. What a pale little darling you look
in your black garments.”
“Is he going to tell me I must leave the house,
Cecil P”
“No, no, though probably you will. Come along.
Old Briggs doesn't want to waste any time. We'll
try and get out of town for a long day to-morrow if
possible. You look quite worn out.”
Left alone with the lawyer, Madge listened with
astonishment to his wonderful news that she was
sole heiress to her grandfather. But though she did
not doubt the truth, she but faintly realised the im-
mense change it made in her position.
Brook was surprised and pleased at the equanim-
ity with which Madge took her wonderful change of
fortune. -
“You are thoroughly philosophic, my sweetheart,”
he said, smiling. “How is it you can meet such a
transformation with a cool head and steady pulse?
Why, women, and men too, double your age, would
be quivering with excitement at the prospect of a
luxurious life and all the distinction wealth be-
stows.”
“Such a training as I have had does not fit me to
comprehend fully the contrast of my past and pres-


The Yellow Fiend 329
Those fortunate persons, whose pockets are well-
lined, have not much trouble in obtaining what they
desire; and the obliging Mr. Briggs, or rather his
managing clerk, soon procured for the (now) im-
portant Miss Ardell what she wanted, in the shape
of rooms in an old-fashioned house on the edge of
the New Forest.
Here Madge spent nearly two months in what
seemed to her then and ever after, through the
silvery mists of memory, a dream of delight. The
scenery was of the kind which had the greatest
charm for her, and she never wearied of sketching.
Then Brook came to and fro frequently, and taught
her to drive a sturdy little pony in a light pony car-
riage.
How sweet were the moments of meeting and
parting ! For Margaret Ardell was not a caressing
woman; but when especially touched by joy or re-
gret, she did not hesitate to shew all the tenderness
and ardour of her nature. And Brook never left her
without a sense of intoxicating delight in the wealth
of love he felt she bestowed upon him, the tokens of
which were all the more precious for their rarity.
Under such circumstances time flew fast, and
September was in its last days when the weather
broke up and Madge determined to return to town,
as dripping trees and moaning winds made their
forest retreat rather melancholy. Moreover, in a
few days Brook, who was absent, would be again in
town, and there was much to be done in the months
which intervened between the present and Madge's
twenty-first birthday.


33o The Yellow Fiend
Having, with the help of the indefatigable Mr.
Briggs, found a pretty little furnished flat in a con-
venient position, where they soon made themselves
at home, Madge and her “right-hand woman” began
to realise the enormous difference between London
in pennyworths and London in pounds'-worth. In
fact, she was half-frightened at the golden haze of
happiness which enveloped her future, and the ques-
tion: “Can it all be true?” frequently rose up from
out of the conviction that her time of trouble and
darkness was over.
A couple of days after they had established them-
selves she had some letters forwarded by Mr. Briggs,
who sent regularly to Osborne-place to inquire for
any which might be sent there. Enclosed was one
from Constance Grey, telling her friend that she was
in London for a week or two on her way to America,
and begging Madge to call as soon as possible.
The next day was crisp and bright, and she started
early, eager to see her friend once more.
The address was at a somewhat obscure hotel, the
interior of which was better appointed than the out-
side promised.
She was shewn into a well-furnished room,
where she was received by a neat French bonne, with
whom little Kitty was playing, and running in and
out of a bedroom into which it opened. The bonne
explained fluently that her mistress expected
“Mademoiselle,” but had been obliged to go out.
She would return, however, almost immediately.
Would “Mademoiselle” give herself the trouble to
sit down?
Madge did so, well pleased to speak French again,


CHAPTER XXXI.
MADGE strove hard to reason herself into com-
posure as she drove homewards. She had no right
to suspect the lover she loved so well of baseness and
deceit. Many a case of apparently overwhelming
criminality has been cleared up by a few straightfor-
ward words. From Brook's lips alone would she
accept evidence against him. She would wait with
patience till she could speak to him face to face, when
all suspicion and distrust would, no doubt, be swept
away by some simple explanation.
At her new abode she found a note from Brook,
dated Paris that morning, saying he hoped to be with
her early in the afternoon of the following day.
Well, her time of waiting would soon be over, and
they would both probably find food for laughter in
the startling appearance things presented to her un-
enlightened eyes.
Oh, the waiting of that terrible morning! How
cruel it was Never in all her after years did the
sharpness of its impress wear off. She could never
think of it without a shudder.
Mrs. Pinnock intimated that she was going out to
do some shopping at a remote emporium, famed for
its fabulously cheap prices; and Madge was thank-
ful to be alone.
It was not for long. The door-bell sounded, and
the next moment she was in Brook's arms, an extra-
ordinary faintness numbing her veins.


336 The Yellow Fiend
“Speak to me—for God's sake, answer!” cried
Madge, after an agonised moment of profound
silence.
Brook walked away down the length of the room
and back, as if he did not hear, and then paused,
facing her.
“Have you deceived and betrayed that simple, lov-
ing soul?” cried Madge.
“She is my wedded wife, as fast as the laws of
the land can make her,” he replied, in a deep, hoarse
voice. “I cannot tell lies to you, though I may have
acted them.”
Madge lowered her hand from her eyes, and let
it lie on the table limp, helpless, expressive of utter
despair.
A long pause ensued.
“I am too stunned almost to think,” resumed
Brook, collecting himself. “Explain to me how this
extraordinary acquaintance came about. How was
it concealed from me?”
“I have known Constance since I was seven or
eight. She was my friend at school, and after, till
her father took her away to England. Then we
lost sight of each other for some years. Just about
the time I first met you I recognised her in Regent's
Park. I went to see her. She told me all about her
delightful husband: of his wish to keep her out of
sight till he had made a fortune, or done something
or other. She made me promise never to mention
her, or to say I came to see her. I am no gossip;
I kept my promise. I wandered blindly into a de-
licious fool's Paradise. Now all is over.”


The Yellow Fiend 337
“No, Madge, it need not bel. It is not over. You
can do and dare more than most women. Hear me.”
He rapidly sketched his meeting with Constance
in Paris, his admiration and pity for her, enslaved
as she was by a selfish, tyrannical, ill-tempered
father; how he was weak enough to be led away
by her youth and grace and charm from the lines
along which he expected to travel towards wealth
and distinction, the smoothness of which would be
endangered by an imprudent marriage.
The objectionable papa was so obliging as to die
soon after the hasty union, and, finding his wife wax
in his hands, Brook, without any ulterior intention
of suppressing her, grew accustomed to put her
aside, and postpone to a more convenient time the
date of her establishment as his acknowledged
partner.
Then he met Madge. From the first she cast a
spell over him, which he did not attempt to resist. In
truth, the only law which Brook obeyed in some di-
rections was the law of his own will. Slowly but
surely, the possibility of leading a double life, of
banishing his inconvenient wife, grew upon him.
He would take care of her comfort, of the child's
fortunes—but to tear himself from Madge—no,
nothing should come between them.
And she loved him passionately! If–if only he
could persuade her to become his accomplice in the
scheme against Constance, all might yet be well.
“Do not give up such happiness as is within our
reach without a struggle,” he urged, in broken
sentences, his breath coming in quick sobs, and
kneeling beside her in almost abject entreaty. “If


338 The Yellow Fiend
you love me, do not consign me to the agony and
despair of such a separation 1 You do not know
Constance. She is a sweet, simple, slight creature.
Once I am out of her sight, her little girl provided
for, Constance would cease to miss me. You are
too strong and brave to place the degree of value on
ceremonies that weaker women do. We might pass
a heavenly youth together with very little fear of
detection.”
“Do you propose to commit bigamy?” said Madge,
letting him slip his arm round her waist.
“Yes, I do! I am not in a state of mind to care
what I do.” -
“But I am!” she returned. “You are mad to think
of breaking the law.”
“I am incapable of taking a reasonable view of
anything! You have sprung a most terrible mine
upon me. One thing I cannot face: it is parting
with you! It is all your fault; you have laid a spell
upon me.” He rose and paced the room, uttering
unconnected ejaculations.
In spite of her profound sorrow, her anger at
his treachery to his wife, she could not help feeling
pity for the despair depicted in his haggard face.
She loved him so much ! She felt so keenly that his
ardent, profound love for herself was at the root of
his wrong-doing. Then the question pressed itself
upon her: “How should I feel if he deserted me for
someone who had, consciously or unconsciously,
stolen him from me?”
Brook now spoke more calmly.
“Come, Madge, come; let me talk to you. Sit be-
side me.” He drew her to the sofa, and, still hold-


344. The Yellow Fiend
not see much of each other. As soon as I am of age
and gather up the reins of my fortune in my grasp, I
shall leave England for two or three years. And,
Cecil, in this renewed union of yours your wife shall
not go to you undowered. I shall fulfil my grand-
father's intentions—what would have been his in-
tentions had he been sane.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, with indifferent
curiosity.
“You shall know later,” she returned. “Now
leave me, Cecil. Do you understand how great a
trial it is to see you, to hear your voice—oh, my God,
how great!”
She sank into a chair, and covering her eyes with
her handkerchief sobbed bitterly for a few moments,
while Brook paced the room, not daring to approach
her.
But she strove successfully to compose herself.
“Wrong and cruel as you have been I owe you
the brightest hours of my life. This is good-bye. I
will not see you again alone. Write to me when you
have made up your mind to do as I advise and en-
treat. You need only ask me to call on Constance,
appointing the day, and I shall know you are going
to give me what comfort you can.”
“This is good-bye, then?” cried Brook. “Madge,
how can you send me from you? And so coldly!
Oh, my beloved, if I were dying you would give me
a last kiss, and I am dying! Dying to the hopes, the
light, the love of life. Farewell to you—to all !”
Madge threw herself into his arms and gave him
one long, tender, lingering kiss. Then, tearing her-
self from his arms, she fled from the room.


34.8 The Yellow Fiend
“I believe I have that, but I am in the dark about
organising such an expedition. So I have ventured
to trespass on your kindness, which I experienced
so abundantly in former days.”
“You must know that whatever I can do for you
is absolutely at your command 1" said Waring, with
irrepressible ardour.
They then fell into a serious discussion of routes
and stopping places, and finally the cost, which
seemed to Madge extremely high, as Waring
strongly advised her to engage an experienced
travelling manservant, or courier, who would save
her much trouble and perhaps expense. Then he
promised to make a rough estimate of expenses, and
meet Mr. Briggs the day but one following to hear
what he said respecting the expedition.
“You will, of course, remember that I cannot go
without Mrs. Pinnock l’’
“Oh, I am aware of that. And do you know that
a tour such as I have glanced at will occupy quite
two years? My expedition to Japan, which was
limited in every way, took me one.”
“I do not care if it takes three or four,” said
Madge.
This project led to frequent intercourse between
Madge and her former master, who was most dis-
creet in preserving a tone of frank friendliness, prov-
ing himself a most excellent adviser and right-hand
man. At these interviews, Mr. Briggs on one or
two occasions assisted; the lawyer was polite to his
client's friend, nor did he seem averse to her consult-
ing him in all matters connected with her projected
tour.


The Yellow Fiend 349
Nevertheless, Waring was a good deal surprised
on receiving a note in which Mr. Briggs requested
him to name a day and hour when the old lawyer
might call in order to consult with him concerning
Miss Ardell’s affairs.
Waring wrote to appoint the following afternoon,
and Mr. Briggs presented himself punctually.
“Ahem!” he exclaimed, as soon as they had ex-
changed greetings. “I must begin by saying that
I am in a difficulty with Miss Ardell, and need some
influential friend to back me up with her. Mr.
Brook, being out of the way, I thought perhaps she
might listen to you, as I understand you gave her
much assistance in her studies.”
“I don't think that gives me any right to offer her
advice. Why can't you apply to Mr. Brook? I
thought before Mr. Ardell's death, she would prob-
abl 32
“Yes,” interrupted Briggs, eagerly, “so did I–
I think I know what you were going to say—I
thought it very likely she would marry him, and
they would inherit Mr. Ardell's money between
them. Now, however, I see it was all a mistake.
Mr. Brook came to me a week ago to make a will in
favour of his wife and daughter. I was greatly sur-
prised, as I always considered him a bachelor,
though I cannot say he ever told me so. At any
rate, it appears that Miss Ardell is an old friend of
Mrs. Brook's; knew her both before and since her
marriage. So I suppose they quite understood their
position. However, what has disturbed me is that
Miss Ardell proposes to make a deed of gift to Mrs.


352 The Yellow Fiend
going to worry you with a promise to write. If so
disposed, I shall be very grateful for an occasional
letter. If not, I shall wait patiently for a viva voce
account of your adventures when you return. Above
all, work—bring back miles of sketches. Ah! there's
the bell, “All ashore.’ Good-bye, Mrs. Pinnock. All
possible enjoyment and good luck to you! Good-
bye, my dear pupil—the best I ever had.”
“God be with you, dear friend,” she murmured.
And, with her handkerchief to her eyes, she hurried
below.
So Margaret Ardell disappeared from Europe for
a considerable time, and heard only at somewhat
long intervals from the few friends she had left.
Waring, indeed, never left a letter unanswered, but
Madge, as we have said before, hated writing.
Meantime the sunny skies and summer breezes
which Constance anticipated would be her lot from
henceforth and for ever, now that she was a recog-
nised wife and conscious of having brought a goodly
dowry to her husband, were neither as sunny nor as
balmy as she expected. True, Brook stayed very
steadily at home; but he was silent and depressed.
His spirit and energy seemed to have left him. He
was kind, indulgent, but indifferent. His moodiness
increased, and about a year after Madge had left
England Constance, who was on the verge of despair
respecting her husband's condition, proposed they
should pass the spring in Paris, where Brook al-
ways seemed to enjoy himself. There, perhaps, the
thick veil which had risen up between them, hiding
each from the other, might be withdrawn. So she


The Yellow Fiend 357
Brook had not the patience to wait! Now, I wanted
to hear what she said about your portrait.”
“She is greatly pleased with it. Thinks the like-
ness perfect.” Madge's voice was unsteady, the
sound of tears was in her tones.
Waring looked earnestly at her.
“Will you take off your hat? And, Madge,” he
interrupted, “what has happened? What has dis-
tressed you? Forgive me—”
“I have nothing to forgive. Constance has been
speaking of the circumstances attending her hus-
band's death, which seem to suggest a mysterious
tragedy. She was overcome—and—so was I.”
“I wish to Heaven everything would not conspire
to remind you of what ought to be forgotten I I wish
I could be near you always to—to support and
strengthen you. I sometimes think I could—but this
is a repetition of the presumption by which I once
offended you.”
“Offended me! No-never! You were always
too good for me.”
“Madge, could it be that you might think me cap-
able of being a stay and a comfort? You know I
loved you once—nay, always l No one can replace
you, and whether you are rich or poor, is, you must
know, all the same to me. I dread losing the sweet-
est, dearest friend by trying to convert her into a
wife. May I try, Madge?”
“Before I answer, I have a sad and painful story
to tell you. You may think me—”
“Do not distress yourself, my queen,” he inter-
rupted. “Can't you guess that I have pieced that